I Hope I Am Just Like You
i know
that you will be reading this.
This is thinking about man's capacity to quit.
TO dismiss what he grows inside his heart.
He was talking about the stalk of the fruit.
His end like the sap. The white sap
of the stain of the stalk of the fruit
the banana stalk giving off the
white sap from its stalk
cut off by the sharp bolo
when it ripens
he is talking about the mouth
and the last spit of the saliva
rabid. The dog finally goes off the street
and bites everybody.
I am bitten. And i have no last word to say.
There is no reason to quit.
everything ends. There is such thing as
a natural death.
soon it will come. I am waiting.
I try to tell you that there will be an end to this.
It is obvious. Too obvious. Like sunlight
to my forehead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Realization Of Two Things
a bud is better
seen on top of its stalk
even when it has
already bloomed
completely
it is still nicer to
see the flower stuck
on its stalk
even if it has already
wilted
it is still nicer to see
it on its stalk
even when the stalk is gone
the flower is still there
and it is nicer still
to imagine it
untouched by any human
hand
only nature
only nature has the power
to take it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It...
IT IS everyday
like everything that you do: waking up
washing the face
brushing the teeth
combing the hair
defecating on the
throne
in the comfort room
taking breakfast
reading the news
watching tv
waiting and going
and coming back
on the table
searching for words
to mark your day
above all those
rantings
take the cure: write, write,
write
they follow you and
read and say something
about you
perhaps it will matter
that your existence
is being confirmed
by all
you too stalk as they
stalk you
it is fair then.
They are your ITs
And you are their
It too.
but actually it would have been
a better world
if we did not write at all.
simply because
we have chosen the
right course:
talking.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The immature rice stalk stands erect, while the mature stalk, heavy with grain, bends over.
Deftly Running
Running from life
trying to keep up
with the Lord
of death.
Waiting for
a line to grab
a hold of
deftly,
stealthily,
I stalk death
waiting
for the appropriate
time to grab it
by the tail
Death cannot see
nor can it hear
but it can feel
It can feel breaths,
presences,
and people
behind it
so to stalk death
one must
be fearless
and one must
be sneaky
and fast
So I am deftly
running after
death
The flower and the girl
The flower blossoms with the sun,
Flirts with the bee and bears
Pollen grains of some other stalk.
The girl befriends the brave,
Woos the cute and is settled
With a boy of her stalk elsewhere.
04.12.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Corn-Stalk Fiddle
WHEN the corn's all cut and the bright stalks shine
Like the burnished spears of a field of gold;
When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,
And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;
Then it's heigh-ho! fellows and hi-diddle-diddle,
For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle.
And when you take a stalk that is straight and long,
With an expert eye to its worthy points,
And you think of the bubbling strains of song
That are bound between its pithy joints —
Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle,
With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle.
Then the strains that grow as you draw the bow
O'er the yielding strings with a practiced hand!
And the music's flow never loud but low
Is the concert note of a fairy band.
Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddle
To the simple sweets of a corn-stalk fiddle.
When the eve comes on, and our work is done,
And the sun drops down with a tender glance,
With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun,
Come the neighbor girls for the evening's dance,
And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle —
More time than tune — from the corn-stalk fiddle.
Then brother Jabez takes the bow,
While Ned stands off with Susan Bland,
Then Henry stops by Milly Snow,
And John takes Nellie Jones's hand,
While I pair off with Mandy Biddle,
And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle.
'Salute your partners,' comes the call,
'All join hands and circle round,'
'Grand train back,' and 'Balance all,'
Footsteps lightly spurn the ground.
'Take your lady and balance down the middle'
To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle.
So the night goes on and the dance is o'er,
And the merry girls are homeward gone,
But I see it all in my sleep once more,
And I dream till the very break of dawn
Of an impish dance on a red-hot griddle
To the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Fruit Tree
Fame is but a fruit tree
So very unsound.
It can never flourish
Till its stalk is in the ground.
So men of fame
Can never find a way
Till time has flown
Far from their dying day.
Forgotten while youre here
Remembered for a while
A much updated ruin
From a much outdated style.
Life is but a memory
Happened long ago.
