Letting The Grass Grow
i tried to make this garden clean
from weeds and beetles
i keep it away from worms
only flowers are welcome here
and you know it
things went wrong and you know them
all too well
a broken heart unable to heal itself
a broken self, shattered thoughts
un-assembled un-repaired for years
the expected auto-resolution did not arrive
expectations falling like
domino chips
got tired finally about gardening
the flowers are not that beautiful enough
to appease this grieving mind
got bored with pain
ennui reigning
these benumbing times
too careless
and hurting still
finally, i let the grass grow
the weeds conquer
the beetles breeding like hell
the worms
turning into butterflies
time buds now a flowering.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Mosaic, We Abide
weird-weeds & beetles-bad
unkempt, black fouls
time snobs
fingers-a-pointing
darkness-a-reigning
sweet flower blooms
of summer
butterfly lightness
a flutter
sunshine color rainbows
flumes of clouds
flutes of wind
nature strums
such beauty music
heart bleeds for beetles-bad
and weeds a weirding
rejoice for clouds and flumes
of colors and flute winds
we abide by nature
in perfect goodness
excludes none
punishes no one
weeds a tumble
to flutes singing
and clouds drift
to rainbow colors
rains still showering
earth’s thirst
quenched
everything still
colors mix
sounds blend
bad, good, weeds
flowers, beetles
butterflies
all a flutter a chew
all beautiful
whole and always
a beautiful mosaic
we abide.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My plants
My plants
are eaten
by all kinds of vermin.
There are golden beetles
that reaps
the leaves of the beans,
brown buzzing beetles turning in the air
around the tomatoes,
snails that can’t wait
and demolish the leaves
of beans, spinach
and tomatoes.
Indian miners
that feast in their beaks
as if every thing belongs to them.
Even poison that I spread out
doesn’t help a bit
and plants from Mrs. Roberts
that should keep such things in check
grows rampant
and after rains
there are weeds
everywhere,
as if my garden
was prepared only for them.
Even one of the taps breaks
causing water to spray without end
and I have trouble
to bind it down
and have to go to Builders
to get a new one
and this garden man gets fed up
and wants to pull
all of the vegetables out
one by one
and put something else
like flowers into that ground,
until my darling says:
“thank you for the beans,
spinach, carrots and tomatoes
that you placed in the bowls,
can I get a bit of parsley
to put in the salad? ”
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Have Worms Inside My Mouth
at first i wanted to spit them all
wanting to relieve myself
with all the hassle
in keeping worms
that my friends detest
they tell me
that i must spit them all
for reasons of
sanitation
or perhaps
for my own sanity
i think about it
and the possibilities
of finally throwing up
after all i get
nauseous
this feeling of trying to hide
some things
inside the mouth
(do you know
about it?)
i could not do the throwing up
and so
the worms are still there
it is something
about giving them
temporary shelter
a home
i did not listen to myself
i did not listen to their advices
i decided to keep the worms for good
swallowing each worm
sliding in my esophagus
and finally settling inside the
rooms of my heart
i dream about each worm
wriggling inside my brain
but i keep them still
despite the mixed feelings of
pleasure and pain
one day
the worms become butterflies
and i feel ready for
this beautiful eventuality
i look up
to the heavens
on a very bright day
i spit them
all free
to the skies to the clouds
and to the trees
where they all
rightfully belong
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Decided To Cut Some Trees
we planted the seeds together
we were thinking of fruits
for our children
we were thinking of the shade
where they can
in the future play
then the fruits in bounty came
mangoes loaded
and some water apples
shining on the twigs
the fruits ripen and some birds
came and ate them
the fruits ripen and some fell
on the ground and some
worms came and ate them
the trees get tired finally of the
seasons
flowering, fruiting, falling and
rotting and trying to
repeat the cycle all over
again
for years and years
we got old of waiting for something
new and exciting
we got bored of the fruits
the children of the neighbors
got married and left the place
we got old and tired and this day
we decided to cut the trees
some for the first time
we are too shaded
we want to see light come
we want to know what sunshine is
again, after all those years
of coldness and darkness under
the shady trees
perhaps, this is something new now
light and sun and another way to look
at our lives
something exciting something to open
to see blue skies to see the full moon
to feel warmth to let the worms sing
to see some precious stones
hidden all these years in our common paths
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Wonderful Beetle——Shi Xiaoqun
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
Shi Xiaoqun is the emperor's lover of Ir star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like an empress in the star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
Shi Xiaoqun is the emperor's lover of Ir star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like an empress in the star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
When the world loses love and tolerance,
When I no more love you,
When you no more love me,
Then you know what will happen!
