Inveteracies...
a heap of dry leaves
under the trees
trees like fingers
stretching to reach
the moon
on the marshes
of the big river
the full moon sits
silently
a dog barks
this morning
at the wrong person
someone calls my
name but i do not dare
look back
promises are
feet without floors
faith is always
a blind item
and people accept
them always to
be true
and all giving
and
reliable
blank walls
speak too much
doors close
at the wrong hours of the
day
windows imitating
the natural
beauty of some
sexless eunuchs
facing the monitor
i am the nuclear
sun
threatening the room
that the explosion
is near
the dusts run in panic
the winds
stir the pebbles into
rebellion
etcetera is when
you do not know what is next
from your
self-proclaimed
knowledgeability
30.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dogs Bark To The Moon
the dogs bark to the moon
and to the wrong trees
and the wrong trees
and the full moon
they all know have no
ears to listen to their
woes
but they know too that
the full moon and the bark trees
do not and cannot listen to their woes
'they are just our modes of expression', the dogs said and rested
for a while and then the are back
howlin and howling all over again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Juliana....
on early morning
she walks down the river
leaving all her
coverings on the grass
she wades in the water
naked
as the bamboo trees
bend with the wind
paying homage to her
raw beauty
she plunges into the
cool waters of the river
and the river
takes joy of her body
then she rises
as water drips on her breasts
giving way to her
nipples
as the water cascades down
her abdomen
to her legs
Juliana, the mountain beauty
once i have seen her
under the moon amidst
the trees in the forest
and the virgin hills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Drool, Etcetera....
when you wake up this morning you rush yourself
on the usual
many things to do
but never completely done
but just the same
you keep on doing it
like opening windows, closing doors,
mopping floors, washing underwear,
brushing teeth,
etcetera
now you are working
the table offers you the menu for the stress of the day
you count them
and start at
the first file,
etcetera the clock even if you do not mind it
keeps on ticking,
nothing unusual really,
you keep on thinking and writing notes and then
making conclusions
affecting the life of other people
they become simply case numbers
and usual names,
nothing extraordinary really
etcetera
you stop, make some sighs, breathe,
stand, sit, lay your head on the sofa,
and think,
etcetera
this world is black and white,
there are no more rainbows, the rains are cats and dogs
the little shower is gone,
the slowness of beauty is murdered,
the strip teasing of something that your mind coddles
and fondles
takes time,
the unfolding of the flower is choked,
the buds are nipped,
births are scraped,
off,
and on,
push and pull,
that is the language i learn from you,
etcetera,
etcetera
i did not invent it,
we say it when we do not know
what follows next
etcetera
life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sadar
Excited, joyful, zealous;
On the banks of the river of love to share my views with you;
And like the swamps and the marshes to respect your name.
Holy, sacred, blessed;
Use the trees for food and the leaves for medicine;
But a tree will bear new fruits according to its moon,
And like the swamps and the marshes to respect your name.
You are Sadar and i do understand your muse,
For the news came to me and i was very glad;
But the joy of this river is towards the eastern region of your land.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Abaude: Night into Morning
We lie under high arched windows
awake in the deep winter night
and gaze on the tallest trees
glazed in silver light.
They reach up to the radiant moon,
their fingers spread bare and plain,
raised in silent prayer
after December's cold, hard rain.
Your face is bathed in these holy rays,
and I fight sleep; I cannot turn away
from truth so deep as the moon beaming
through our wintering trees ardently streaming.
But I close my eyes for a moment, then see
dawn drawing azure from night's darkest seed,
and the trees' golden limbs rising on high
to praise morning's vaulting blue sky.
So I arise and turning to you I see
how night flows to dawn eternally
and to the resurgent world restores
the spring of our never-ending joy.
poem by Steven Federle
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Pushing The Needle Too Far
Well I woke up this morning
Grey dawn
With a prayer on my breath
See I lost something precious
And godll save me
From losing myself
I said I think I know whats wrong
I think I know whats wrong
Now I met the queen and I understand why
Why she closed the door
Im not making excuses
But you know Ive been there a few times
You know I was
I was knocking on the door
I said I think I know whats wrong
I think I know whats wrong
Wrong wrong
Theres a man
He lived in a house
Had a family of five
Well he blew up the windows and the doors
He said I just couldnt
I just couldnt survive
Weve all been removed
In one way or another
We dont know our families
We dont need our brothers
Were pushing the needle too far
Pushing the needle too far
Well if you wake up in the morning
Grey dawn
Theres a prayer on your breath
See maybe you lost something precious
Godll save you
From losing yourself
I said I think I know whats wrong
Let me hear you
I think I know whats wrong
Theres queen who closed the door
The family that lies
People who turn
The cat that has died
A boy that ods
A girl with a gun
The world on its knees
And a band on the run
You know youd help me more
(the queen who closed the door)
By not giving in
(the family that lies)
You know youd help me more
(people who turn)
By not giving in
(and the cat that has died)
You know youd help me more
(a boy that ods)
By not giving in
(and a girl with a gun)
I said youd help me more
(the world on its knees)
Now dont you give in
(and a band on the run)
Ah now youd help me more
By not giving
I said dont you dare
(not giving in no)
Dont you dare
(not giving in no)
Dont you dare
Youd help me more
By not giving in
I said youd help me more
By not giving in
I said i
I think I know whats wrong
I think I know whats wrong
Were pushing the needle too far
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let's Voyage Into The New American House
There are doors
that want to be free
from their hinges to
fly with perfect clouds.
