Geography and you
you do not plant
trees in the big forest
neither shall you sell
ice drops in the
north pole
in tropical paradise
we are the lazy people who
spend most of our time
sun bathing in the beach
watching sea gulls
breathing the salt of the air
sipping cold mango juice
painting yachts
burying our bodies under the
comfort of the the white sands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How Many Grains Of Sand Are There On The Beach?
we are on the beach
it is a very bright and warm day
the coconut leaves are cooling us
the shade is comforting
the sands so white
the sea is crystal blue
the sea gulls are singing
colored fishes come up from time to time
hiding in the corals
if you want to know how many grains of white sands
are there on this beach
begin the count
for the meantime
we are taking our much needed plunge
we leave you for a while
enjoy yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Tropical Paradise
I wonder how many times
we sit at our desk
and look out the window on a sunny day,
wishing we were on a tropical beach
lazing in the sun under a coconut tree
watching the sparkling waters
as they race up the sandy beach.
Having a lazy day with the sand and sea,
enjoying Mother Nature’s beautiful bounty.
A dream maybe,
but a dream to help us through
any storms that may weather our lives,
giving us hope for tomorrow
and the sunny day that might bring.
We look at the blue sky
and the odd white fluffy clouds
that shape into many things,
helped along with warm comforting winds.
Our mind is full of images
that build our favourite dreams
as we while away a few minutes
oblivious to everything.
Daydreaming our fondest dreams
before reality kicks in
and the opalescent workload
on our desk appears once again
to take us away
from our tropical paradise
and implant us back in our reality.
27 February 2009
poem by David Harris
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Tropical Depression
I thought some time in the sun
Would help me get over you
But I could tell from day one
This is a place meant for two
Now here I sit on the beach
Watching the tide ebb and flow
I booked my room for a week
But now Im ready to go
Im in a tropical depression
Ive got the blue water blues
Cant shake this loving you obsession
Cant stand this sand in my shoes
This forgetting you vacation
Is just a fools holiday
If I cant get over you
This tropical depressions gonna
Blow me away
This should be paradise
Heaven down by the sea without you here by my side
It feels like hell to me
Chorus
If I cant get over you
This tropical depressions gonna
Blow me away
If I cant get over you
This tropical depressions gonna
Blow me away
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Contrasts
cemented pavements
green grass
sounds of motorized cabs
songs of birds on the trees
towering skyscrapers
tall old mahogany trees
neon lights on city escapes
stars on moonlit skies
watching the mountains half covered with
morning mists
busy on TV for the serial stories
strolling on the white sandy beach
observing the behavior of seagulls
window shopping at the malls
watching 3D movies
eating deep fried chicken wings
licking very sweet strawberry ice cream
peeling the ripe mango
savoring the yellow juice feeling the pulp
watching the sunset from a high mountain
reading a best seller novel inside your room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Under The Mango Tree
i like the idea
of doing many things under the mango tree
like
watching time go by like it is a stranger
and i
am a stranger too watching time pass by
like i am so interested
with what time
can do to me
making me old
making the mango tree bloom and flower and have fruits
and they are so many
that the mango tree bends
to the ground
and time stays for a while and ripens the fruits
and make all of them
in time
fall one by one to the ground
like some kind
of withered flowers
luscious, sweet, fruits of the mango tree
falling
by the slightest passing of the wind
and then the children
come and with all joy
pick them one by one
putting what they can
under
their shirts and still rushing
to keep
and take some more
under the mango tree
all the people
are so much alike
the rushing, the taking, the joy
of always having more
and it will never stop
as i watch time slowly go by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer Snapshot
High up in the sky, the sun is shining.
Outside restaurants, people are dining.
Over the sea, sailboats are dashing.
Against the shore, waves are crashing.
Up in the sky, seagulls are screeching.
Up to the sun, flowers are reaching.
In the park, children are playing.
In the breeze, branches are swaying.
From car windows, music is blaring.
More of their bodies, people are bearing.
Down at the beach, people are bathing:
A nice, healthy tan, they are all craving.
Through the sky, birds are flying.
On the clothesline, washing is drying.
Along the roads, cars are queuing.
In bed, at night, people are stewing.
To peoples' bodies, clothes are sticking.
Frozen ice lollies, children are licking.
Their garden borders, people are weeding.
Ducks, on the river, children are feeding.
Strawberries and cream, people are eating.
Friends, for a drink, people are meeting.
In their back gardens, people are sitting.
Through the air, butterflies are flitting.
Over at Wimbledon, there is tennis.
Of themselves, wasps make a menace.
Ice cold drinks, people are sipping,
In the playground, girls are skipping.
People eat chips with fish in crisp batter.
Over at Henley, there is a Royal Regatta.
Of our summer, when the weather is hot,
The above, make up merely a snapshot.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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My Friend You Must....
we always want to spend
Christmas on the beach
what is it that we want to be reminded of?
the sands?
yes what about the sand?
when we arrive there
the kids run to meet the sea with laughter
the sea breeze is salty yet cool
the trees are tall and big and shady
the silent sands are peopled now
we will be too busy with fun
feeling saved and going public with
all that happiness gives us
the silent sands look at us with a gaze
it has a record of the past
it has absorbed the memories of the sea
it looks at us with pity
what is it about the sands?
and their silence?
i think i know it
but my friend you must find it yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Self-searching
we always want to spend
Independence Day on the beach
what is it that we want to be reminded of?
the sands? yes what about the sand?
the grains?
when we arrive there
the kids run to meet the sea with laughter
the sea breeze is salty yet cool
the trees are tall and big and shady
the silent sands are peopled now
we will be too busy with fun
feeling saved and going public with
all that happiness gives us
the silent sands look at us with a gaze
it has a record of the past
it has absorbed the memories of the sea
it looks at us with pity
what is it about the sands and their silence?
i think i know it but my friend you must find it yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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The State Of Non-meaning
so many sands
long term plans
so many grains of sands
on the beach on the mind of man
oh, i guess
so many poems composed
each poem has become a grain of sands
so many grains
from my mouth
to my hands to my feet to the beach to the sands of time
in search for meaning
when actually there is none.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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.