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
Shi Xiaoqun is the emperor's lover of Ir star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
poem by Zhijian Jiang
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Flowers and Pages
Flower petals saved
Between holy pages
Dryed and faded, both are
Deep words of life,
Love simply stated.
Memories and hopes
Together combine, ever to
Transcend places and time...
- Life is not a simple dream,
There is so very much
Beyond what is felt, heard and seen...
- Lifes paradox is of such:
So full of beauty
At the start,
So worn and weary
At the finish;
Boundless knowledge
Cannot free the heart,
Endless effort
Cannot still the days
That continue to diminish.
- Perhaps tis truly the other way around,
Only with relaxed acceptance
Through the real beauty of age
And understanding
Can love of life
Ever fully be found.
Humanity,
Wrong from the beginning
Of sin;
Redemption right
To the very end...
For what truly is the meaning
Of the mysterious messages
Life to us does send?
(Tacit translation
Terra-incognita
Revenant revelation unto
Beautiful buena-vista.)
Life, like the beauty of the flower,
So gradually fades
Like the slowly disappearing wonder
In a sunset,
Nearly imperceptable end of days.
- Will our lives be found
Only to end
Like the sun,
Burning down the Western horizon
Blazing so beautiful and bright,
until finally captured and killed
by the darkness of night...
Shall the flowering Garden bloom again?
Will that beautiful sun ever return?
(some seeds planted
only grow after all the weeds
have been thoroughly burned)
Yet for now
the weeds still thrive,
And the flowers are barely able
to remain alive.
So, how shall our lives be found saved,
preserved eternally
between some sacred pages?
(the Words there upon print
to the flowers beauty and reason
do give quiet hint)
Who the answer knows?
One and the same:
The books Author,
The lover and saviour
Of the true beauty, that is the Rose.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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There Is A Secret Garden In My Heart
where i grow
some weeds
and flowers
with colors
and scents
not of your liking
i hide them
there
only for me
to see
and smell
and touch
you do not
know
i am more real
in this garden
my home
away from
you
where i can
be a weed
a grass
and not the
flower
that you always
love
in this garden
where
i am alone
where
i can be myself
away from
the clutches
of your choking
gaze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Pain Inside Of Me
Looking inside myself
Trying to find out who I really am
But its hard to see
All the pain is tangled up in me
With my broken heart torn into pieces
Feels like I will never know who I am
Tired from the inside out
Ready to give it up
For some reason I can't give up
Something keeps holding me back
Feels like this pain has taken over me
Hurting me all over
Wishing I could escape
Maybe I could finally get away from all my fears that haunts me
Wish that I didn't have to face myself
Cause I'm tired of the mirror
Tired of seeing all the pain and lies that hides underneath
Ready to be set free
But is that possible
Will I ever escape all of this
This pain inside of me
Will I ever have a whole heart
I'm tired of it all
Tired of being broken and in pain
Wish that I could start life all over
Then I would know how to fix all my mistakes
Maybe then I wouldn't be living life this way
Pain, Pain go away
Go away and never come back
Find someone else's soul to feed on
Someone who's life is going great
But pain only hits the ones who has it worse
June 8,2008
poem by Espn Chick
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Season-8
Ah
Spring of love flowers
Vasant
Green
Signals to flourish
Fertile
Waltz
Around flowers
Butterflies
Buzz
Bees and beetles
Honeysucklers
Paired
Couples ring the bell
Wedlock-season
poem by Indira Renganathan
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Themes
themes should be universal they say.
