Impending
it was a horrible scene
of a drying river bed
where a school of
fish surrender
to their waterless state
grasping for breath
to an impending death
there is no sign of a dark
cloud's hands to help
the eye of the sun stared
their bodies hang
on the air that they do not need
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Great Dive
they were talking about the dive
the older woman who talked about it before
had already been duly rewarded
oh, she was grasping for breath
she almost died
people always love to talk about grasping
for breath
a situation where one almost dies
hands grappling for anything be it a shadow
of a coral or even a yellow finned fish
some however do not help one to rise and live
but they bite and make you bleed
inspiring the sharks
we all undergo this great dive
into the dark blue depths
into the blackness that we have never been too
but we have the feeling
we know
honestly i have been there
i am not rewarded at all
i do not expect anything anyway
and i personally do not want to talk about it
never.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Met Death
I was waiting, watching one day
When Death came along, looking
As if there was something he wanted to say
His hair was as black as the sky at night
And in the wind it blew like smoke
He had come a long way in his worn black cloak
So I invited him in and I did say
If you’d like to you can stay
But Death said:
“I’m only passing through
For the clock’s hands they say
They are ticking the seconds of my life away”
And I answered,
Thinking I’d misunderstood
As Death’s dark black eye gleamed under his dark black hood
“If your Death, how can you die? ”
You see, Death didn’t seem the kind to lie.
And Death wasn’t phased at all,
“No longer Death I may become,
Or so says He if I don’t complete
The most horrible, horrible, feat.
“The most horrible feat? ”
I had to say
Could it be so horrible,
That Death couldn’t say?
“Death, ” said Death, “is the horrible feat.”
And then he faded away, like smoke into the blue, blue sky
But I think, before he left, I might have seen him cry.
I had never in my life, seen Death again
Until the night I stood outside in the rain
When he said, “I’m sorry miss, but this is good bye.”
And I found out what it’s like to die.
So we went, and parted, to each our own way,
But one more time I want to heard Death say, “I’m sorry miss, -“
Marking the end of the day
poem by Jinny Tikanus
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A River Poem
Inside the river are
the sky, the cloud, and the sun.
In my hands’ bowl is the river.
If I throw up my hands,
the river spills in drops, scattering
sky, cloud, and sun all o’er me.
From my hands’ bowl, if I drink
the river, then within me,
the sun, the cloud, and the sky.
Tell me, who is in who?
poem by Mamta G.Sagar
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Ruined By Love
Ruined by love
Ruined by devotion
Ruined by surrender
Ruined by sweetkiss
Ruined by hugfish.
In the light see the dark
See the sky in the earth.
Stone is disappearing
Blood is transforming
Knowledge is blaming.
Waterless river no use
Lightless sun no use
Airless tornado no use
Skyless earth no use
Earthless sky no use.
Useful everything
With eachother
Corelate cooperate
Cohabitate timely
Simultaneously.
Hate and love
War and peace
Both originate
Both vanish with
Dark and light.
Dark and light
Is in our imagination
No body is there for
Modification.
Life is a relation
In love and
In devotion.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Emo Genocide
We lie motionless on the cold wet ground
Hands bound behind our back blindfolds over our eyes
Left to rot out bodies never to be found
Just because we where the ones to question your lies
Our hair covers our now blood stained blindfolds
Clean crisp bullet holes mark each of our foreheads
Murdered because of our choice not to follow the rules of old
Now thousands of us are hiding or are already dead
We've been targeted like Jehovah's Witnesses during the holocaust
I watched so many old friends led to there impending death
Every single one of us refuse to change even if our lives are lost
Even if tomorrow we may breath out last breath
Even if all of us are killed we'll never truly die
Because there will still be girls and boys just like us
Who will one day challenge you and expose all of your lies
And those select few will fight to the death
You'll never be able to truly stamp us out
The thought's we've instilled will never die
It's a losing battle and you'll lose without a doubt
People will all know of your disgusting lie
poem by Patrick Shields
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Where Is the Real Non-Resistant
(Matthew V, 38-48.)
