Geyser...
when water gushes forth from a rock
it simply does what it is supposed to do
gush,
there is no mouth to speak
nothing hilarious about advertisements
or strategies
or self-aggrandizement
it gushes forth
day and night
unstoppable, restless to its mission
to quench your
thirst
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pasty Waste
When a voice comes back,
From its own enforced shackles.
A clarity is heard.
A strength renewed is welcomed.
And honesty again gushes,
Like an unstoppable geyser.
With an eliminating done,
Of pasty waste one accepts
To substitute one's taste.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Godly thirst....
there is this
thirst in me, not in the tongue
the mouth denies it
there is this thirst
that water or wine or
juice
cannot quench
it is a thirst that forever
stays
a dropp of rain
a dew from a leaf
a word from my Creator
shall satisfy it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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i will try to write a poem like Li Po
i will write the poem like Li Po
a poem that does not need an axe
to break a coconut to eat the meat
it will just need your soft hands
to cut half the water apple *
and so easily you will hand it to your mouth
to quench your thirst & savor its watery flavor
the seeds are not even necessary
to be kept
you simply throw them away
for the next season of summer.
* tambis
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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134
i will try to write a poem like Li Po
i will write the poem like Li Po
a poem that does not need an axe
to break a coconut to eat the meat
it will just need your soft hands
to cut half the water apple *
and so easily you will hand it to your mouth
to quench your thirst & savor its watery flavor
the seeds are not even necessary
to be kept
you simply throw them away
for the next season of summer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Top Taps
At the Royal Festival Hall, on the third floor,
There is an experience which I just adore.
Every time that I visit there, I always choose
To wash my hands under the taps in their loos.
Out of the tap, the water suddenly gushes;
On to my waiting hands, hot water rushes.
Into the basin, water froths and foams:
I really wish we had these taps at home.
Round my wrists, the white water swirls
Like a precious bracelet, made of pearl.
Bubbles coat my hands, just like a glove:
It is a sensation which I simply love.
By the bubbles, my hands are massaged.
Luckily, for these loos, there isn't a charge.
With these taps, I am a little obsessed.
These are the taps which I love the best!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Sun Has Long Been Set
The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and the trees;
There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes,
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes,
And the cuckoo's sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky.
Who would go `parading'
In London, `and masquerading',
On such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Anxiety 101
when you eat
not to fill your hunger
but to feed
time
to make it preoccupied
so that
it won't bother you for long
with its
boredom
when you drink
not to satisfy your thirst for water
but to please
your lips for what has been
missing
when you miss the alcoholic
breath
of life
the dance of life
in cold and damp
nights
when your arms embrace no one
when your hands
wish for the usual touch
when what you hear is the wind
that gushes on your
window panes
when you arrive home
and no one
greets you
when the only pet dog you have
dies
when the furniture
is accumulating dust from the
other side of
the street
when you dream
and nothing comes
true
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From Motherland
From motherland, lands a spring of rivers that gushes out radio waves ontop; and descends down stream with cool water; That feeds our motherland. Look at her meanders, she sneaks into the green land; And sniffes Canaan of today. The head of all lands in her and stands firm in deep sea as a rock. She is an eagle but alioness, that roars on the feet of Mount Zion; and drives our hospitality, our land. As she dives out of the best African pot; from motherland she lies in her greenage.
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Night Nurse
Tell her try her best just to make it quick
Woman tend to the sick
Because there must be something she can do
This heart is broken in two
Tell her its a case of emergency
Theres a patient by the name of mickey
Night nurse
Only you alone can quench this here thirst
My night nurse oh god
Oh the pain is getting worse
I dont want to see no doc
I need attendance from my nurse around the clock
Because theres no prescription for me
Shes the one the only remedy
My night nurse
Only you alone can quench this here thirst
My night nurse
Oh the pain is getting worse
Im hurt my love
I dont want to see no doc
I need attendance from my nurse around the clock
Because there s no prescription for me
Shes the one the only remedy
Night nurse
Only you alone can quench this here thirst
My night nurse
Oh the pain is getting worse
Im hurt my love
And Im sure no no doctor got a cure
My night nurse
My night nurse
My night nurse
song performed by by Simply Red
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wet
I'm wet down there.
Your mouth's
Dry up there.
So what are you
Waiting for?
Quench your thirst.
Let the passions
Burst.
Let me know -
What goes second?
What comes first? !