Theatre full of sadness
For a long forgotten show.
Seems so easy
Just to let it go on by
Till you stop and wonder
Why you never wondered why.
Safe in the womb
Of an everlasting night
You find the darkness can
Give the brightest light.
Safe in your place deep in the earth
Thats when theyll know what you were really worth.
Forgotten while youre here
Remembered for a while
A much updated ruin
From a much outdated style.
Fame is but a fruit tree
So very unsound.
It can never flourish
Till its stalk is in the ground.
So men of fame
Can never find a way
Till time has flown
Far from their dying day.
Fruit tree, fruit tree
No-one knows you but the rain and the air.
Dont you worry
Theyll stand and stare when youre gone.
Fruit tree, fruit tree
Open your eyes to another year.
Theyll all know
That you were here when youre gone.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is The Details, Be Aware, And Then Be Creative
he could not believe you
when you enumerated all the parts of the flower
what he meant perhaps was only a petal
how it smells at six o'cock in the evening
when you are with him but you said, in all completer
scientific details as follows:
the flower is made of its:
1.Petals are used to attract insects into the flower,
they may have guidelines on them and be scented.
2.Stigma Is covered in a sticky substance that the pollen grains will adhere to.
3. The style raises the stigma away from the Ovary to decrease the likelihood of pollen contamination. It varies in length.
4.Ovary This protects the ovule and once fertilisation has taken place it will become the fruit.
5. The Ovule is like the egg in animals and once fertilisation has taken place will become the seed.
6.Receptacle This is the flower's attachment to the stalk and in some cases becomes part of the fruit after fertilisation e.g. strawberry.
7.Flower stalk Gives support to the flower and elevates the flower for the insects.
8.Nectary This is where a sugary solution called nectar is held to attract insects.
9.Sepal Sepals protect the flower whilst the flower is developing from a bud.
10.Filament This is the stalk of the Anther.
11.Anther The Anthers contain pollen sacs. The sacs release pollen on to the outside of the anthers that brush against insects on entering the flowers. The pollen once deposited on the insect is transferred to the stigma of another flower or the same flower. The ovule is then able to be fertilised.
he could have been sad. He wants the poetic sense of things
not the scientific, realistic approach
to something, like a flower,
the symbol of his love for you.
You busy yourself, without feelings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blessed Persistence
i changed my mind
and looked no better
hard of hart blind blind to his higher art
my frustration
my anger in disguise i slip under
i slip under quiet
he spots me anyhow
chalk up my name
you burn my bridges for me
to a dry and clackin stalk
i swallow stone
they do not recognize inside with them
the locust has no king
just noise and hard language
they talk me over but i fade slower
on fever
blessed persistence right under my skin
blessed persistence
blessed persistence right under my skin
you burn my bridges for me
to a dry and clackin stalk
blessed persistence
nothing comes to mind
nothing comes to mind
nothing comes to mind
nothing comes to mind
hey chalk up my name
right under your skin
to a dry and clackin stalk
nothing comes
nothing comes to mind
nothing comes
nothing comes to mind
nothing comes to mind
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like The Jackfruit
like the jackfruit you wait for the season
when you become ripe
and when it comes you exude the scent
of the sweet one
and then you are removed from your stalk
and then they tap with their hands your body
and smell you with their noses
kissing you and hugging you and then
they cut you to slices and then they eat every chunk of you
meanwhile some saps flow from the stalk where you were taken
they fall dropp by drop
they do not stop until the night is over
each dropp is a poem coming from your hands
on that ripe season, your own time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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S[t]alking Mirror Sestina - CV in hand
CV in hand through contest I would stalk,
ILLEgitimate undertaking I admit,
Lightly through the rhyme scheme let me walk,
I subtle sense within sestina fit,
Stalking pseudo is not hard to talk,
Away for those with golden goblet lit
CV of charming nymph will o’ wisp lit
ILLEgible to most seems simple stalk,
Lightly pen traces, hears the table talk,
I see the comments – praises all admit,
Stalking may be fun - together fit,
Away from prying eyes will life-lines walk.
CV few APe, divine, her verse I’d walk
ILLEgal act for gaol or goal bright lit?
