Functionality....
ah, the natives here
do not just watch the beauty of the tall ferns
by the side of the river
it is not just the waterfalls
and the vines
they are bringing baskets
gathering those ferns
as salad for breakfast.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Can't They Say The Word?
a group of ferns hang
on the side of the cemented wall
of an old building
long deserted by its
inhabitants
too dusty to ask for drops of water
too wilted
too hopeless
when the wind passes by on a rumor
of rain
the ferns snob it
they have learned to accept
the reasons behind their fate
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Indian Springs
I KNOW a shady hollow 'neath the pines,
Rich floored with velvet moss and trailing vines,
Where grouping ferns grow lusty, tall, and green,
With sipping from the bowl o'er which they lean;
And crimson berries on the margin cling,
Like drops of blood about the Indian spring.
On this same spot these many years ago
A graceful figure knelt and, bending low,
Wrist-deep in moss, one hand curved to a cup,
The water to her scarlet lips dipped up.
A heron's wing drooped from her dusky hair,
Which draped her rich-hued cheeks and shoulders bare.
Swift, stealthy footsteps took her by surprise;
She started, flushed, and met his eager eyes,—
A noble figure, young and lithe and tall,
With one proud eagle feather crowning all.
A pause, a word, and lo! the heron's wing
Brushed with the eagle's there above the spring.
Two cruel eyes gleamed from the piny shade,
Fixed on the bended heads of man and maid;
Sudden, a gray goose feather with a twang
Of hate and envy from the darkness sprang.
One shrilling cry—the heron wing was fled;
Low lay the eagle plume; the spring ran red.
The years have gone; new mosses veil the ground,
New ferns, new vines:—but here the spring I found,
And here the gray goose shalt its story told,—
A heart of flint 'neath moss and years of mold
And vines to which the blood-red berries cling,
I found an arrow by the Indian spring.
poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 22, Issue 4 (1897)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Twist And Turns
on the twists and turns
of my life, when i tumble and i fall,
when i rise and claim
my due, when i do not surrender
even a toe,
when with dignity i raise my head
and keep my arms
on my side
when i decide to calm down and
simply watch the flowing day
like a rush of the water on the mountainside
or the creek
when the ferns keep on creeping
on the side of the trees
what silence is there
left for me to sip like a strawberry juice
inside my glass
i lay my fingertip on the side
and try to hear
if the song of the wind is still there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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Round
"Wondrous life!" cried Marvell at Appleton House.
Renan admired Jesus Christ "wholeheartedly."
But here dried ferns keep falling to the floor,
And something inside my head
Flaps like a worn-out blind. Royal Cortssoz is dead.
A blow to the Herald-Tribune. A closet mouse
Rattles the wrapper on the breakfast food. Renan
Admired Jesus Christ "wholeheartedly."
Flaps like a worn-out blind. Cezanne
Would break out in the quiet streets of Aix
And shout, "Le monde, c'est terrible!" Royal
Cortissoz is dead. And something inside my head
Flaps like a worn-out blind. The soil
In which the ferns are dying needs more Vigoro.
There is no twilight on the moon, no mist or rain,
No hail or snow, no life. Here in this house
Dried ferns keep falling to the floor, a mouse
Rattles the wrapper on the breakfast food. Cezanne
Would break out in the quiet streets and scream. Renan
Admired Jesus Christ "wholeheartedly." And something inside my head
Flaps like a worn-out blind. Royal Cortissoz is dead.
There is no twilight on the moon, no hail or snow.
One notes fresh desecrations on the portico.
"Wondrous life!" cried Marvell at Appleton House.
poem by Weldon Kees
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The Monk's Walk
In this sombre garden close
What has come and passed, who knows?
What red passion, what white pain
Haunted this dim walk in vain?
Underneath the ivied wall,
Where the silent shadows fall,
Lies the pathway chill and damp
Where the world-quit dreamers tramp.
Just across, where sunlight burns,
Smiling at the mourning ferns,
Stand the roses, side by side,
Nodding in their useless pride.
Ferns and roses, who shall say
What you witness day by day?
Covert smile or dropping eye,
As the monks go pacing by.
Has the novice come to-day
Here beneath the wall to pray?
Has the young monk, lately chidden,
Sung his lyric, sweet, forbidden?
Tell me, roses, did you note
That pale father's throbbing throat?
Did you hear him murmur, 'Love!'
As he kissed a faded glove?
Mourning ferns, pray tell me why
Shook you with that passing sigh?
