It Is Not...
it is not the language
but the thought
it is not the house but
those who live in it
it is not the road
but the car and the drivers
the passengers too
it is not the ship
but those waving hands
it is not the school building
but the students and teachers
deep in their mission
for more
it is not the church structure
but the pilgrims
in prayer
it is not this Earth
but us
it is not the River
but the bather
it is not the paper
but the words that you write in them
it is not the pen
neither the ink
it is you and your memories
it is not the feet and hands
but your distance
the journey
the things that you create
along this
path
this hill and mountain
that cloud and
sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Happy Teacher’s Day in India,2010
Teachers teach students to learn;
Teachers show them how to earn;
Teachers guide students to read;
Teachers help them if they need.
Teachers share with pupils, ken;
Teachers show them how to pen;
Teachers train them in most things;
Teachers make them good earthlings!
Teachers mould their character;
Teachers act facilitator;
Teachers are a boon on earth;
Teachers bring students, mirth!
Teachers care for children-wards;
Teachers don’t expect rewards;
Teachers slog throughout life-span;
Teachers make them man / woman.
Teachers are a humble lot;
Teachers make learning, an art;
Teachers perform well their part;
Teachers love students in heart!
Teachers are next to parents;
Teachers are a nation’s wealth;
Teachers make a student great;
Teachers are a must for all.
Revere teachers on this Day;
Thank them truly in some way;
Emulate them, if you may;
‘Give them good health, God’, you pray!
“Happy Teachers’ Day! ”
Most lovingly dedicated to all my teachers,
Living and dead, who made me,
‘What I am, today! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 05-09-2010
poem by John Celes
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Teacher’s Day in India,2010
Teachers teach students to learn;
Teachers show them how to earn;
Teachers guide students to read;
Teachers help them if they need.
Teachers share with pupils, ken;
Teachers show them how to pen;
Teachers train them in most things;
Teachers make them good earthlings!
Teachers mould their character;
Teachers act facilitator;
Teachers are a boon on earth;
Teachers bring students, mirth!
Teachers care for children-wards;
Teachers don’t expect rewards;
Teachers slog throughout life-span;
Teachers make them man / woman.
Teachers are a humble lot;
Teachers make learning, an art;
Teachers perform well their part;
Teachers love students in heart!
Teachers are next to parents;
Teachers are a nation’s wealth;
Teachers make a student great;
Teachers are a must for all.
Revere teachers on this Day;
Thank them truly in some way;
Emulate them, if you may;
‘Give them good health, God’, you pray!
“Happy Teachers’ Day! ”
Most lovingly dedicated to all my teachers,
Living and dead, who made me,
‘What I am, today! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 05-09-2010
poem by John Celes
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What I Am To You
who are you?
i am not the sun
i do not have light
my hands are not
rays
do not worship me
do not look down
look at me straight in
my eyes
i cannot blind
you
i am a river
come, come to me
plunge in me
flow with me
in my own sorrow
do not stand there
and raise your hands
trying to reach me
i am not a cloud
i am a tree so
come, come, come to me
climb in my branches
pick my fruits
have some to eat
i am the kindness of the hill
the shade of the tired
traveler
do not create a distance
i am the grass
sit upon me
lay your body
i am soft and i am cool
make yourself comfortable.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Writing About - Hope
Every human being living on this earth hope for something
Poor people hope that one day money will come their way
The rich folks hope to multiply their assets before long
Several men hope for a wife who is as caring as their mother
Many women hope for husbands who is as loving as their father
Children always hope for parents who will give them everything
Bankers hope that everybody will pay their mortgages in time
Thieves and robbers hope the police should stop harassing them
While the police hope that every person will be law-abiding
Priests and clerics hope that everyone will live a sacred life
Experienced nurses hope the doctors will treat them with respect
Medical doctors hope their patients will recuperate faster
Careful drivers hope that other drivers will drive like them
Teachers hope all students will do their home-work regularly
While the students hope the teachers will give them easy exams
The colleges hope that all students will pay their tuition promptly
Farmers always hope for good and abundant harvest
Lawyers hope more and more people will need their services
Fishermen hope that more and more fishes run into their nets
School-girls always hope for rich and generous boy-friends
All politicians hope to get elected and re-elected
Employers hope their workers will volunteer for overtime
Every architect always hope to design the best building in town
Builders hope to showcase the tallest building as their own work
The mechanics always hope more people will buy used-vehicles
What are your personal hopes on this earth?
What are your hopes for your family?
