For A While
i stop for a while on this morning walk
to see the ripening rice plants on the field
golden indeed like the blonde hairs
of the american woman
under the gentleness of the sun that has
newly arrived from the split sides of the
nearby mountain
my eyes were caught however
on this maiden with a brown skin
long black hair with an earthen jar
on her left shoulder held by her
small hands
she is just passing by to fetch
some water in the old stone-walled well
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
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Maya
little brown birds with grey beaks and a patch of black
on their heads
three of them
drinking water on a pond of water created
by the little rain this morning
as i go near them
they all look at me and then in a sudden
they all fly away leaving some ripples in the
muddled pond
i never think of them as my enemies
they all leave at once
i do not have a gun
or a club or a slingshot
what i have in my hands are rice grains, nothing but rice grains
yes, rice grains for all of them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh!
OH! let the lighting clouds come instantly
from the snowy summit of the Mount Stake
and let the scythe
come into the blonde hair of the wheat scything
and i have put the sedge
on the rainless back of the field
from the cloud
we sowed the field together with my mother
my sister pruned the grass in needy
and suckled there her newly born baby
OH! the endlees winter of 72
OH! come and warm everwhere and us a little bit
let my melancholic love spring up from my bed
I have three ears of wheat
at the large thrashing field of my village
let the rain and the days sunny
spread everywhere their beauty
I do not want too much
let unbind the infertility of the sky
guard and save our winter provisions
for this
I have descended from the mountain
to the blonde hair of the wheat for cropping
poem by Metin Sahin
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Back To The Usual Walk In The Rice Fields
i am back to this place
and i am feeling strange
there are changes
and some i can tell have been missing
a few meters from where i stand
under this mahogany tree
where the wind is cold and fresh
flavored by the newly cut rice stalks
over this spread of golden fields
the well is still there
but the brown woman with earth skin is gone
an island of coconut trees
(and some mango trees
and banana shrubs)
has turned bald
and the grasses claim another territory to its grassland
the sparrows must have migrated to the nearby forest
the cable lines run an empty length of a sigh
from one pole to another
endlessly clinging is this anonymous electricity
the twenty or so white herons are here again
pecking on some little frogs in small ponds
i walk under the sun
revisiting reevaluating rekindling perhaps
the reasons why i must go on living
a life unlived for quite a time
why are the fields empty? why are the blackbirds circling the tree?
why do people pass by this path unable to know the significance
of this human journey?
the sun is up like an absurdity triumphant
a dog comes near me
it is waggling its tail and i am calling him another name.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Over The Shoulder
Big size, small size
Any size, round and round
We need, we take
Burn it all to the ground
Started over and learned to walk
We teach you how to talk
Please try and understand
Were helping all mankind
We use them a while then its over the shoulder
We use them a while then its over the shoulder
We are serious
O, serious
Dollar here, dollar there
Dollars flying everywhere
Were only here to please
Stop the killing, trust me
Well only be a while
Big while, big big smile
We use them a while then its over the shoulder
We use them a while then its over the shoulder
We have in our hands
Every woman and every man
Things are gonna go far
Down a real big fast car
And what you see is what you get
Keep em hungry, you bet
You need security
To keep you from the enemy
We use them a while then its over the shoulder
We use them a while then its over the shoulder
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unconditionally Open
these hands,
that took yours
and walked away from all
we knew.
these hands,
that laid brick,
cut wood,
plowed gardens,
picked up trash
built fences for the dogs,
held the children
when they were small,
held your hands
at the hospital
stroked your body,
touching forbidden places
with gentleness and
passion
wrote the poetry
hidden in your eyes
these hands,
now old and calloused,
sometimes tremble,
sometimes hard as stone
these hands are open,
without fear or trepidation,
unconditionally open
waiting for yours.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Summer in the country
One smiles at me
from where she sits
with her hands on a cow’s tits
spraying milk in a bucket
with her blonde hair
bunched beneath a big straw hat,
a picture of unspoilt beauty and innocence
another whistles from horseback
while having a jolly ride
waving as she gallops by
an image of movement
caught under a blazing sun
and you my love are the only one
who gives me kisses,
plaster my cheeks with mulberry lips,
who rides bareback, unsaddled
sitting behind me
on my black stallion
clinging as if you are part of my body
and being a full grown woman,
with great beauty and the right curves,
acting like a tomboy,
a devil’s child,
pulling me down
in a field of Lucerne
with small blue flowers
tangled in your hair.
poem by Gert Strydom
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African American Beauty
Brown skin, black hair, brown eyes, and sweet personality.
That is my culture.
My culture is about the beauty of black women
who are not afraid to show their curves
and express their beauty in the most sexiest way.
We come in all shapes and sizes.
Small, curvaceous,
voluptuous, and more to love.
From that neck bone to that chicken bone,
we are African American beauty.
We invented the big booties and big breasts.
Nice think healthy hair, some nicely wrapped.
We are truly a God sent creation.
Extremely talented to bless people across the country.
We have made ways for so many people.
