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How I Wish That We Become Friends

i have read your stories
and poems,
and then i wish we can be
friends
much is common between
us, and i want to tell you
that i am always a
part of those poems, and stories,
there is always a link
between us
categorically on the source
of sorrow, the spring of
hope
i have seen your trees
emptying leaves
birds shedding off flumes
i want to take a ride on your
bamboo raft
to go the place that i also
know

but you are a cloud
and i am a pebble
i gaze at you wanting to
hold you
in that moment but then
you are always gone
always leaving
not telling anymore
anyone
where to?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Short Poem Written At The Moment When A Rising River Looked Like A Rolling Ocean

I was stubborn by nature and addicted to perfect lines,
fought to the death to find words that startle.
Now in old age my poems flow out freely, the way
flowers and birds forget deep sorrow in spring.

A new water pavilion has been built for fishing with a rod.
I choose to use a bamboo raft instead of a boat.
If only my thoughts were guided by poets Tao and Xie,1
we'd travel and together write poems.

poem by Du Fu
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Poems About.

There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.

poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Welcome Stranger To Another World

it is almost dark when i arrive
at this place,
beside the cemented road
a garden of wilting flowers
petals are filled with dust
the trees along the way
towards a bungalow
are shedding off leaves,
sonorous, the place is getting
strange to me with its own
kind of quiet
the door of the house is half open
the swing on the side is not moving
the air is strong
and leaves begin to be flown away
i enter the door
dusting my shoes on the carpet
scarlet in hues
light is filtered by dark green curtains
i remain standing
and you are there waiting
for this final talk
it is strange for i feel
that i do not belong to this place
anymore
i am taking away all my stories
and a book of poems
there is only one thing
i like to say to you
we make an agreement
there will be no more elaborations
no justifications for our past actions
nothing hurting or unkind
we are tired of the pain

i am leaving.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dogs Of Drangonchester

The dogs of Dragonchester is a condo that sits by the Sea,
surounded by sand, tropical plants and palm trees.
Happy Dogs live at the Dragonchester for I have seen,
these dogs are special to their owners, they make them happy.
Inside this book is a collection of Dragonchester Dog poems,
you can read them at your leisure at night in your home.
Some poems might make you laugh, some poems might make you cry,
that is the observation of me the poet whose words I do scribe.
These poems you can pass along to your dear friends,
you can frame them if you like so you can read their words again.
Many wishes to the dog owners and a cheer to their pets,
many more stories to make into Dragonchester Dog poems still yet.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on December 22,2011

poem by Christina Sunrise
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The Dogs Of Drangonchester

THE DOGS OF DRANGONCHESTER
The dogs of Dragonchester is a condo that sits by the Sea,
surounded by sand, tropical plants and palm trees.
Happy Dogs live at the Dragonchester for I have seen,
these dogs are special to their owners, they make them happy.
Inside this book is a collection of Dragonchester Dog poems,
you can read them at your leisure at night in your home.
Some poems might make you laugh, some poems might make you cry,
that is the observation of me the poet whose words I do scribe.
These poems you can pass along to your dear friends,
you can frame them if you like so you can read their words again.
Many wishes to the dog owners and a cheer to their pets,
many more stories to make into Dragonchester Dog poems still yet.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on December 22,2011

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Somewhere In The Middle Of This Journey

somewhere in the middle of this journey
is the chaos of our presence
we like to dislodge and vomit of this
nostalgia of where we come from
we like to go back to the womb
and regret having grown our legs

we blame the hands of the midwife
we want to pinpoint who slapped us
we like to hear the sound of vengeance
of our first cries

did we cry for help? did i cry because
i never asked to be put here?
or did i cry because i am just making a lot of nonsense
about my innocence about despair?

i get some names of fathers and mothers and siblings
i write them on a page of a book and i ask what if they were not there

what could have been? what could i be part of?
i shout, i am an individual, i am not a part of this relating places
i am not a connection of the branches and roots

i stretch my hands wanting to touch and get hold of a rope
there is nothing there to put my neck in shame.

we get some comfort to the miseries of others.
we become brave from the stories of their sorrows and misfortunes.
we read the stories and the poems of those who know what is wrong.
what is pain, what is so distressing.

soon we learn this game. This art of shrugging our shoulders and then
putting the payment on the table, not drinking the glass of beer.
Leaving the table and not saying any word at all. And this we tell ourselves,

i am courageous. I am silent. I grow alone. I die alone. I am beautiful.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My poems are stored

My poems are stored
In a funeral box
Kept beside the bed
They go unread
Similar objects are kept
Locked in my heart and head
They go unread
The habitation of my poems
Is bonded red
They go unread
All poems are offerings
To the god that can not read
For poems are only human
Made things
The bees do not care for them
Neither does the birds
Or the trees with better
Things to do then
Take note of them.

poem by David E. Patton
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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem

I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM

I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –

We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written

The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa

poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Child's Game

the games that you play
are the same games that i am playing

writing poems
watching movies
reading stories
reading poems
taking the night
out with not so
close friends
enjoying the
music at the bar
some beer and
some barbecue
a little laughter
some pretenses
some truths to
tell sometimes
going home late
and wanting some
sleep till noon,

what is it that i am doing?
i am hiding from misery
this program on pain reduction
this art of losing and finding
and losing till it hurts no more

these children games
of hide and seek
breaking up and
becoming friends again
in such a short
time

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Have Read Many Poems I Know I Never Could Have Written

I have read many poems I know I never could have written
Poems whose language was far richer and more remarkable than mine
Poems that saw as I cannot see and sounded as I cannot sound
Poems of magnificent music and many hidden meanings
I have read many poems greater than those I could ever write
And have been humbled and saddened and inspired by them
Out there somewhere else
There have been real poets
And I in my own little lines
Love and respect them.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems are part of me

Poems are part of me, until
I become part of them.
I have to write, what I hear, see and feel.

