Joy Of Solitude
with the kind and gentle
touch of the wind
a bamboo leaf falls
flip
flopping
in air
down
into the serene
pond
on moss filled
stone
beside the water
so like a a silk cloth
of a woman
thrown
on the carpeted
floor of the marital
room
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Bamboo Tree Poem
see the coming of the wind
from the prairies
see how it is playing with the
leaves of the bamboo tree
see how a bamboo leaf falls
to the ground
withered by the sun
and now flip-flopping
like an Olympic diver
see how it finally touches
the womb of the earth
silently it lies there
soundlessly it appears
like any other leaf
beside a woman now
sleeping
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Leaves Of The Mango Tree
from my window
the mango tree stands
tall
proud about the fruits
last harvest
now is the rainy day
and fungus start growing
on its bark
then the falls
for the dying season
start to fall
i watch some of them
falling
as the wind begins
to blow stronger
there is this leaf
that falls flip flopping
carried by the wind
to the other side of the
fence
and i can't help but
begin to think
about you too
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The moss that loves the stone
It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fishes
Fishes serene
Comfortable.....swim
Free these creatures
Swimming wild?
NO! ...in the fish pond
food thrown is man's send
Water changed
Beautiful his surroundings made
Greens provided
Friends to play
Fish in pond
In heaven of its own?
Truth?
A captive for the rest of his life
Even the fish
Pays for his comforts
In kind....
yet how serene..........
_____________________________ ___________
poem by Malini Kadir
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To Gather Moss And More Of Moss
to gather moss
be a stone
to gather more moss
be a very still stone
be a stone still till the end
of time
you stand still and think
you want to be the moss
rather than a stone
to be all moss
you must betray the stillness
of stone
you must even forget
the importance of
what a moss can be
then you think some more
to be completely this moss
you need to be friendly
to the water and to the river
then you decide to be the water
instead of the moss
to be more than the water
you wish instead to become the river
and so you flow and learn the rush
and become the running river
until what you want really
is just to flow
to rush and run and then
you become nothing
but the motion itself
until you are lost
and then
you become what you are now
lost but real
always flowing, rushing, running
where nobody owns you
not even the river
or the stones or the moss
you have become
this running, this flowing, this being
so real so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The North Window: Bamboo and Rock
A magisterial rock windswept and pure
and a few bamboo so lavish and green:
facing me, they seem full of sincerity.
I gaze into them and can't get enough,
and there's more at the north window
and along the path beside West Pond:
wind sowing bamboo clarities aplenty,
rain gracing the subtle greens of moss.
My wife's still here, frail and old as me,
but no one else: the children are gone.
Leave the window open. If you close it,
who'll keep us company for the night?
I Could Have Told You
THAT YELLOW
SOLO LEAF floating on a very clear pond,
was it last summer?
will it really matter when someone is finally gone?
will the wind remember?
will the deep water of the pond be always true to its clarity and peace?
that yellow leaf that sank on the very clear pond on one peaceful day
will someone still remember?
i think, i will,
if i, too, shall live
longer than
you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Love That I Have For You....
outside i watch you
you are inside yourself
a room
a wall but there is window still
that allows light
to come in
and dress you like
a night without the armor
i am the light
and i like the way things are going with us
you just do not know
what is it
to be just light
without a body
what is it to have so many fingers
& yet
without a hand
the room is darker
but i know what it is to be a tiny sun
you fan yourself with your
innocence
your hands are callous
and it is a little bit colder
when by chance you touch my
rays and sheen
when i meet you
like i am water bathing your body
as i dress you once again
with the cloth
of my silk
soul
i quiver like a soft wind
on the reeds
of the moonlit night
i love it this way
this invisible presence
this nameless light
this desire that fulfills itself
without you
feeling it
must i be selfish?
or must i be the one that does not let you suffer
because you cannot love
light
because your coldness is uncertain about the gift
of warmth
its truth beyond all truths
when i am done with you
i summon the rain
& bathe myself again
to wash away
the dirt of guilt
the scars of pain
though
remaining
look at me
i am the morning light that spreads on the garden
of your thighs and
legs
as you watch
with all delight
you only see the wonder of light
and its accompanying music
and then
satisfied with all the caresses of thoughts that i have always loved you
i go with the herds of rain
and what is left to please me more
is your own
fading face
like those ripples on the pond
that the lonely leaf
had given
the shape of love that i carry with me
as air embracing the heavens
again....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Kind Of Woman - My Kind Of Man (feat. Patty Loveless)
You don't need diamonds or big fancy cars
You say you're happy right where you are
We're bound together by a little gold band
You're my kind of woman
Oh, you're my kind of man
Oh, living without you is my only fear
You still drive me crazy when I hold you near
My boudy trembles with the touch of your hand
You're my kind of woman
Oh, you're my kind of man
chorus:
You're my kind of woman
You're my kind of man
A match made in heaven
By God's gentle hands
I'll love you forever
Together we'll stand
You're my kind of woman
You're my kind of man
(repeat chorus)
You're my kind of woman
And you're my kind of man
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our World
The humming bird stood still
and raised it's wings waiting.