Step by step
Minute by minute
Day by day
We continue to show people that we are a serious culture
Love to play n have fun
But knows when to stop to take life
And grab it by the horns.
Being strong and not intimidated
Holding on to what we know is right
Being of the minority
When it comes to
Sex
Drugs
Murder
Being of the majority
When it come to
SUCCESS!
What more can I say
We are truly what we say we are
African American Beauty.
poem by Carrie Suter
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Bananas And Cream
(Kinky Friedman)
Well, a long time ago in old Tokyo
By the softly flowing stream
I left her there with the stars in her hair
On the other side of a dream.
Well, I traveled through with a heart full of blue
Never quite making my way
Till I come upon a strawberry blonde
Living in Pittsburgh, P.A.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now it's bananas an cream.
I stood hypnotized, I stared in her eyes,
She smiled and I suddenly knew
If I made her my bride then the other side
0f my dream would finally come true.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now it's bananas and cream.
Well, a long time ago in old Tokyo
By the softly flowing stream
I left her there with the stars in her hair
On the other side of a dream.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now it's bananas and cream.
Bananas and rice used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now it's bananas and cream.
Bananas and rice used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Bananas and rice ...
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bananas & Cream
(kinky friedman)
Well, a long time ago in old tokyo
By the softly flowing stream
I left her there with the stars in her hair
On the other side of a dream.
Well, I traveled through with a heart full of blue
Never quite making my way
Till I come upon a strawberry blonde
Living in pittsburgh, p.a.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now its bananas an cream.
I stood hypnotized, I stared in her eyes,
She smiled and I suddenly knew
If I made her my bride then the other side
0f my dream would finally come true.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now its bananas and cream.
Well, a long time ago in old tokyo
By the softly flowing stream
I left her there with the stars in her hair
On the other side of a dream.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now its bananas and cream.
Bananas and rice used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now its bananas and cream.
Bananas and rice used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Bananas and rice ...
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Girl....
I see her walk down the halls everyday
The girl with the dirty blonde hair with black streaks
Her blonde hair cascading down her back like a golden waterfall
The innocent sparkle of those gorgeous pale green eyes
Her strawberry lips make her lovely words drift in my head
But the only thing I know is she's that girl......
Even though I have no idea who she is she's still beautiful
Oh I know who she is now.....shes me from 4 years ago
But to me she'll forever be that girl.....
poem by Justina Nicole Haner
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The Farmer And The Stray Dog
the farmer arrives
bringing with him his
viand and rice
places it in the corner
of his hut,
the stray dog
gets in through its
sense of smell
and finds its catch
the farmer's
viand and rice
the catch is taken
far away
the farmer
is not angry for soon
a woman with a long
black hair arrives
bringing him
his broiled fish
and newly cooked rice
the woman is not
his wife
and there they are
under the shade of
the mango tree
the stray dog watches
as this story unfolds
to the final chapter
inside the hut
on such a very dark night
the dog is clever
and it knows the ending
the farmer is not angry
for dogs. mind you,
never tell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little Sam So Sweet
LITTLE SAM SO SWEET
Mrs. Levine who is tall and quite lean,
has the cutest little dog you have ever seen,
Sam is a little Yorkie who is tiny and short,
sits in Mrs. Levine’s purse like a sweet mini tort.
Sam the little Yorkie has very silky black hair,
he will not wear a jacket and it’s not that he doesn’t care,
just to him he doesn’t need any extra fashion flair.
Sam will walk real quick with Mrs. Levine
gliding in front of her he prances with his small feet.
His eyes are hidden from hairs so long,
he doesn’t mind he still gets along-
gets along with Tashi the Shih Tzu dog,
they walk happily together in the early morning fog.
Then one night they almost got caught in the rain,
it was O.K. they went inside the condo to play.
Now if you see Sam with Mrs. Levine,
say “Hi” and give Little Sam a little dog treat.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on December 21,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Marx Ernst, The Ghost In The Abstractions Of Kandinsky
an old man leaning on a black pole,
a nude plump woman of the renaissance
inside a stomach,
a man with a big fan as face
his hands mere sketches of helplessness
pointing to the culprit on both sides
a black bird flies away
like a comma of a poem
they form a stress of a family portrait.
a hand is cut. the old man has no foot.
i shifted from the eyes of marx ernst
his eyes are shadows his hair clouds
his face a misty mountain
moving on to kandinsky he finished
life with the strokes of bright colors
and he titles it Fugue, a Black Mountain
to an Unknown Voice.
my first time to see them both.
i am stricken with the beautiful colors of happiness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Sam So Sweet
LITTLE SAM SO SWEET
Mrs. Levine who is tall and quite lean,
has the cutest little dog you have ever seen,
Sam is a little Yorkie who is tiny and short,
sits in Mrs. Levine’s purse like a sweet mini tort.
Sam the little Yorkie has very silky black hair,
he will not wear a jacket and it’s not that he doesn’t care,
just to him he doesn’t need any extra fashion flair.