When poems are written, the world shall stop
and listen to what was said,
as a poet, I hope it's not a flop.

When ever I die, the poem will live on,
always read, always praised,
long after I'm gone.

poem by Jim Foulk
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A Poet's Song

~♥ ♥ ♥ ~

I have read
Works of great men and women
Simple poems and stories
I also have written
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I love poetries
So too are stories
They are simple daisies
Filling my fantasies
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

It is my refuge
When in sorrow
My hopes and dreams
In my unknown tomorrow
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I am a poetess
With the dream of sharing
And with my knowledge and skills
Tomorrow, my dreams I will be fulfilling
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I and my works
May never be great
But I will never lose hope
In God, I place my faith
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I will never surrender to failure
I shall never retire until I reach my goal
I will read and write literature
I will hear the cry of my hoping soul
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

~♥ ♥ ♥ ~

poem by Belleza Edella Marian SwanCullen
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Poems

Memories are like seasons,
Come spring they are refreshed again and again,
You say, poems are just poems!
But no dearest one,
My poems…
Are reflections of my deepest feelings,
My garden paradise,
Where beautiful birds cheerfully sing and play,
My daily place of recluse and solace,
My crafted dreams,
To momentarily taste your refreshing sweetness,
And feel your presence, close!

poem by Desert Life
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On Fridays he’d open a six-pack of beer

On Fridays he’d open a six-pack of beer,
after coming home
would tear the wrapping from them,
and sit on the porch with his white vest
stretching over his huge chest
and there were distant thoughts in his eyes,
long forgotten memories coming back,
sweat running down his face and cheeks

and the foam of icy Castle Lager was on his lips
and the silence had a funny way
of talking to me,
telling things about heartache, chances lost,
while he was trying to chill out

and the man in vest and shorts
drinking his bear on the porch,
I couldn’t really comprehend
and the blue tattoos on his arms
told their own stories
of a converted hippie, a man converted
to the responsibilities of life,

and he was convinced
that my stories, my poems
would not lead anywhere
and I saw a man
who had lost
the words, the poems
that he once wrote

and he watched the setting sun,
the awakening stars
trying to catch the magic
of the moment.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Storyteller Poet

I would like to say I am a storyteller foremost,
my poems are stories, like the Poem about the Ghost.
My 'People' poems are a happy story,
poems are never sad, mean or gory.
'Peeve' poems where written when I was mad,
I couldn’t express it to people who made me sad.
Now 'Pet' poems are always happy, funny or cute,
some make you cry or laugh like a hoot.
Now I want to write like C.S. Elliot one day,
maybe before I’m old and grey.
My initials are C.S. or S.C. Suzae or Sue,
one day poets will copy my storytelling poetry style too.

Written By Suzae Chevalier on January 20,2012
www.suechevalier.com www.melodiememories.com

poem by Christina Sunrise
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An Evening Poem

AN EVENING POEM

An evening poem
Waits for deeper darkness
A night poem knows blackness
As home.
A morning poem is light
An afternoon poem is thick with heat.

All times have a poem
And all seasons poems also
All lives are poems
And all stories also.

We all are and all know poems
Poems pervade us
And the universe.

It is night now
But when the morning comes
Its poem will overshadow now.

What a brave new world it is
With so many poems in it
And what a life-
With such deep sadness
Waiting forever to be unexpressed.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Storytelling Poet

I would like to say I am a storyteller foremost,
my poems are stories, like the Poem about the Ghost.
My 'People' poems are a happy story,
poems are never sad, mean or gory.
'Peeve' poems where written when I was mad,
I couldn't express it to people who made me sad.
Now 'Pet' poems are always happy, funny or cute,
some make you cry or laugh like a hoot.
Now I want to write like C.S. Elliot one day,
maybe before I'm old and grey.
My initials are C.S. or S.C. Suzae or Sue,
one day poets will copy my storytelling poetry style too.

Written By Suzae Chevalier on January 20,2012
www.suechevalier.com www.melodiememories.com

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Dear Friend

i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,

i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests

and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence

as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)

there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,

please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:

write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh The Poems And More Poems

OH THE POEMS AND THE MORE POEMS

Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems I am writing all the time
God has given me this gift
And when I wait in the right way
And when I listen to myself properly
The poems come in ways I could never have thought of or imagined before
They come as mysteries as gifts as surprises
As wonderful to me as perhaps to you their possible readers
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems God has given me
And the light of this day and so many other days, also.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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