I drew my breath
and gave a gentle breeze
and it flew away.
A ripple from a dropped leaf
lands gently on the pond
and wavy sweet
rows flow
making tiny circles
to the center of the pond.
I touch a single rose
and it purrs.
.
I draw my breath
and exhale
deep into your lungs;
where mix
all things
between us.
All life is touch
and breaths offered.
All life
is gentle given
or badly rough.
All life is mixed
between the us
and the not us.
These exchanges
make up
what we know
as the World.
Be a gentle breather
not the badly rough.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Reflection 0.2
when you arrive here
there is no stone not a single stone
there is no moss not a single hair of a green moss
then there was the pain of waiting
time is always delaying its coming
trains stopped and cars are having flat tires
but you are faithful you keep on waiting you entertain promises
like dear memories or dreams or wishes that come true somehow
and you waited for so long
now this place is filled with stones and moss grow in each body of the stone
the waters spread their territories and land is emaciated
and the house is covered with water and the roof is gone
and there is nobody here anymore and it is only i who remember you and
i tell them about you and they do not believe me
and i feel like i am a ship that just sunk.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Water so Deep and Profound
Water so sinuous and devious,
And as mystifying as you.
Water is always hiding its true self,
Never in one form.
Water can be the shimmer,
Reflecting off the light of the pond,
Making the pond seem magnificent.
Water can be the rushing sound,
As it escapes the secretive pond,
And runes down into the vast ocean,
Seeking adventure and unfound dreams.
Water can be the feeling of calmness,
As it sits there, overlooking the pond,
With wonder and seeing how it made it what it is.
Water so supple and wondrous,
The pond is born from the water.
Water so deep and profound,
Just like you,
The pond so incomplete without water,
Just like your family.
poem by Music Galore
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Keep Listening Still
when our friends finally abandon us
we are still lucky
to have us: me myself and I,
NOW, there is no need to adjust
and chart what the other
needs
what amount of light must this room
have
what shape must the window be
half-open or wide open to see
the long stretch of the road beyond
this room
narrow and noisy with the other
when everything fails
do not ponder upon any loss or regret
how useless and faulty have you become
there is no use
the world moves on
the ship sails still
when made to choose between the joy of the crowd
when you cannot afford it
choose silence instead
purify the mind
live in the solitude of the soul
like a pond without a ripple
however, when a leaf falls (another metaphor for death
or failure)
welcome it
for such shall become your
wise company
listen to the duet
of leaf and water.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fishes' Message, Poet: Sohrab Sepehri
I went to the pond
Hoping to see the reflection of my loneliness in the water
There was no water in the pond.
The fishes were saying:
'"It is not the trees' fault at all.
It was a sultry summer noon,
The bright son of water, sat by the pond's edge
And the eagle of the sun dived down and lifted him up & up in the air.
To hell with our not reaching any oxygen from water.
And the glitter has left our scales all together.
Instead, that big light,
The reflection of that red carnation in the water
Whose heart, if the wind was blowing, would beat behind the layers of neglect,
was our eyes.
It was a window to the confession of paradise.
If you see God in the palpitations of the garden,
Make an effort and tell him that the fishes'' pond is dry.'"
The wind was going to visit the plane tree,
I was going to visit God.
poem by Mehraneh Hosseini
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It's Not By The Water Alone The Stone Get Wet
it's not by the water alone the stone get wet
many time the soil moisture rise the plant to grow,
and the dew fall in the midst forest has capture the
sun to shadow the plant maturity until the bearing
trees touch every twisting tooth to go down
roll on the water stream the fungi has distance the
cope off the fish, rushing into the turmoil of
crushing speed amongst the stone of sojourner into
the sea of no returning back, the awakening
movement of home bound recipe of life
all gets wet, nay wet moisturize all the rolling stone
towards to the sea floor of forever gray; neither the
water filled the dried color of the stone, and scented
to attract fish to return home for what is real lives
forever in the heart of the stone
let every piece of pebble gems taste a little droplets
of water as it linger on in the memory of the each
stream.....
poem by Antonio Liao
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The Truth the Dead Know
For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959
Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.
My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.
And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Dan Costina?
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My Kind Of Woman / My Kind Of Man
You dont need diamonds or big fancy cars
You say your happy right where you are
Were bound together by a little gold band
Youre my kind of woman
Oh, youre my kind of man
Oh living without you is my only fear
You still drive me crazy when I hold you near
My body trembles with each touch of your hand
Youre my kind of woman
Oh, youre my kind of man
Chorus:
Youre my kind of woman
Youre my kind of man
A match made in heaven
By gods gentle hands
Ill love you forever
Together well stand
Youre my kind of woman
Youre my kind of man
(repeat chorus)
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Long Yearning (Sent Far)
When the beautiful woman was here, the hall was filled with flowers,
Now the beautiful woman's gone, the bed is lying empty.
On the bed, the embroidered quilt is rolled up: no-one sleeps,
Though three years have now gone by, I think I smell that scent.
The scent is finished but not destroyed,
The woman's gone and does not come.
Yearning yellows the falling leaf,
White dew beads the green moss.
About A Stone Without A Door
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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339
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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