Who can surrender to Christ, dividing his best with the stranger,
Giving to each what he asks, braving the uttermost danger
All for the enemy, MAN? Who can surrender till death
His words and his works, his house and his lands,
His eyes and his heart and his breath?
Who can surrender to Christ? Many have yearned toward it daily.
Yet they surrender to passion, wildly or grimly or gaily;
Yet they surrender to pride, counting her precious and queenly;
Yet they surrender to knowledge, preening their feathers serenely.
Who can surrender to Christ? Where is the man so transcendent,
So heated with love of his kind, so filled with the spirit resplendent
That all of the hours of his day his song is thrilling and tender,
And all of his thoughts to our white cause of peace
Surrender, surrender, surrender?
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Anim
I was born by the river and l live by this river,
For at the age of five i fell in love to the river.
I was married at the age of fifteen to a fisherman,
And i've never been to school before;
But my only education is with this river.
The name of my husband is Anim and,
We live by this river;
For my birth and life are all based by this river!
But today, i am old with my children born on this river.
At dawn i go out with my canoe to catch some fish,
And i have a hook to catch some fish at daylight as well;
For this river had been my life ever since.
My husband is a fisherman and,
I was married to him at fifiteen;
And we've lived all our lives on this river.
This is my home and homw of my children,
This is my way of life and of the people around me,
For this river is all that i know in this world.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Get Off Of My Cloud
(mick jagger and keith richards)
I live in an apartment on the ninety-ninth floor of my block
And I sit at home looking out the window
Imagining the world has stopped
Then in flies a guy whos all dressed up like a union jack
And says, Ive won five pounds if I have his kind of detergent pack
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud baby
The telephone is ringing,
I say, hi, its me. who is it there on the line?
A voice says, hi, hello, how are you?
Well, I guess Im doin fine
He says, its three a.m., theres too much noise
Dont you people ever wanna go to bed?
Just cause you feel so good, do you have
To drive me out of my head?
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud baby
I was sick and tired, fed up with this,
And decided to take a drive downtown
It was so very quiet and peaceful
There was nobody, not a soul around
I laid myself out, I was so tired and I started to dream
In the morning the parking tickets were just like
A flag stuck on my window screen
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Raging Spring
Siblings
will take care of the morgue.
I am going to hang my god
today. Howling winds
are crashing into my breath.
In the sea
of flags, the white death walks on
naked bodies of faith. Innocence
will take a back seat
listening to the roaring assault
of blues.
Was it a hymn to drink
the religion of rage?
The men sitting in the glass vases
worshiping the rising sun in awe
with folded hands.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Landau
The winter fogs roll in from the Thames
While frost forms up on the eaves,
The damp will settle in aching bones,
While the trees are bereft of leaves;
The streets were stark in the old East End
A footfall echoed and died,
And nights when the homes were shuttered in
They listened to wheels outside.
A Landau, black as the devil's sin
And drawn by a single horse,
Rolled slowly up to The Black Dog Inn
By the side of the watercourse,
When out there came from the bawdy house
In black from her head to tail,
A dollymop with a nosegay,
Wearing a bonnet, black, with a veil.
She'd climb up into the Landau while
The coachman, clad in a cloak,
Would give one flick with the reins,
And pull on the bit ‘til the horse had choked,
He'd take them off with a clatter
Wheels a-rattle on cobblestones,
His eyes agleam like a demon
While he whipped the horse to the bone.
The horse's hooves on the cobbles
Warned ahead through the fog and mist,
As people cowered in doorways
Shouted a curse as the Landau passed,
They followed the glow of the gaslamps
Shedding their weak and feeble light,
And raced by the mighty river
Into the dark of the endless night.
They came to a halt at Wapping
Down where the river cast its spawn,
The bodies of dead and drowned who'd
Cursed their mothers for being born,
And hung on poles at the river's edge
Was another terrible sight,
The bodies of sailor mutineers
That swung in their chains at night.