The lips and tongue
Race along -
To sing us a copious
Night song.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Symbiosis
you are the glass
and on your open mouth
i am the water
i will fill every space
of your body
do not feel my coldness
you do not deserve it.
keep the thirst
i shall quench it.
do not be carried away
by my coldness
do not spill me
i need you as vessel
of my directionless fluidity.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The flood of money that gushes into politics today is a pollution of democracy.
quote by Theodore White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mind's Confusion
My mind is perturbed
Just like the waters that line Jamaican trenches
After a heavy downpour of rain
Like the water that gushes down the gully
And gets sucked in by the sinkshole that lies at the bottom
Waiting with wide open mouth
Waiting to gobble it up with one big mighty sup
Water that contains pieces of human waste
That boys have secretly passed out on stones close by the pond
Dead leaves banana trees
Old tin cans rooted up from where long buried
Like memories from childhood
A childhood that was good and bad
That's my brain
That's my mind
And when the rains have stopped
And the rushing waters have subsided
The sun will come out and make everything almost brand new
Bad memories will have gone
Or would be sunken somewhere far beyond
Then will I be free to be me
And my mind shall not be perturbed
poem by Mitzie Thorne
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The deluge
The crust of the world breaks open
and water gushes up
from below,
while heavy continual rain
pours down from above.
Lightning bolts roar menacing
flashing white blue
against a clouded black sky
and the sun is blocked off
and it’s like night.
The ark rises on water
which floods universally
causing havoc and catastrophe
and in tremendous winds
Noah steers the ship
to ride gigantic waves.
His massive arms
is rock solid on the wheel
while huge waves break
splashing him soaking wet
and the chill creeps in
right through to his bones,
but the biggest chill
is in his heart of humanity,
while he watches the rest
birds and animals die
and dead bodies drift
as far as his eyes can see.
Solid rain pours down for forty days
without end, winds howl in great intensity
and waves break and rock the ship
uncaring for its destiny
and it’s as if every lightning bolt
finds the ship
as the only thing available to bash down on.
Days and nights he watches
dark green water rising,
rushing, crushing and coiling out
and in the dark the wake at the stern
gleams white.
[Reference: Genesis 6-8.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Thirst
My spirit wails for water, water now!
My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot
For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough,
Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot.
My hungry body's burning for a swim
In sunlit water where the air is cool,
As in Trout Valley where upon a limb
The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool.
Oh water, water, when the night is done,
When day steals gray-white through the windowpane,
Clear silver water when I wake, alone,
All impotent of parts, of fevered brain;
Pure water from a forest fountain first,
To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst!
poem by Claude McKay
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My Love Is Like Ice
For my love is like ice
Put it in your armpit
It will melt
And make you wet
Put it in the coldness
of the freezer
in your ref
It will harden
And even crack
Put it under the
Sun and it will
Evaporate
Put me in your
Mouth and let
Me melt in your
Tongue
I become the water
drink me
To quench your
Thirst and i will
make You live
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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282
For my love is like ice
Put it in your armpit
It will melt
And make you wet
Put it in the coldness
of the freezer
in your ref
It will harden
And even crack
Put it under the
Sun and it will
Evaporate
Put me in your
Mouth and let
Me melt in your
Tongue
I become the water
drink me
To quench your
Thirst and i will
make You live
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Doors
I’ve closed all doors to you.
As you’ve let me down -
In so many ways…
So no hope, no love,
No warmth, no care.
The way you’ve taught me to be.
The way I’ve learned it from you.
The one door that remains open
Is the door of pain.
That gushes with memories
Hard to forget and harder
To live with.
Yet, I still do…
And endure them all.
No choice, I guess.
Some Karmas don’t leave you.
They say, if you have bad days
They are like bad Karmas…
Must have sinned so much in the past
To have deserved a 'pal' like you.
Anyway, the door of pain
Even if I want to close it.
Shut it down like a shutter of the mind.
It juts open to the gushes of
Thoughts, memories and feelings
That barge into it, and often break it.
I’ve tried mending it, repairing it,
Cementing it to a permanent closure.
But then some floods and hurricanes
Are so strong and enormous –
Violently disturbing! Lashing out with
Myriads of miseries….that the cemented door
Stands no ground, and crumbles down
Like a hay stack, and the pain is like
That elusive needle that is there, pricking me
Every now and then, and yet hard to pin-point.
Invisible in the infinite straws of distress.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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A Wounded Deer—leaps highest
165
A Wounded Deer—leaps highest—
I've heard the Hunter tell—
'Tis but the Ecstasy of death—
And then the Brake is still!
The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!
Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "you're hurt" exclaim!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Cool Tubrid Water
The day is warm and dust fly in the breeze
And a forecast high of 35 degrees
And to quench my thirst I would need a cold beer
For no water like cool Tubrid water here.
Near Daylesford there's a spring well I recall
And I drank some water from it in the Fall
Of that clear spring I now could drink my fill
And Tubrid water even better still.
The skylark comes to Tubrid's bubbling spring
To bathe and drink and then fly off to sing
And o'er the bogland in the morning sky
You hear him pipe his heartfelt notes of joy.
I often called to Tubrid seldom though in May
And not to kneel at the grotto to pray
But to drink the water cool and crystal clear
A drink far better for your health than beer.
The water from the tap don't taste so nice
Though it feels cooler with a cube of ice
I have drank far better near Daylesford last Fall
Though Tubrid water still the best of all.
The day is warm and dust fly in the breeze
And a forecast high of 35 degrees
And to quench my thirst I would need a cold beer
For no water like cool Tubrid water here.
poem by Francis Duggan
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