What are your hopes for your country?
The day we humans stop hoping on this earth
Will be the day we cease to be members of this beautiful planet
Please remember to stay happy and cheerful
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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The Old Poet And The Young Poet
a young poet complains
the life of a poet gets too boring
when there are no readers
or hands clapping
perhaps he is searching for
fame or honor
the old poet believes otherwise
the years of silence
bury him into oblivion
he had those hands clapping
in the passions of his youth
the summit of fame is the mountain
he worked for
he once lived on top of the hill
the naives think he is the cloud king
it is when you still love to write
even if no one is listening
that the life of the poet becomes
a perfect volcanic cone
on the day of the eruption
red magma not lava flows on the river
no one screams
there are no more hands
asking for help
no one no one
tells any story
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Last Assembly In School
A VERY FRUITFUL MORNING
TO THE GLITTERING STUDENTS
AND THE TEACHERS CHARMING
IT REALLY FEELS FANTASTIC
TO SEE U ALL ENTHUSIASTIC
OUR HEAD MISTRESS GAVE US A TOKEN
A PRESTIGIOUS CHANCE TO BE SPOKEN
SO WE ARE HERE TO SHARE OUR WARMTH AND COLD
THE MOMENTS SPENT HERE WERE AS PRECIOUS AS GOLD
STUDYING MADE ALL OF US HORRIFIED
BUT NOW IT MADE US DIGNIFIED
OUR TEACHERS SUPPORTED US BY SAYING WE ARE ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU
SO LOVING TEACHERS FOR THAT CONCERN WE ALL THANK YOU
OUR SCHOOL GAVE US GR8 OPPOURTUNITIES
TO PROVE OURSELVES AND ACQUIRE MORE NUMBER OF TROPHIES
WHY WE HAVE TO LEAVE THE SCHOOL AND WHY WE HAVE TO GO?
WE TENTH STANDARD STUDENTS WANTS THE TIME TO PASS SLOW
BUT TIME NEVER WAITS
TIME DECIDES FATES
IN ITSELF YOU DEBATE AND CREATE
IN TIME ITSELF YOU LOVE OR HATE
THERE IS TIME TO WAIT WAIT FOR SOME ONE
BUT TIME WAITS FOR NONE
ROYAL EMBASSY GAVE US THE KNOWLEDGE OF ISLAM
HOW TO BE HUMBLE, HELPFUL AND CALM
NEVER TO HAVE HESITATION, INSECURITY AND CONSPIRACY
THAT'S ALL TEACHES OUR ROYAL EMBASSY
AS IT HAS SHOWN US THE PATH WHICH IS RIGHT
MAY ALLAH TAKE THIS SCHOOL TO A GREATER HEIGHT.................
DEDICA TED TO MY LOVING SCHOOL, TEACHERS AND FRIENDS
poem by Fahmina Arjumand Misha
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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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The Perfect school
THE PERFECT SCHOOL
A place where a student worships his teacher as a god,
The heads of the children before their teacher nod.
The place is the school where teachers give education,
It’s a school where there is afforestation.
A school that has all the beauties,
Is a perfect school whose students have all the qualities.
A school whose students will become president and magic vista,
A school whose students will become Rabindranath Tagore and Mother Teresa.
The Perfect School is a school whose trees will always be uploaded with fruits of joy, success and happiness,
A school whose students will never have a future of darkness.
That school will conquer the world,
In that school, music will be sung by birds.
CONTRIBUTED BY:
Gautam Kumar Sharma
poem by Gautam Sharma
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River
Here is the river
And I am searching it
In the map that is
On the wall of my house
That is not there.
I do not know
The mountain is in between
The river and my house
That dressedup geography
And taking me from
Place to place.
I am on my own journey
While the sky is breaking
And I with the night dream
Passing passing and passing
The hard days with
Fire of the mountain
And water of the river.
Where is the river
That I am searching
To driveout troubles
Where I am
Here is the river
Wash your face eyes
Somebody is kind enough
To tell in my house.
I am not in my house
See.