Hung on the Tyburn gallows
Then cut down and shackled again,
The bodies were coated with tallow
For a post mortem hanging in chain,
They'd bind them up with a winding cloth
Then coat them again in tar,
Hang them in chains at the riverside
‘Til their dust blew near and far.
The woman climbed out of the Landau
Took one look, and fell to her knees,
Her lover hung gently swaying,
Swaying in time to the river breeze,
His eyes stared out from the candle wax
And his mouth was shaped in an ‘Oh! '
He seemed to be saying, ‘Goodbye, my love;
What a terrible way to go! '
She wept like a woman demented,
Seized his legs, and pulled to her breast,
Clung to his swinging figure
Moaned like a creature, quite obsessed,
She tried transferring her warmth to him
But his cold was the cold of death,
And his eyes stared straight ahead of him
No thoughts, no love, no breath!
She climbed back into the Landau
As the coachman whipped it away,
And often at night they hear it go,
Those folks down Wapping way,
They say it spattered a stream of blood
On the road as it raced on by,
From the dollymop who'd slashed her throat
And lay in the coach to die.
And when there's a mighty river fog
In the winter, down by the Thames,
They sit in the Inn they call Black Dog
And they drink to the health of friends,
They drink to the ones who've gone before
As they hear the wheels outside,
And hold their breath at the emptiness
As the door is opened wide!
22 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Loneliness Of A Fisherman Of Ideas....
you fish at night
the moon is fading
it is when the night
is so dark
that you see the realities
of fish
squids having neon lights
around its body
a school of fish
appears like a diamond
city
you fish alone
in the deepest part of the ocean
where all the stars
have all gone into hiding
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Agusan marshlands from the lens of Elvi
Crystal clear river not a ripple from your hands
You are inside this boat of art
Sailing on the belly of this peaceful Agusan river
Where the sun and earth meet and become one
In the mirror of their likeness
The dark islands the dark trees
Mirror on the smooth water as you take the pictures
Of this manner of capturing the beauty
Of peace and tranquility
On the background is a native hurling his nets
On a boat his thin child
The river turns to murky brown
The fish swim away in hiding
Disturbed by their hunger
The poverty that grips their bodies
Their souls thirsty for the beauty that they cannot see
Your lens disregarded what should have been more true & real
Overshadowed by your quest to capture
What is not there
I am looking at the background beyond the mirror
On a closer look the native has angry eyes
Red with fury but then the night comes
And your lens was not sensitive enough
The truth was not exposed
Only the man and his boy felt it
In darkness they are the only ones fully seeing
Your boat leaves without saying anything
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Dream Of The Flesh
we are in the river
naked
our bodies meet
like
one body
missing
another body
and the river
becomes
one warm
water
trickling down
our two bodies
body to body
flesh to flesh
hands
to hands and
arms entwine
like some
chains of
daisies
to our necks
this oneness
that we
finally make
eyes to eyes
closing
and lips to lips
searching
tongues
we dare
search
our souls
if they
are there
too
in this
fusion
for the
meantime
we have no time
to ask
the river
has no name
even
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unfinished Quest
this is the unfinished quest
always
this is the search for meaning
forever
a grain of sand
a petal
a cloud and the wind
looking for destinations unceasingly
day by day
a revolution of years and scores
every pebble speaks
and we listen
even inside a dream when i see a river
and when i undress myself and go naked
when i plunge myself
and find nothing but filled space
and water everywhere
asphyxiated
i rise again to an atmosphere of air
grasping for breath
always
looking for something that must last forever
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
Death of Dusk
The sun resigns,
bleeds out the vestiges –
remnants of the day.
Exsanguination edges into twilight:
red-brown hangs;
upwards darkens:
blue-brown,
blue-black,
death-black,
disquiet – furtive,
like ghoul-ridden fog.
A sombre moon assumes its role,
gushing silver-white lymph upon the muted scape –
a prequel of supernatural undertones
to chill the scene,
ice the spine,
kill the brain –
we have unnerved the very firmament.