Plants Feel
When a tree is cut down
in the forest all the other
trees feel it’s chop,
All the trees are connected
and feels it when this tree drops.
Now even your plant
even knows when you are gone,
it misses you and
needs more than water to live on.
Plants are sentient
which is true as the wind,
give the plant Kingdom kindness
for they were here in the beginning,
and help us to breathe and to live.
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 12,2011
www.christinasunrise.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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For a traveler going from any place toward the north, that pole of the daily rotation gradually climbs higher, while the opposite pole drops down an equal amount.
quote by Nicolaus Copernicus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tangiers 1970
The Mediterranean Sea
caught the moonlight
as you wandered the beach
with Mame
she grabbed your hand
and kissed your cheek
isn't it out of this world?
she said stopping
and looking into your eyes
and breathing out
her peppermint breath
you smelt the sea salt
felt the slight breeze
coming across the sea
wouldn't you rather be
with one of the other guys
than be here with me?
you said
gazing at her fuzzy hair
her light blue eyes
oh piss the other guys
it's you I like
she said
brushing a hand
through your hair
pulling you in closer
to her small tight breasts
don't you like me?
she asked
I thought you fancied me
the way you kept staring at me
on the coach and in Tangiers
you heard the Berber drums
and voices from the camp base
coming on the wind
and wondered if the others
would guess she'd taken you
down the beach
for something romantic
or tumble in the sands
with all lips and hands
well?
she asked
standing there
in her flowered
two piece bathing cloth
sure I do
you muttered
sensing her hand
reaching down
your jeans
seeking an erection
a sign of interest
do you ever think
of those ancients
who may once
have stood
where we now stand?
you said
how they too
may have stood
beneath a sky
and stars
and moon like us?
she stood back and stared
and uttered coldly
no I haven't
and couldn't give a cuss
and off she went
up the beach
to the base camp
on smooth sands
and rough tufts of grass
and oh how she knew
to wiggle
her small tight ass.
poem by Terry Collett
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Black Bruises I
I can stare into the blackness,
the void of many abysses
behind every dark curtains
I can endure calm and silence
watching pole dancers grind,
watching stars scintillate,
watching still shadows on the walls,
watching dislimned reflections,
watching trees pass me by,
watching ethers wash the screen,
watching my lonely feet,
watching little things sway;
but am I the only one watching
these black bruised visions?
poem by Norman Santos
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Lonely Paradise
I thought the sobbing so sweet the day that I had to say goodbye
Now I am in paradise alone it’s those tears that really make me cry
Perfume in the air from flowers I cannot name
Birds on my balcony that I don’t need to tame
It’s a lonely paradise
A lonely lovely paradise
That isn’t the same without you
That makes the blue sky days seems blue
Lovers on the beach saying hello to me as they walk on by
I check my phone for messages seeing if you are there just to say hi.
I thought that I wanted to get away – far away
To numb the pain – but the tropical winds just fans the flames
It’s a lonely paradise
A lonely lovely paradise
That isn’t the same without you
That makes the turquoise sea seen so - oh so blue
It’s a lonely paradise
A lonely, lonely paradise
poem by Michael WheelerWyatt
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In My Wild Flights Of Fancy The Ocean I Can See
The blueness of the saltwater the white waves rolling free
In my wild flights of fancy the ocean i can see
The silver gulls and black backed gulls above the white beach cry
And the sun is shining brightly in the clear and sunny sky,
The children in the shallows they laugh and splash and run
In the coolness of sea water their way of having fun
On a pleasant day in Summer of 25 degrees
And there is a soothing freshness in the freshening ocean breeze,
The distinctive smell of the seaweed washed in by the last tide
A refuge from beach predators for tiny sea things to breed in and hide
Coastal people love the ocean and near the ocean they choose to stay
And in the coastal cemeteries their last remains do lay
The rumble of the ocean the white waves running free
And in my flights of fancy the sea is calling me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Why My Parents Left Their Home
He stood alone upon the beach
Thinking of his wife and child
Of the future that lies ahead
For his Family he loved so well
If he stayed on the tropical isle
His wife and son would not be world wise
But if he took them both away
To the land of the long white cloud
He would give his son an education
One he never had
A better life
A better dream
Waiting for all who dreamed
But looking at the life he lead
Working of the land
Feeding, clothing, planting, harvesting
Was a good life to have?
But it was education for his son
Something he yearned to have
And as he stood upon the shores
Staring at the gleaming sands
It was then he had decided
To say farewell to this tropical land
poem by Kaila George
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At The Seaside, A Solitude
the seaside is peaceful
the sky is blue with white cumulus clouds hanging there
slowly they move and change shapes
like the air is painting and mixing the colors in space
gentle hues graceful strokes
the white sands extend to some miles
the coconut trees are like handshakes
their shadows restive and steady
i lay my body weary of the years
i look at all these lines and circles and spheres
i like to give up thinking and just be a spectator
i let them talk and i merely listen
the seaside, the seagull, the clouds, the coconut trees, the white sands,
the circles and spheres and lines extending
to nowhere.
i cover my eyes with a straw hat. I cease.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Carrefour
O you,
Who came upon me once
Stretched under apple-trees just after bathing,
Why did you not strangle me before speaking
Rather than fill me with the wild white honey of your words
And then leave me to the mercy
Of the forest bees?
poem by Amy Lowell
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