Lightly linking her name to my fit
I root acrostic in sestina stalk,
Stalking talking balking not – admit,
Away with critics and their jealous talk.
CV masks beauty more than my trite talk.
ILLEcebrous attractive and alluring walk,
Lightly stroking peerless miss admit,
I find no other muse as charming lit,
Stalk king if she queen Stork to nest add stalk
A way I’d find to offer homage fit.
CV seems perfect. Could another fit?
ILLEcebrum around swan neck would talk
Lightly of love I bear for stem and stalk,
I cannot stem, so, in pursuit I walk,
Stalking close by inspiration lit,
Away she’ll never slip all must admit.
CV in hand my errors I’ll admit
ILLEist I’m never, should hat fit,
Lightly I’d wear it, with her smile love-lit,
I vaunt her emblem, on none else would talk,
Stalking kitten purring I, cat, walk,
Away from idols past – she bloom, I stalk!
All here admit one Muse should stalk,
a perfect fit, eyes lovely lit,
Her praise I talk, with trophy walk.
.............................
Her praise I talk, with trophy walk,
a perfect fit, eyes lovely lit,
all here admit one Muse should stalk.
Away from idols past – she bloom, I stalk!
Stalking kitten purring, I, cat, walk,
I vaunt her emblem, on none else would talk,
Lightly I’d wear it, with her smile love-lit,
ILLEist I’m never, should hat fit,
CV in hand my errors I’ll admit.
Away she’ll never slip all must admit.
Stalking close by inspiration lit,
I cannot stem, so, in pursuit I walk,
Lightly of love I bear for stem and stalk,
ILLEcebrum around swan neck would talk.
CV seems perfect. Could another fit?
A way I’d find to offer homage fit.
Stalk king if she queen Stork to nest add stalk,
I find no other muse as charming lit,
Lightly stroking peerless miss admit,
ILLEcebrous attractive and alluring walk,
CV masks beauty more than my trite talk.
Away with critics and their jealous talk.
Stalking, talking, balking not, – admit
I root acrostic in sestina stalk,
Lightly linking her name to my fit.
ILLEgal act for gaol or goal bright lit?
CV few APe, divine, her verse I’d walk.
Away from prying eyes will life-lines walk -
Stalking may be fun - together fit.
I see the comments – praises all admit.
Lightly pen traces, hears the table talk,
ILLEgible to most seems simple stalk.
CV of charming nymph will o’ wisp lit.
Away for those with golden goblet lit.
Stalking pseudo is not hard to talk,
I subtle sense within sestina fit,
Lightly through the rhyme scheme let me walk,
ILLEgitimate undertaking I admit.
CV in hand through contest I would stalk.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Phenomenology Of Giving
when you give you give because your heart likes it
your abundance flows from a container filled with so much
you give because having so much is also painful
the tree with many fruits too ripe for the season
gives them all away to the ground
the passers-by shall pick them
and have their thirst and hunger satisfied
the tree gives because there is no more reason for holding
the stalk gives up the weight that it is carrying
the tree has to shed leaves for another cycle
when the picker comes, the tree does not ask who is it
or for the reason why, whether it deserves it
it merely lets go every fruit
lest it be its own burden
for in truth giving away is also a form of relief
a cure of our maladies for greed,
a way of unloading our guilt
a way of erasing our avarice,
the final end to our disgrace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Power Of Repetitions
repetitions, you say are
reinforcements, a promise that
there shall be no forgetting between the stalk and the leaf
once upon a tree.
there is this river that runs through us
and i am at the other side of the bank
you do not see me
alone, am i as usual without the song
i gaze upon the leaf and the stalk
i cut across barks
i rub the knife and sculpt the pain
reshaping it for something so practical and
useful
like a statue of the town god
that i everyday
worship purposely to erase the pain
to numb the nerves
of my being, alone, am i,
in the repetitions, i have learned how to live
and then scribble
on those surfaces
debarked and cleaned.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Does Not Talk
She does not talk
To me any more
And does not look
At me
Just
Strolls about
All day long
With downcast eyes.