And Where am I
And the sea is here
No river no mountain
Here is the river
If you find again
Inform me please
I am grateful then.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The teachers were focused on helping these students. The students benefited from hands-on teaching and a faculty who cared about them and their success in life and soon the students began to believe in themselves and the reality that they could make something of their lives.
quote by Michael N. Castle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Discernment
once it was the clarity that i sought
and there was none and all i had is doubt
once i was sure of myself
and believed it to be so such stuff that is stiff
until i became a river of stool
and everything in there is foul
and i slept and i wake up and i thought
about what are those that landed in my spout
perhaps clarity is not what must be sought
neither doubt
for who wants doubt to rule our lives
as though we do not live in a world of lies
upon some layers of
historical rocks and socks?
and then i simply look around me
simply describing what comes and what passes on a day
a bus loading passengers
hands waiving gears
a very calm sea
a wharf where boats are free
a house by the mountain
fireflies feasting on the rain
a tree crown at night
beside a river up tight
sounds of owls and
ghouls
a rain that starts
pouring
on the roof of the house
listening
simply listening
much about nothing
about these things
as they are
disregarding
who we are
every moment is an act to be done
spic and span
every hour
an spectator
every second simply
passing line
beyond the edge
of a clean page
i do not think for the future now
in the same manner that i let the past sleep like it were dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mission to Earth, A Child is Born!
Mission to Earth, mission on Earth
A baby cries, cold air, no warmth
No womb comfort, a life, a journey begins.
Mission to Earth, mission on Earth
A universe spreads forth,
Horizon, spreads a hand and boundless.
Mission to Earth, mission on Earth
Giggles and applause, the friendly stars
Frowns and yellow eyes, the jealous frogs
Mission to Earth, Mission on Earth
The cross, he bears all, a thorn as crown
A mission, to save a life, though so thankless!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Murmurs Of The Rainy Mind...
the shadows of my
mind
need not be
the shadows of my
body
the spirit longs for
more
of its much needed
solitude
in crisis
it states what it has long
desired
that which the body
keeps on denying
genuflecting knees
hitting hands
bloody backs
worn feet
torn palms
broken limbs
the words come out
much different from a
thirsty mouth
it is not the word
it is the act that tells you more
it is what is done
it is not what is said
there is a house in that far mountain
it rests upon its feet
no one lives there
a stranger cloud sometimes comes a drifting
it sees the emptiness of the surrounding
the humid bedroom it feels though from a distance
and just like the rest who knows
they take refuge in the silence
words are never to be trusted
it is merely the sigh of the falling rain
sometimes you hear the tapping of the rain inside your mind
and you look outside
there the sun shows you
what sometimes are illogical
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I Talk And Think About Albert
sometimes
(did i tell you that this is my
favorite word?)
i am shocked by my own
ingenuity
(sometimes i equate it with
shallowness
a loquacious mouth of the river
falling upon
a rock and smashing its
hands on the
floor of the
earth)
i blame myself for
changing the meaning of a word
like the way
i am changing the meaning of
my life
(or perhaps the lives of
other people
around me)
creating landscapes
putting trees where there are
no mountain
putting talkative women
in the house where
the house is still a
thought
(a student wants to say
i am crazy
but there is also a doubt
whether i am
one
she has the wisdom of
keeping her
mouth in the silent
mode)
i am not stupid
not crazy i still know what right
is,
i can still tell you
who are those in the left
side of the
equation
one day
i redefined a poem
it need not be a house
with a door and
windows
i can simply be stairs
or path
it can simply be a star
on the roof
it can simply be a conversation
without a direction
like a Freudian dialogue on
the sofa
where comfort is actually
moving the paths
of meteors
with a broom and
light
(do you always talk
to achieve
fulfill a mission?
what is your mission?
what is your
purpose?)
women go to the market
buy some things
for the kitchen
they do not linger upon a
talk
men go to their work
thinking about their kids
most of the time
they do not bother about
work really
they also dwell in the bodies
of other women
about those nights away
from the eyes
of their wives
people have scattered minds
unto each other
they pretend that they are devoted
into something
worthwhile
kids go to school
carrying bags filled with books
that they do not bother really reading
if they have to be honest
about who they are
the only care for the games of their
minds in those
playgrounds and
play stations
what kind of world is this
there are only so few
that live
so many people are going to
the places of death
without really knowing
each step
the famous man (you know his name)
discovered the bomb
and from then own
they own all these countries of this world
he is the real meaning and so they claim
him to be
the only meaning of this world
a nuclear god
who cannot die in that history of pain
and misery
may his soul (if he has one)
rest in peace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bountiful Hope “A Prayer”
may the eyes
of the spirit close beneath my heart,
and reward my prayer a deliverance glory of success
in thy lasting presence
may the distance
of the heaven comes into my soul and lead
me to the ancient journey of salvation,
waving a painted passion
of love worthy of it’s enkindle travelogue beyond this deep
sleep twinkle spirit of love
may the way
of the benevolent Lord God,
come and bless
the sacred incent flame breathlessly birth to surrender thy soul;
for the long awaited flight has come
to an end
may this forever desire
of sweet memories
be the embracing grace of salvation in
the eternal happiness and joy be the point of a never ending search
to die each sweet memories to live
be the end to live eternally…
poem by Antonio Liao
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Passengers
The things we think that feel the best.