There are windows
that want to be
released from their
frames to run with
the deer through
back country meadows.
There are walls
that want to prowl
with the mountains
through the early
morning dusk.
There are floors
that want to digest
their furniture into
flowers and trees.
There are roofs
that want to travel
gracefully with
the stars through
circles of darkness.
poem by Richard Brautigan
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Awaken to Beauty
Sun, sparkling on water
Rainbow in sky.
Full moon, shimmering over cities,
Beauty, beauty is by.
See through the black, the grey,
To colours all around,
Brightening your world, your life;
Beauty, beauty surrounds.
The new leaves on spring trees,
Buds on daffodils.
Flowers, trees bursting with glory,
Beauty, beauty fills.
Snow covering, crystal white,
Summer, green, grass.
Each season brings new pleasures,
Beauty, beauty lasts.
Stand still awhile and see
If you can discern
The loveliness in front of you,
Beauty at every turn.
Bring happiness to your senses,
Bear gladness into you,
Take sometime for yourself,
Beauty is there; stays true.
Winter Moon, Misty Moon
winter moon, misty moon
playful behind the trees
over the hidden Brisbane river
that makes the air thick with mist;
winter moon, full-moon
luminous and rolling
behind brooding giant trees;
winter moon, misty moon
that makes its area luminous and clean
and cares not if everything else is indistinct
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Gone Lover....
this is what she writes at
the wall,
full moon,
and promises,
shines on a day
and then
fades the other days
until what is
left is
utter darkness,
and then we wait
she says,
for the new moon again
not giving up
those waning hours
shall cause sorrows for a while
but not for all those times
when
one begins to count with her fingers
other memories
sugar coated, and pinches
of salt.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now Close The Windows
Now close the windows and hush all the fields:
If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is,
Be it my loss.
It will be long ere the marshes resume,
I will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.
poem by Robert Frost
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Moons Beauty
moon moon your dark beauty is great
but why is it that you show it only when the dark times are near?
moon moon your light is beautiful
it guides our way, helps us when we have given away all hope
moon moon with out you, we would surely die
because without you no ones there to tell us right from wrong
poem by Mistery Person
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Our Moon
July 1989
Alone I watched the Full Moon rise tonight.
The same Moon rose over you just hours ago.
Did you also watch it rise? Did clouds obscure the view?
Was your night as fine for stargazing?
When the Moon is just starting to clime my horizon
It is finishing its' journey across your sky.
Were you still awake to watch it set?
Did dreams call you away?
Tonight I will watch till this Moon leaves to find you again.
The calendar says each Moon shines on you first.
But the Moon doesn't follow... it leads!
Full Moon... Full Circle
Ruler of tides
My Moon first tonight.
I shall wish it safely back to you.
Last July the Moon carried grief for me.
Was your Moon full of Joy then?
I know it wounds you now.
Once Full Moons of June saw each of us born
Your Moon predating mine in years.
Round Moon... pale circular symbol of eternity
First seen by you... then me... then back again
This Moon connects us, at least in my own heart.
Allow me to wish it back to you fuller, brighter.
The July Moon rises Full over us tonight.
Full... of Promise
poem by Mary Havran
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Forever in My Dreams
Close to the morning hours before I awaken,
I find myself looking outside of the window of my dreams-
Sometimes amidst the bleak darkness, the full moon is rising above the treetops,
Stars are seemingly cascading behind mountains of far away places-
I hear footsteps faintly passing by, perhaps down the hallway of my fantasies-
Slowly my eyes would open and I find myself
Looking outside of the same window and
All I can see are shadows of trees that would be
Touching the sky within a figment of my imagination-
Close to the morning hours, close to the time that the world awakens,
I find myself lost in thought, disappearing into some other realm.