Is it that you chanced to spy
Something in the Abbot's eye?
Here no dream, nor thought of sin,
Where no worlding enters in;
Here no longing, no desire,
Heat nor flame of earthly fire.
Branches waving green above,
Whisper naught of life nor love;
Softened winds that seem a breath,
Perfumed, bring no fear of death.
Is it living thus to live?
Has life nothing more to give?
Ah, no more of smile or sigh--
Life, the world, and love, good-bye.
Gray, and passionless, and dim,
Echoing of the solemn hymn,
Lies the walk, 'twixt fern and rose,
Here within the garden close.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Where Is The River?
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere elseÂ
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 illusionÂ
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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Sunrise
O rising Sun, so fair and gay,
What are you bringing me, I pray,
Of sorrow or of joy to-day?
You look as if you meant to please,
Reclining in your gorgeous ease
Behind the bare-branched apple-trees.
The world is rich and bright, as though
The pillows where your head is low
Had lit the fields of driven snow.
The hoar-frost on the window turns
Into a wood of giant ferns
Where some great conflagration burns.
And all my children comes again
As lightsome and as free from stain
As those frost-pictures on the pane.
I would that I could mount on high
And meet you, Sun--that you and I
Had to ourselves the whole wide sky.
But here my poor soul has to stay,
So tell me, rising Sun, I pray,
What are you bringing me to-day?
What shall this busy brain have thought,
What shall these hands and feet have wrought,
What sorrows shall the hours have brought,
Before thy brilliant course is run,
Before this new-born day is done,
Before you set, O rising Sun?
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Memories Of The Old House
In our old house
Paved with limestones
Many ferns and moss
Grow
But though how lush
And numerous have
They become
My memories
Still outnumber them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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244
In our old house made of limestone
Many ferns and moss Grow
But though how lush
And numerous have
They become
My memories
Still outnumber them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I remember being shocked when I came out from under the focusing cloth after a minute or two being submerged within that, at the startling green color of those ferns.
quote by John Sexton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One morning I sat at a ridge
At the bank of a stream
one morning I sat at a ridge,
surrounded by ferns, under an old oak tree
in a wild garden, never spaded by man
with aloes, protea’s and lilies that grew by themselves,
one morning I sat at a ridge,
where branches were not pruned by man,
an earthy scent hanged there
with aloes, protea’s and lilies that grew by themselves,
I was caught by the creation of God,
as if I could stay there until eternity
an earthy scent hanged there
and later I put a line or two into the water,
roasted fish on the coals,
as if I could stay there until eternity
away from the city’s noise.
At the bank of a stream
I roasted fish on the coals
surrounded by ferns, under an old oak tree.
poem by Gert Strydom
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To A Mountain Spring
Strange little spring, by channels past our telling,
Gentle, resistless, welling, welling, welling;
Through what blind ways, we know not whence
You darkling come to dance and dimple--
Strange little spring!
Nature hath no such innocence,
And no more secret thing--
So mysterious and so simple;
Earth hath no such fairy daughter
Of all her witchcraft shapes of water.
When all the land with summer burns,
And brazen noon rides hot and high,
And tongues are parched and grasses dry,
Still are you green and hushed with ferns,
And cool as some old sanctuary;
Still are you brimming o'er with dew
And stars that dipped their feet in you.
And I believe when none is by,
Only the young moon in the sky--
The Greeks of old were right about you--
A naiad, like a marble flower,
Lifts up her lovely shape from out you,
Swaying like a silver shower.
So in old years dead and gone
Brimmed the spring on Helicon,
Just a little spring like you--
Ferns and moss and stars and dew--
Nigh the sacred Muses' dwelling,
Dancing, dimpling, welling, welling.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Wow, Philippines
this country
is blessed with lush rainforest
harboring
a variety of tropical
flora and fauna
huge ferns
multicolored birds
fishes and
butterfies
crossed by multiple navigable rivers
san juanico bridge
mc arthur park
clear waters
crystalline
bluer clouds
shining sun
blooming flowers
pocked by mysterious caverns
and refreshing waterfalls
atop a wooden raft
some ropes
and splashes
how could i ever ignore
this country
my country
my town
that now i am traveling
always like
a stranger
saying
wow, wow, philippines!