Most often cause us pain.
So we risk to seek the pleasure.
Again, and again and again.
This is for the ones we hurt the most.
They sit and watch us slowly die.
We sacrifice their little hearts.
We rarely bat an eye.
They are merely passengers.
Riding on our ship.
We unknowingly bring them along.
On our destruction trip.
When we feel the pain.
They feel it even more.
The quest to our destruction.
Lies just beyond the door.
We open it up and walk right in.
The pleasures make us blind.
The innocent little passengers.
They follow right behind.
A tear wells up in the little one’s eye.
And rolls down their little cheek.
But we journey down the road to hell.
Their pain is worth the peek.
Another door, another room.
Further in we go.
The passengers hurt and terrified.
As we continue on our show.
Then when it is all said and done.
And we admit our own defeat.
The innocent little passengers.
Stand behind us bruised and beat.
We turn around and there they are.
We see the damage we’ve done.
The pain for the innocent passengers.
Was not at all worth all our selfish fun.
We say we’re sorry, forgive me please.
Can we leave this all behind.
Not aware of all the scar tissues.
We’ve left in their little minds.
So chose your path so carefully.
With everything you say and do.
The pleasure we seek, it is all lies.
But to our passengers it’s the truth.
We hurt the ones we love the most.
Our actions lead the way.
Remember their tomorrows.
Lie within our todays.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Still Standing On You Feet?
When first I came to Jesus
The river was ankle deep
It cooled me in the day time
Yet still I was upon my feet
I went further down the river
And to my knees I went in deep
I could see a little clearer
Yet still I was upon my feet
I traveled down still further
And in the river went waist deep
Now I felt the river pulling
Yet still I was upon my feet
I decided to go deeper
Fully abandoned, no retreat
I was swept into the river
No longer standing on my feet
Now the river takes me
In the way that I must go
No longer do I choose the path
It's in the river that I flow
Now everywhere the waters go
It brings healing to the land
And now the Lord can use me
For I no longer stand.
poem by Frank McEleny
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Bring back me soul, Bring back us
They say it's funny the way that it is
But deep down it's not funny at all
From the first day, We promised that we would never in our lives part
But today is the day we question it all
We had an incredible journey
Through many memories it will be remembered
Promises we made, promises weve broken
Lead to the crumbling path beneath our feet
The distance let our hands slip
And our hearts be broken
The pain from inside seeps through my eyes and finds its way to the floor
Because their is no longer someone there to catch them
The season is getting colder im growing older
Never imagined a futur without you
Please tell me its not true
Days go by I still hope its a dream
Please can someone pull me out of this spiraling down stream?
September 1961
This is the year the old ones,
the old great ones
leave us alone on the road.
The road leads to the sea.
We have the words in our pockets,
obscure directions. The old ones
have taken away the light of their presence,
we see it moving away over a hill
off to one side.
They are not dying,
they are withdrawn
into a painful privacy
learning to live without words.
E. P. "It looks like dying"-Williams: "I can't
describe to you what has been
happening to me"-
H. D. "unable to speak."
The darkness
twists itself in the wind, the stars
are small, the horizon
ringed with confused urban light-haze.
They have told us
the road leads to the sea,
and given
the language into our hands.
We hear
our footsteps each time a truck
has dazzled past us and gone
leaving us new silence.
Ine can't reach
the sea on this endless
road to the sea unless
one turns aside at the end, it seems,
follows
the owl that silently glides above it
aslant, back and forth,
and away into deep woods.
But for usthe road
unfurls itself, we count the
words in our pockets, we wonder
how it will be without them, we don't
stop walking, we know
there is far to go, sometimes
we think the night wind carries
a smell of the sea...
poem by Denise Levertov
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School is Fun!
School is fun, it is a place were you listen, learn & play!
School is a place for u to stay! study and make friends its always the same!
School are for teachers to teach and janitors to clean! students must keep their class room clean!
School are for students to learn new things, especially when it comes to tests, exams and other different things!
School are for children who love's to learn and study, its a place for you to love eachother one another so have fun in school and play!
poem by Iyakami Haroki
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