The full moon battles with the rising sun, stars shooting and seemingly cascading,
Saturn, Mars and Venus are dancing in rhythm to
The doleful and mystical song of the locusts screaming-
Inside the fortress of my thoughts,
I have made my home inside this kingdom in the sky-
In this place where the light of the moon is overpowered
By the rays of the early morning sun-
The colors of the sky are reborn- cyanotic blue and
Pearl-white clouds, seemingly tinted with gold,
Amidst the phantasmal waltz of my imagination,
I can hear voices familiar only to myself,
Shouting words that terrify and evoke moments of madness-
It has been said that reason can be affected by the light of the full moon
Before daybreak and I would ride bareback upon the tail of a shooting star
If I only could, as it would take me on a journey across the universe,
Perhaps to a safer place within this magical kingdom in the sky-
Close to the morning hours before I awaken,
I have lost myself inside a magnificent place of my own creation-
A place from which I would never leave if I could only wish upon a star-
This would be my utmost desire- as this lurid but dismal world
Into which I was born has not been kind to me-
As my memory becomes a vehicle traveling backward in time-
I can recall terrifying sights only I could see and threatening voices which
Only I could hear- within that moment that darkness transforms to dawn,
I find my spirit having been rudely snatched away from this place of my fondest reverie-
So I close my eyes and then I can see the stars once more, the moon and Saturn dancing-
And I begin to lose myself once again traveling across this pathway of my dreams-
Tears are falling from my eyes as they open because this vision can never become reality-
Tears would glisten with dewdrops upon the leaves upon the trees reflecting the
Early morning sunlight as I close my eyes once again and wish upon that star
As I would for always and forever in every passing thought…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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When Things Go Wrong Babe
when things go wrong babe
keep the code of silence
do not trust the words
that want to get out from
the panic of your mouth
take the safest step
swallow your pride
keep the utmost vigilance
of the walls and fences
grip the rails and stay
within the limits of your boundaries
descend the stairs of vanity
and open the doors and windows
like the way you open your mind
when things go wrong babe
think of me, close your eyes
hold me and feel me
for in me arrogance is estranged
in my heart is love unchanged
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Among the Trees
I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for the one my heart calls for
I wonder lost among the trees
I see your light amongst the dark
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is brighter then the rest
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is out of my reach
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light comes closer
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is bright like an angel from the sky
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light fades away and leaves me alone
I wonder lost among the trees
Without a hand to guide the way
I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for my guiding light
I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost, alone
I wonder afraid of the world
Around me I look for the one
I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost and alone forever...................................
poem by kelly Martini
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Those Trees Will Not Be Seen In Miami
The house stands empty.
The architecture is beautiful.
And where it sits is exquisite.
The price of it has to be extremely high.
I wish I could afford it.
Why hasn't it been sold?
'It is not the price at all.
It is the trees.'
The trees?
The trees are wonderful.
What's wrong with them?
'There is nothing at all wrong with them.
You see...
The previous owner convinced an insurance company,
To insure them exclusively on a separate policy.
And have demanded they be -re-rooted to be planted,
Near their new home.'
BUT...
Those trees are Redwood Trees.
It would be impossible to do that.
Where does the previous owner live now?
'In a condo in Miami.'
Well...
What about the house?
'It gets even more complicated.
We had a bid on it.
But that bidder requested it be excavated.'
Excavated?
To where?
'To a remote island in the Pacific.'
Who are these people?
Their demands are outrageous.
'People who have money these days,
Believe they can have anything they wish.
ANYTHING.
Even the impossible.'
Well...
I am a firm believer that nothing is impossible.
'Oh?
Keep your beliefs.
However...
That beautful house you see will stay empty.
And those trees will not be seen in Miami...
To make their appearances known and shown.'
That's a bit negative don't you think?
'No!
I am doing the best I can,
To get a commission.
And your request to see this house,
Will not produce for me a dime.'
You do have other properties to show me,
Don't you?
'I've been telling you that for two hours.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Couple's Choice
last night was nice
there was a blackout
and the house was
so silent, it was hot
and so we opened
the windows and
above the trees
fronting our room
was the full moon
lunatic nights with
nothing but the moon
and our smooth
conversation
at times you realize
marriage is not at all
about sex, sometimes
it is the conversation
that makes the better
bond, soul to soul.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Testament
The decomposing wall I see
That encompasses the long dead
Lies interspersed among the trees
Whose living, fingered roots are fed
with nourishment of sublimed faith.
I pause a moment…
Panning the surroundings I see
Row after row of unknown dead
Whose tombstones depict family trees
Whose living relatives are fed
The same promises of blind faith.
Why must I lament?
The brown withered leaves that I see
Wind-blown atop the buried dead
Should I mourn provenance: the trees?
Why then the promise that is fed:
Life after death by keeping faith.
A fool is content.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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