In Sowing The Seeds Of Silence
in sowing the seeds of silence
what do you think shall i reap?
not death, not really that scary
i do not think that way
a tree meditates
leaves still and flowers of wisdom bloom
roots grow and penetrate
gathering the humus of contentment
accumulating what we all look for
happiness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Agamede's Song
Grow, grow, thou little tree,
His body at the roots of thee;
Since last year's loveliness in death
The living beauty nourisheth.
Bloom, bloom, thou little tree,
Thy roots around the heart of me;
Thou canst not blow too white and fair
From all the sweetness hidden there.
Die, die, thou little tree,
And be as all sweet things must be;
Deep where thy petals drift I, too,
Would rest the changing seasons through.
poem by Arthur Upson
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An uncreative medicine
no hope
no friend
no family
no home
no nativity
no nationality
no fame
no name
no future
no points
no market
no identity
no possessions still a tree without roots
no relationship still a tree without roots
no anarchism still a tree without roots
no hiearchy still a tree without roots
no country still a tree without roots
no colours still a tree without roots
no degrees still a tree without roots
no certificates
no imaginations
no dream
no poetry
no fiction
no story
no news
no media
no happiness still a tree without roots
no genre still a tree without roots
no labels still a tree without roots
no names still a tree without roots
THE FOURTH EYE
of
A post-conceptual poet.
We Trace Our Roots
there are ways of tracing our roots
where we come from
why we are here
how our forefathers braved
the seas and survived the big waves
of uncertainties
the cold, dark nights of their fears
how they all believed in dreams
how they trusted the direction given by the stars
how they solidified their hearts
with faith and hope
and love
as i listen to all of you talk about the stories
of our ancestors
my mind begins to to grow and travel
like roots
deep down the earth
tracing some humus
where i must live again
perhaps ever braver than the pioneers
they are our ancestors
and i think, they still believe that since we come from them
we must all be like them,
my dear cousin, now we have become the roots ourselves
and another child shall come
in the future
and listen some more, wanting to become branches and leaves and flowers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Seeds A Star/tree Medley
Were a people black as is your night
Born to spread ammas eternal light
Which since time began
Has been to bring truth to every man
Our ancestors have since long ago
Passed their wisdom down so we to know
For here lies the key
That will help unfold the mistery
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
In myself I do contain
The elements of sun and rain
First a seed with roots that swell
I gradually burst through my shell
Pushing down into the ground
The root of me is homeward bound
A trunk, a leaf and there I am
A miracle of least by far
Tree - you are the longest living one we know
The largest of all plants and still you grow
Tree - within your branches theres such history
So much of what were searching for to know
Every fifty years we celebrate
Po tolo, our star, as it rotates
Though infinitely small
It is still the heaviest of them all
(background)
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
(background-simultaneous)
Ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
And some believe antennas are their leaves
That spans beyond our galaxy
Theyve been, they are and probably will be
Who are the mediocrity
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kindness
Things are destined to be lost
To be broken
The leaves fall and rot
At the foot of the tree
The roots soon shrink
And become part
Of the indifference of the
Rocks and the soil
Things move out
And up
Like vapor and then
Change their forms to air
But there are those that weep
And keep
Whatever was lost and destroyed
The leaves they take with their hands
And the roots
They stroke with the toes of their feet
Caress and
Kindness their virtues
That humanity has soon discarded
They grow the seeds in their hearts
They keep the fire of love
Burning
And the earth and the sun and stars
All smile at them
They too grow and scatter and travel
To all the places of this earth
Their forms too many
The gods know
They too must grow and get the world
Of the grass of sorrow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Leaves Compared with Flowers
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.
Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.
I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.
Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
poem by Robert Frost
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Reaping What You Sow
There's an open secret, one you must have known
In this world we live in we must reap what we've sown
And our deeds like little seeds which'll surely grow
To show the world like movie the seed that we sow
Many plant mangoes expecting apples to grow
Forgetting the law which says 'You reap what you sow'
A tale I'll tell you of a wise old fool
Who did all in his power to bend this little rule
He sowed so many evil seeds while alive
And saw them grow into evil trees before his last count of five
So learn from this story, be you friend or foe
In this world we live in we'll reap what we sow
poem by Olamilekan Adewoyin
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Child is one’s extension.
Roots and shoots are parts of a plant.
Leaves and flowers are their outgrowths.
Seeds are their fused extension.
Child, like seeds, is from you, not through you.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Who are These….
Sowing seeds, they go
Yes, sowing seeds they go
Seeds of separation, dissention
Seeds of wrath, hatred and lies
Seeds of discontent, envy
Ego, fanaticism, jealousy
Seeds of discrimination too
Yes, sowing seeds they go
Who are these, who go sowing!
Diligently from street to street
Sweet coating their hatred, bitterness
Hunger for power and dividing mind
In words so bombastic and loud
Wrapped so charmingly within
A thousand promises all false.
The elders dream of resurrection
Of Nehru, Gandhi and Patel of old
The younger ones fantasize
A new Messiah will be born
The ones in between follow the rut
Just close their eyes vote
And go about their work
Knowing at end whosoever rules
Prices will hike, Power electric will hide
Water contaminated or polluted be
Roads in disrepair always will remain
Taxes will always break our backs
And the system will never change!
poem by Angelina Pandian
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We Poets are Farmers Still
We poets are farmers still,
ploughing our mind in the invisible field,
whenever the mind makes the pen wield.
