Drawing A River
when you draw a river
the river begins
to draw also a fish
the fish shall
sketch a moss
the moss
paints the missing
green
then you have what
your river wants
a place where you
want to
ponder about a sky
come to think again
now draw
a very white sky
take a pen and a very
wide paper....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ford O' Kabul River
Kabul town's by Kabul river --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
There I lef' my mate for ever,
Wet an' drippin' by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
There's the river up and brimmin', an' there's 'arf a squadron swimmin'
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
Kabul town's a blasted place --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
'Strewth I sha'n't forget 'is face
Wet an' drippin' by the ford!
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they will surely guide you
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
Kabul town is sun and dust --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
I'd ha' sooner drownded fust
'Stead of 'im beside the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
You can 'ear the 'orses threshin', you can 'ear the men a-splashin',
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
Kabul town was ours to take --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
I'd ha' left it for 'is sake --
'Im that left me by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
It's none so bloomin' dry there; ain't you never comin' nigh there,
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark?
Kabul town'll go to hell --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
'Fore I see him 'live an' well --
'Im the best beside the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, for their boots'll pull 'em under,
By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
Turn your 'orse from Kabul town --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
'Im an' 'arf my troop is down,
Down an' drownded by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
There's the river low an' fallin', but it ain't no use o' callin'
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Consistency And Patience
if i were to draw you
a symbol of consistency and
patience
i will have the turtle
with moss on its house and
on its feet
some mud
i draw you too the silence
embedded in its eyes
i will show you how slowness sometimes
can be considered
wisdom
how sometimes it surrenders to nature
how it hides in its house
when cruelty begins to rule
and how at the end the impossible happens
it survives and wins and then goes back to the river
and swims away
and then it becomes a myth
a story and then you make it more intriguing
and that is where the rabbit enters into the scene
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Gather Moss And More Of Moss
to gather moss
be a stone
to gather more moss
be a very still stone
be a stone still till the end
of time
you stand still and think
you want to be the moss
rather than a stone
to be all moss
you must betray the stillness
of stone
you must even forget
the importance of
what a moss can be
then you think some more
to be completely this moss
you need to be friendly
to the water and to the river
then you decide to be the water
instead of the moss
to be more than the water
you wish instead to become the river
and so you flow and learn the rush
and become the running river
until what you want really
is just to flow
to rush and run and then
you become nothing
but the motion itself
until you are lost
and then
you become what you are now
lost but real
always flowing, rushing, running
where nobody owns you
not even the river
or the stones or the moss
you have become
this running, this flowing, this being
so real so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Well and river, inequitable.
A bath in a river is soothing to your skin.
But the river cannot replace the well.
From well water, you sooth your throat.
So the well has no reason to fear the river.
The one who swims in a river
Returns home with renewed vigour.
His desire to swim in the river
Is not his hate to draw from the well.
No grace will the well lose
Because his master visited the river.
No shame does the river has
Because her visitor is not her master.
One will not desert one’s wife
Because the one courted a tart.
24.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The River Flows
The river flows and moss grows
And I dangle my feet in the water
The water is cold, but so is my heart
As I sit and just watch time goes by
No place I have to go, no place to be
Time has passed too fast, as fast as the river flows
Who else has sat here and felt this way
Felt pain in their heart and soul
They don't understand, did they ever?
All the hurt down deep in my soul
The leaves sway with the wind
And the chill sets in
I know I must leave, I don't know where
Guess I'll find my way down the road
With tears in my eyes and a broken heart
I'll find my way back to somewhere
The river flows on and the moss will keep growing
Till someone else sits here
And remembers things like I do
And wish I had them all back
I leave in the night, goodbye to the river and moss
May each persons who comes this way
Find a peace inside like I did but on the way
I'll always remember that the river flows on and the moss grows.
Written by Jo Carey
A Dry Land
this used to be a river
filled with fish
we used to catch some here
days and years
lump together and humans
pack up
rivers convert themselves
to cities for need of space
this one shall follow
it is not the sun that has
taken what it has
a tractor builds a dike
and takes all the water here
this is dry land
no fish, no water,
no moss, sand is filled
and rocks
delivered to make
out of this river
a new housing subdivision
at a higher cost
than money
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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.
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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Beneath The Lush Of The Nipa Palms
beneath the lush of the nipa palms
are the homes of crabs beside is
the river the niche for the schools of
fish and on the river banks are
glossy pebbles some silent greens
of moss and ferns,
amidst all these beauteous secrets
perhaps we shall remember
how sweetly once we spent the
passionate night together...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The moss that loves the stone
It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The River That Runs Dry
shall you worry about the
river that runs dry?
when the fish all die
when the moss all turn to
only nothing but
dry green patches of the
past?
do not fret neither
shall you worry
from the sands too shall
rise another city
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beneath The Lush Of The Nipa Palms (2)
beneath the lush of the nipa palms
are the homes of crabs beside is
the river the niche for the schools of
fish and on the river banks are
glossy pebbles some silent greens
of moss and ferns,
amidst all these beauteous secrets
perhaps we shall remember
how sweetly once we spent the
passionate night together...
please, please, take time to remember.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where Is The River?