But now a shadow closing down the globe:
dinosaurian cloud shrouds the moon glaze,
claims the late hour –
declared in a dying crow caw.
I, the hidden owl
– nemesis of claustrophobic minds –
awake! for mammal flesh –
fresh, jerking out its warmth in dance of death.
Rock-still I perch in sculptured oneness
with my crooked night-tree,
emanating nocturnal allure.
Together we scowl
together we play the dark
upon the land and sky
and mind
while you lie as dead in your box.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Japanese Fisherman
A young Japanese fisherman was killed
by a cloud at sea.
I heard this song from his friends,
one lurid yellow evening on the Pacific.
Those who eat the fish we caught, die.
Those who touch our hands, die,
This ship is a black coffin,
you'll die if you come up the gangplank.
Those who eat the fish we caught, die,
not straight away, but slowly,
slowly their flesh rots, falls off.
Those who eat the fish we caught, die.
Those who touch our hands, die.
Our loyal, hardworking hands
washed by salt and sun.
Those who touch our hands, die,
not straight away, but slowly,
slowly their flesh rots, falls off.
Those who touch our hands, die.
Almond Eyes, forget me.
This ship is a black coffin,
you'll die if you come up the gangplank.
The cloud has passed over us.
Almond Eyes, forget me.
Don't hug me my darling,
you'll catch death from me.
Almond Eyes, forget me.
This ship is a black coffin.
Almond Eyes, forget me.
The child you have from me
will be rotten from a rotten egg.
This ship is a black coffin.
This sea is a dead sea.
Human beings, where are you?
Where are you?
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Surrender
Will you tell me
All your secrets
Could you really be sincere
Whisper all your inhibitions
The things you most fear
Dont turn away
I want to get to know you in the worst, worst way
Come back baby come back
Come back baby come back
Come back baby come back
Surrender su-su-surrender to me
Surrender su-su-su-su-surrender
Surrender su-su-surrender to me
Surrender su-su-su-su-surrender
Will you show me
All your treasures
That wich is most near and dear
Share with me your
Prized possessions
Not just some souvenirs
Dont be afraid
A little tiny bit can go a long long way
Come back baby come back
Come back baby come back
Come back baby come back
Surrender su-su-surrender to me
Surrender su-su-su-su-surrender
Surrender su-su-surrender to me
Surrender su-su-su-su-surrender
Babe I love you cant you see
Baby tell me haow you feel about me
Do you want me
Do you need me
Baby tell me honestly
Do you want my
Love forever or temporarily
Youve got the key
So open up your heart and
Be my destiny
Come back baby come back
Come back baby come back
Surrender su-su-surrender to me
Surrender su-su-su-su-surrender
Surrender su-su-surrender to me
Surrender su-su-su-su-surrender
Surrender su-su-surrender to me
Surrender su-su-su-su-surrender
Surrender su-su-surrender to me
Surrender su-su-su-su-surrender
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Confused
i was walking
along a busy road
of this village
where the sound of
squeaking bikes
abound, and
this old woman
carrying a basket of
fish
stared at me, i
was carrying a book
and an umbrella
it was sunny and
the old woman
stared at me, perhaps
i guess, he must
have missed his son,
perhaps his son
stopped schooling
enlisted himself as
a soldier
because there is no
more money
to spend
for his tuition in
school....
perhaps, his
son died in
combat, and perhaps
his son once had
a book.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After Hours
Walking down the hallway, its too dark
Too dark too see anything
Why are the lights off
How did they forget I was studying?
I have been at school for 10 hours
I had to go home but I don't know my way
I cant see the hallway its too dark
where am I going?
where do I go?
Stretching my hand out infront
reaching my way home
No windows in the school, but why?
My hand reaches up
A breath crawls over my hand
glowing blue eyes shone
Leading me, not home, but to death
Come on now
the dark voice moans
Do you want to be late home
Then a white storm surrounds me
What is going on?
That night I never came home
But I became a part of something
the memories in the dead pupils
poem by Holly Chanel
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