Sowing the seeds of emotion,
in the field of melancholy,
we reap the expression of joy
with our hearts happy and merry.
Gardeners we are to our core,
as we are happy to see our words bloom
amidst the reverberation of “Encores”.
Idioms, our fertilizers,
simile and metaphors, the growth enhancers.
The monsoon, the joy of spring,
when in the winds of expression,
our joy swings.
Words bearing a new look,
publicity reaping the best
out of our joyous moods.
Our alert mind, the scare crow,
driving the birds of plagiarism away,
helps the expression to bloom and grow.
Again we wait for the next showers,
hoping this time, the day will be ours.
We then sow the time awaited seeds of expression,
with the waves of time, the blooming showers.
Their timed sprout is now,
when you lovers of art,
read it aloud and feel it in your heart.
poem by Dr. Sandeep Kumar Kar
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To A Nephew
it is upon my calling that you are here today.
i am very happy.
i am seeing a very tall man now
towering like a tree.
look at this place this island
the flowers no longer bloom
and the trees are shedding off their leaves
the corn seeds that i have sown a month ago
have not grown
and the river on the other side has dried up
the sun scorches this place
and the moon does not like to rest on the hills
let me take you to the window of this house
for you to see the rainbow connecting this island
to another island
this is the bridge between us
and i am giving you the power to cross the sea
of this rift
tonight in this harrowing darkness
we shall cross to the other side and leave this island for good
you shall own the island and sow the corn seeds again
the trees shall bow before you and the flowers shall bloom again
the rivers shall have their water and the hills are ready for the moon
and then i will be gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reach Out
If you can reach out across the miles
giving lots of smiles
life will one day reward you.
If you can reach out across the miles
and rekindle a flame
that may have lost its glow
in time the seeds of happiness
will begin to grow
and contentment within
will stand fast with you
for the seeds you have sown.
poem by David Harris
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Fertile Ground
Some lives fall on fertile ground
and grow and grow and grow.
Some lives fall on stony ground
and fail to grow at all.
We are like the seeds of flowers
we need a base to grow,
to spread our roots
and watch our seedlings grow.
11 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Survival Kit
the grass accepts death
of all it has, leaves and roots
its color blends with
the dust and parched mud
cracking surfaces
it also knows to preserve
its species
burying resilient seeds on
the cracks
and when it rains it begins
to grow buds
roots and all and the whole
ground is green again
meanwhile on cracked grounds
where once the pond was
the whiskers of the catfish begin
to wriggle
shedding off mud around its skin
the fish begins to swim
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Beauty Tree
I see a tree sitting in the stream
flowing past it as the waters gleamed
time twisted and turned the roots ashore
the flowers of the tree of which i adore
falling to the clear water at its floor
keeping the tree buried in the cold water
just like the seeds broken from a poor plotter
a season to come and a season to leave
to the water i will always forever cleave
but as the leaves begin to stray away
the sun shining upon the dieing day
the tree although not so beautiful anymore
begins a new journey upon the midday shore
poem by Branden Aeling
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Scented Herbage Of My Breast
SCENTED herbage of my breast,
Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards,
Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, growing up above me, above death,
Perennial roots, tall leaves--O the winter shall not freeze you,
delicate leaves,
Every year shall you bloom again--out from where you retired, you
shall emerge again;
O I do not know whether many, passing by, will discover you, or
inhale your faint odor--but I believe a few will;
O slender leaves! O blossoms of my blood! I permit you to tell, in
your own way, of the heart that is under you;
O burning and throbbing--surely all will one day be accomplish'd;
O I do not know what you mean, there underneath yourselves--you are
not happiness,
You are often more bitter than I can bear--you burn and sting me, 10
Yet you are very beautiful to me, you faint-tinged roots--you make me
think of Death,
Death is beautiful from you--(what indeed is finally beautiful,
except Death and Love?)
--O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of
lovers--I think it must be for Death,
For how calm, how solemn it grows, to ascend to the atmosphere of
lovers,
Death or life I am then indifferent--my Soul declines to prefer,
I am not sure but the high Soul of lovers welcomes death most;
Indeed, O Death, I think now these leaves mean precisely the same as
you mean;
Grow up taller, sweet leaves, that I may see! grow up out of my
breast!
Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!
Do not fold yourself so in your pink-tinged roots, timid leaves! 20
Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!
Come, I am determin'd to unbare this broad breast of mine--I have
long enough stifled and choked:
--Emblematic and capricious blade, I leave you--now you serve me not;
Away! I will say what I have to say, by itself,
I will escape from the sham that was proposed to me,
I will sound myself and comrades only--I will never again utter a
call, only their call,
I will raise, with it, immortal reverberations through The States,
I will give an example to lovers, to take permanent shape and will
through The States;
Through me shall the words be said to make death exhilarating;
Give me your tone therefore, O Death, that I may accord with it, 30
Give me yourself--for I see that you belong to me now above all, and
are folded inseparably together--you Love and Death are;
Nor will I allow you to balk me any more with what I was calling
life,
For now it is convey'd to me that you are the purports essential,
That you hide in these shifting forms of life, for reasons--and that
they are mainly for you,
That you, beyond them, come forth, to remain, the real reality,
That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait, no matter how
long,
That you will one day, perhaps, take control of all,
That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance,
That may-be you are what it is all for--but it does not last so very
long;
But you will last very long. 40
poem by Walt Whitman
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A strong tree shall always grow from the roots and not the seeds.