Today
I saw her
In the sunshine
Crouching
As only she can
With gentle hands
Touching
A flower stalk
And talking
To the petals.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Pain is a plenty harried thing
Pain is a plenty harried thing,
It too is in plentiful pain.
Pain too prays for reprieve from the Lord,
It too wishes for a merciful end;
Pain has pained itself with the painful realization,
That it is the root of the cause of the source of all pain;
That is why pain is a plenty harried thing,
For it too is in plentiful pain.
Pain is a plenty harried thing,
It too hopes that the morrow starts at leisure
And that maybe it could rise (one day) from within itself
And become its prodigal brother: Pleasure.
We blame pain, we hate pain but we all go seeking it,
Pain doesn’t stalk us, we stalk pain;
If it wasn’t for us, Pain would yet be an unknown hermit,
For it too is in plentiful pain.
Pain is a plenty harried thing,
It too gazes into the stars and watches the days go by without reform;
Pain grieves for the pain it feels deep inside,
Pain too struggles against exploit and harm.
Pain is the seedling of the plant of the tree,
Of Life, which is nothing without this pain;
And I do not crave Pain and it does not crave me,
For it too is in plentiful pain.
poem by Samah Khan
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Pacific
i do not belong to anyone
nor to
any place
i am always unattached
not because of
fear
that i may weep and wallow in grief
when i am finally detached
like an umbilical cord
cut and blood flows like
water in the faucet
i am no
bark to a tree
or leaf to
a stalk
i am no flower
that blooms one day
and wilt
upon the setting sun
you must understand
i like it here inside my heart
i am alone
in this secret dwelling
peaceful and calm
like
the pacific ocean
in a saucer
of white porcelain
i say loneliness is not
my cup of tea
i am my self's best friend
and we can both take a walk and talk
all night long
without you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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cluster of star-like flowers white
from edge of leaf-stalk
‘Star of Bethlehem’
quote by by John Celes
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The Light In The Tigers Eyes
Sometime I cannot imagine the difference
Between you and the blackest night
You know those nights when only tigers stalk
And lie waiting for the sound of your breath
The faintest reflecting backlight is in their eyes
So I can only say one thing in your defence
You have laid with tigers
You have their scent
You know how they stalk and what they sense
I do not
And so I am terrified to lay in the thicket
And wait
---------
Have you seen a tigers foot
Stare at it soft and silent
Able to tread with no sound
On the leaf strewn floor of its jungleI
It can kill quickly without fuss and song
Except of course for its victims
Noises of dying
On a dark night I am scared
Of you in the same way
You with that tigers breath
And stealth that terrifies me so
Please I will beg
Please don't
---------
Growls snarls and ferocity
Are just conversation
To you and the tiger
Your cigar at the end of dinner
Your confidence in terrifying
The bridle you have on me
My fear is the peg
Your look is the rope
Attached to my collar
Staking me out
To wait
In the silenced black night
To wait
For you and the tiger
To pounce
poem by Geoffrey Fafard
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Endless verse of a nameless flora:
A lonely lovely girl was Standing at her breeze filled balcony,
her adorable heart was admiring the quiet moon in harmony,
a golden yellowish nameless flower fell on her feet,
the sweet perfume of the fallen flower blended with that chill breeze,
while she tried to hold the flower the petals they fell one by one,
she was holding just the stalk that was left alone,
tear drops that escaped from her eyes fell one by one like the petals,
she was holding someone's sweet memories like the stalk.
The moon wished that her love should blend with her love like the perfume in the air.
poem by Vimal Kumar N
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The Southside Of Town
First day of June and the wind is cold
Blow away oh i a
And it’s lay down and die or go on the dole
Blow away oh i a
Hung around, hung around
As long as I could allow
In the morning I'll be bound
From the southside of town
First day of June, my cuff is tore
Blow away oh i a
And I can’t stay here anymore
Blow away oh i a
Fields of brown, fields of brown
And there’s rust on the plough
In the morning I’ll be bound
From the southside of town
Fare ye well, pale Mary
With the alders in your rocks
I'll be damned if I'm left stranded here
Crumbling with the docks
Stalk the ground, stalk the ground
And there’s not a thing around
The rain is coming down
On the southside of town
poem by Patrick O'Reilly
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