come my friends
we must try again
remembering the fresher times
of rivers and seas
and clouds and skies
wow, wow, philippines
i have never been
and yet so near
the islands of my dreams
now these realities
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aloes (Novelinee)
Suddenly summer was everywhere,
like blazing fire in the veldt and hillocks
there were patches of flame here and there
with aloes blooming between the rocks,
flaming right through the day till eventide
bringing to nature a patched kind of redness
naturally planted at places side by side
growing lovely in the utter harshness,
bringing great beauty to the wilderness.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Will Get There
Ohohah
Hey
Yeah
I've been wanderin' 'round in the dark
Been lost somewhere where no light could shine on my heart
I have known a pain so deep
But I know my faith will free me
[Get there] And I'll get through this
[Get there] I'll find my way again
So don't tell me that it's over
'Cause each step just gets me closer
[chorus]
(I will get there) I will get there
(I will get there) I will get there somehow
Cross that river (Cross that river)
Nothing's stoppin' me now
I will get through the night (Oh, yes, I will)
And make it through to the other side
(Get there) Get there
(Get there) Get there
I've been in these chains for so long
I'll break free and I'll be there where I belong
Hold my head up high, I'll stand tall
And I swear this time I won't fall
[Get there] I will do this
[Get there] No matter what it takes
'Cause I know no limitations
And I'll reach my destination, I will get there
[chorus]
I will get there (I will get there)
I will get there (Ooh) somehow (Somehow)
Cross that river (Cross that river)
Nothing's stoppin' me now
I will get through the night
And make it through to the other side
(Ooh, get there) Get there
(Get there) Get there
Well, the night is cold and dark
But somewhere the sun is shining
And I'll feel it shine on me
I'll keep on tryin', I'll keep on tryin'
I will get there (I will get there)
I will get there somehow
Cross that river (Cross that river)
Nothing's stoppin' me now
I will get through the night
And make it through to the other side
Get there, get there
I will get there (I will get there)
I will get there somehow (Somehow)
Cross that river (I'll cross that river for you)
Nothing's stoppin' me now (OhwhoaI)
I will get through (Through) the night
And make it through to the other side (Ohhoohho)
(Get there) Get there
(Ooh, get there) Get there (Whoaoh)
I will get there (I will get there)
I will get there somehow (Somehow)
Cross that river (I'll cross it for your love)
Nothing's stoppin' me now (No matter what)
I will get through the night (I will get through the night)
And make it through to the other side
(Get there) Get there
(Ooh, get there) Get there
Get there
Ohhooh
I'll get there
song performed by by Boyz II Men
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River of Me
I launched myself on the river me
Way back when I was two or three
I sailed out through the wall of snow
Beneath the bridge where all kids go
That Cheyenne Bodie was ten feet tall
His voice so deep it filled a hall
And that was who I dreamed I’d be
Until Cochise came on the scene
There was ice on the river and ice on the pond
And the singing nun sang on and on
There were trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And fish galore in the river of me
The fields were full of cows, corn or wheat
The air was thick with bees and heat
The summer lasted all year long
I never knew til it was gone
And then of course came that high school girl
Her glances made my river swirl
More complex than the universe
I never knew what she’d do next
There was light on the river and light on the pond
And the singing nun sang on and on
There were trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And fish galore in the river of me
And up we soared towards the sky
Through songs and dancing by and by
My waterfalls and waves ran high
For just the winking of an eye
And in the distance the quiet sea
was waiting on the river me
And on the banks the weeds grew tall
Where rusting leaves began to fall
Now there’s night on the river and night on the pond
And the singing nun is long since gone
There are trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And memories in the river of me
I launched myself on the river me
Way back when I was two or three
I sailed out through the wall of snow
Beneath the bridge where all kids go
We had not seen any natives for many days, but a few passed the camp on the opposite side of the river on the evening of the 25th. They would not, however, come to us; but fled into the interior in great apparent alarm.
quote by Charles Sturt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unfound Paradise
Though the world on the other side of the river
is peaceful, you don't take more than a glance.
You allow your emotional war to continue,
hoping that someone-anyone-will notice the pain,
but you would enver take their help.
Though the world on the other side of the river
is warm, you try desperately not to freeze.
You cuddle deeper into your corner and wait,
wait for someone to come and warm you,
but you have no desire for a true savior.
Though the world on the other side of the river
is beautiful, you still pray for the beauty of tomorrow.
You think that tomorrow will somehow carry you away
into a quiet, easy-going song that laughs a lifetime,
but you know that tomorrow is the same as today.
Though the world on the other side of the river
is unreachable, it seems that we have all tried.
We've all made an attempt to find it except for you.
We took a step or two onto the bridge, but have failed,
but at least we don't wallow in the failure with you.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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