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere else
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or hidden under the ground
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or safe inside the cave
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or still far away
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or up above the cloud
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or out of our reach
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or trickling on the rock
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or gathering in the pool
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or down over the cliff
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or just sight of illusion
Where is the river?
Is it here
Running in your eyes
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or sudden flood in the road
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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A Tall Story part two
There is a bridge that crosses over a river
A river that is eerie and makes you quiver
With the light of the moon the river will gleam
and a boat will go sailing, on its own down
stream. The mist will come from out of the trees
and horrible sounds can be heard in the breeze.
It sounded like cats caught up in a fight a claim
for territory in the dead of night, but cats never fight
on the waters edge just in case they fall over the ledge.
A river bank full of matted reeds where plants had died
without dispersing their seeds.A man dressed in green
who paddles the stream who can be seen clear in the
moonlit beam.Sometimes you hear him digging on
the side of the river bank, could this be true or is it
some sort of a prank
A river full of alge green and that's how it had
always been. No carp, no bream no fish to fish not
even a place for a secret wish.
No river bank wildlife to give it grace, just run over the
bridge and get out of this place.
The story tells of a robber who stood about three feet
tall and because of his height he couldent climbe over
the wall. Now behind the wall was the river which spread
down far and wide and the man in green had a problem
because he could'nt get to the other side.So he hid the
loot inside his boot and started to dig under the wall
but as he dug the water flooded in and he sank to
the bottom of the pool.
Apart from one thing he could not swim and the weight
of the loot that was in his boot no doubt made him take
root.If you go to the river and see the man in green, then
please come back and tell us what you have seen.
This is a tall story one with a short tale, I am sorry it
didn't excit you, but my next one wont fail.
poem by Sylvia Spencer
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Pisces Fish
Rowers gliding on the river
Canadian geese crap along the bank
Back wheel of my bike begins to quiver
The chain is wrapped around the crank
Old ladies, who must be doggie training
Walking, throwing balls, chasing all the sheep
While the farmer stands around, and hes complaining
His mad cows are being put to sleep
Im a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul
Smoke signals from the brewery
Like someone in there found the latest Pope
In a vat of beer that keeps pumping out with fury
While the church bell ringers trangled in his rope
But theres a temple on an island
I think of all the Gods and what they feel
You can only find them in the deepest silence
Ive got to get off of this big wheel
Im a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul
Im a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul
And Ill be swimming until I can find those waters
Thats the one unbounded ocean of bliss
Thats flowing through your parents, sons and daughters
But still an easy thing for us to miss
Blades go skimming through the water
I hear the coxon shouting his instructions about
With this crew oh, it could be a tall order
Have we time to sort all these things out ?
Sometimes my life it feels like fiction
Some of the days its really quite serene
Im a living proof of all lifes contradictions
One halfs going where the other halfs just been
And Im a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul
Im a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul
Im a Pisces fish and the river runs through my soul
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A River Flows
Where does the river flow
if not to you?
How deep its depths
if these
are not yours?
How broad is the river bank?
Broad enough
for the tug-boats
to push my heart along.
If there are fish in the river,
they sing your name
open-mouthed,
fish-style,
making tiny bubbles float
up, up to the river surface
where they pop
spread
announcing to the Firmament
that Love lives just below
the deep river flows.
Yes, you and I
are the river;
we flow,
run deep
down to that
ocean-mix
in which
our souls
swirl.
Mix me then
in depths deep.
Mix you then
amid this ocean sweep
and all else,
for me
becomes meaningless
so great
is our Soul Mixed
Ocean Bliss.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A River Dies
a river dies choked to gills
expiring upon industrial waste
sadly as the river dies the fish die also
oxygen starved extinguished
life was a web of light upon the water
life web torn broken discarded
water breathed life into river flowing
man breathed in death river choking
oxygen rich river was flush with fish
smell taste drink putrid pollution
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Hammock Upon The Winds
there lies sadness like patches of green moss
sticking upon a rock half covered by the clear water of the river
one may think that sadness will always be there as patches of
what we have always wanted to get rid off like peeling them off gently from
an old sharp and rugged edged rock
sometimes you become so tired planning and doing and then surrendering into the helplessness of a fallen leaf that floats and is carried slowly by the current of the river early morning on a Sunday
when people are not around spending holidays on places that they miss for the whole week
and so one lays its tired body on the side of the river's bank
wades his hands and feels the coolness of the water and then starts to flow and release what he thinks must be given away
one feels the restfulness of finally giving up
of not minding about what cares must be done in order to make
life smoother
flowing and easier like the way the brown leaf floats
like the way the blue clouds drift
like the way we let the moss grow
upon the side of the rock
having more wet times with the clear water of the river
having a clearer view of the orange fish within and the shiny pebbles
beneath them
words lull me like i were carried by the hammock upon the arms of the unseen winds....
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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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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