Sam will walk real quick with Mrs. Levine
gliding in front of her he prances with his small feet.
His eyes are hidden from hairs so long,
he doesn’t mind he still gets along-
gets along with Tashi the Shih Tzu dog,
they walk happily together in the early morning fog.
Then one night they almost got caught in the rain,
it was O.K. they went inside the condo to play.
Now if you see Sam with Mrs. Levine,
say “Hi” and give Little Sam a little dog treat.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on December 21,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sleeping Beauty
Tangled locks of auburn hair
Tresses strewn o’er satin pillow
Silken sheets cool to the skin
Under limbs… lithe as the willow
Languid eyes neath limpid lashes
Tightly closed in dreamy slumber
Lips as soft as feathery ashes
Eyes as brown as earthen umber
Yet as I watch her… the truth is revealing
This woman beside me…this woman I keep
She’s ever so much… more appealing
When she’s ever so much more… deeply asleep
poem by David Whalen
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The Future Of Hands
All winter
The trees held up their silent hives
As if they mattered.
But on one main street of bars and lights,
I watched a woman who had begged for days
Throw all the coins back, insulted,
Into the crowd,
And then each cheap stone on her necklace,
As if they were confetti
At a bitter wedding,
And then her stained blouse.
I smiled, then, at her dignity.
But when the night came
With only its usual stars to show,
She was applauded and spat on,
Or those passing stepped around her,
Avoiding her body
As if it had become private, or pure.
When the police arrived,
Sniveling about the cold day she had chosen
To strip,
Her face was a brown jewel,
And I knew the hands
Of the police would have to close now,
On this body abandoned to wind,
Just as her hands closed, finally,
On wind that would have nothing
To do with her,
And never had.
*
I know that wind
Had nothing to do with longing.
I have seen that, even in the eyes
Of girls across a lunch counter--
A desire to be anywhere that wasn't
Texas, and waiting on tables--
Their eyes making a pact
With the standing, staring wheat
About to be turned back into the black soil
That spreads everywhere when no one is watching.
And writing this,
I stare at my hands,
Which are the chroniclers of my death,
Which pull me into this paper
Each night, as onto a bed of silk sheets,
And the woman gone.
After two hours of work,
I do not know if there ever was a woman.
I watch the flies buzz at the sill.
*
Or, if I sleep,
I must choose between two dreams.
In one of them, my hands move calmly
Over a woman's waist, or lift
In speech the way birds rise or settle
Over a marsh, over nesting places.
In the other dream,
There are no nesting places,
The birds are white, and scavenging.
They lift negligently over the town in wind,
Like paper, like the death of paper.
They dip and rise
As if there had never been a heaven.
Beneath them, it is summer.
It is the same town I was born in.
And in its one bar
The man selling illegal human hair from Mexico,
The hair of brides mixed
With the hair of the dead,
Argues all day over the price.
poem by Larry Levis
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For What She Had Done
She had to die.
This Omoo knew.
He also knew he could not kill her.
Not even try to kill her.
Those eyes. Would look at him. Not even try.
So, what to do?
There was one Ung. Who lived in a cave.
Beyond the hard mountain. A foul cave.
Far from the village.
Ung, who hunted with stones.
Who killed with his hands.
Who had killed two saber-tooths.
And one great bear, whose skin he now wore hanging from his hairy shoulders.
And Ung had killed men. Many men.
And, it was said, a woman.
Ung, who took the fresh meat left upon the flat rock for the Spirit of the Sky.
And the Spirit of the Sky would go hungry.
And bring pain and darkness to the village.
But none dare say words to Ung.
Who had killed two saber-tooths.
And one great bear. And men, many men.
And, it was said, a woman.
He went to Ung.
Yes, said Ung, I will kill her.
For what she has done, said Omoo.
For equal weight, said Ung, in bear meat or lizard skins.
She is a large woman, said Omoo.
Equal wait, said Ung. Now you must come and show her to me, that I may kill her.
I cannot, said Omoo.
Then how will I know her?
Her hair is long, said Omoo.
Her eyes burn like the pools of night.
Many have the long hair, said Ung.
Many have eyes like the pool of night.
She will be bathing, said Omoo.
Tomorrow, as the sun dies,
She will be bathing. Washing her long hair at the falling water.
Many women will be bathing, said Ung.
Many long-haired, night-eyed women.
How will I know it is she?
Omoo thought.
Ah, he said, she will be carrying flowers.
Bright hill flowers, that I shall gather and place in her hands, before she goes to bathe at the falling water.
Then you will know her.
Then you will kill her.
For equal weight, said Ung.
Yes, said Omoo, for equal weight.
And so was begun the custom
Of giving bouquets and corsages.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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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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Summer Days
love the summer days
a farm hut on the side of a hill
a bowl of fruits on the table
roasted chicken on banana leaf
upland rice on earthen jar
fresh water from the spring
a big mahogany tree for covering
your head on my shoulder
my hand on your hair
your feet above mine
under the night of stars
away from them all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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