to talk of the cruellest month.
excellent.
cities, monuments, flowers.
irreproachable.
a painting of a boy falling out of
the sky, hung in a belgian gallery
or epic sung by a blind bard.
ideal.
bad poets being fortunate, no muse to be invoked.
poems sprout, wild weeds in walled garden.
broken heart tears betrayal
pain shame fear despair bewilderment.
these themes can be arranged according to size
shape and colour in the bowl of the day.
Flowers of mercy
In the field they are scattered
pink, white and brown-red
and emerge by them self
as if by mercy
and shoot up between blades of grass
and weeds
and the brittle heads
looks almost plastic fine
and still there’s nothing artificial
where the flowers stand in the veldt
with only the rain and sun
going over them.
Your love I also found
so unplanted,
which by its own accord
grows into my depths
and through hard times
still stays with me.
Other flowers
want to bloom around me
and I try and cut old feelings
down short,
as you are the flower
of flowers to me
and I just want to grow
deeper into your soul.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Shall She Throw Then The Apple Of Discord?
out there is the calm
and the harmony of the leaves
and the grass
the silence of the ants and
the privacy of the worms
she does not like this
she needs the chaos to divert the
lulling ennui
that will soon numb and kill her
and so she climbs the only living
tree at the center of this paradise
gets the only apple
that she throws under the trees
beside the grass and flowers
and then the discord starts to unfold
now she watches all of them in their
domestic wars
the trees shake the leaves
and the worms are eating the barks
and the ants are building their empires
on sands
simply because they have turned
the blind eye the deaf ear
the gaps of communication bore
the holes of pandemonium
she sits and weaves herself a bandanna
now she is ready to go
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Senses: Cry
Every heart needs time to mend
Even though the wound is running deep
Keep hurting and bleeding
And seems impossible to heal
It will slowly closed
But when the time passed by
And the scar is touched again
Will I cry?
Because it still tender
Or because finally the pain is bearable
So many secrets to be revealed
And fear is growing bigger
Of the change that comes inevitable
The more the shadow is cleared
No other place for you to hide
But when it is bared
And the secret is said in front
Will I cry?
Because of shame
Or because finally I shouldn't lie anymore
Everybody will try to raise again
Even though they are falling to the lowest ground
And helplessly broken
They will crawl with all power left
To get a better life
But when it keeps pushing you down
And the struggle always tasted every moment
Will I cry?
Because it felt useless
Or because now I finally accept my fate and not runaway
Everyday memories are made
Sometimes it lingers for a while
Sometimes it seems forgotten
But unknowingly sleeps inside
And you say it just nightmare
But when suddenly something triggered you
And the remembrance is showed again
Will I cry?
Because I actually regret it
Or because finally it only sweet reminder that could be laugh at
Many things could be the reason of happiness
You are confused which the true one is
You are so lost in finding
So you push every body away
Even though you become lonely
But when someone give you a warm hug
And you could smell the scent you've been longing
Will I cry?
Because I don't deserved that kind of love
Or because I'm relieved that I'm finally at home
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Broken (work in progress)
falling into the sullen
gray slumber of
my broken dreams
to the off-key melody
of my broken guitar
echoing the sound
of my broken heart
i yearn for glue
with which to mend
my broken home
that shattered along
with the pink guitar
both, when whole,
held beautiful music
but now i have only
scars as my token
of a life that lies
in hell, alone and broken.
(alternate ending. w.i.p.)
so i gathered all the pieces
though sharp edges
drew my blood
and fashioned a new heart
with holes to let love in
for i refuse to stay
alone and broken.
(2010)
poem by Rafe Chanteloup
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The Garden
CHOKED with ill weeds my garden lay a-dying,
Hard was the ground, no bud had heart to blow,
Yet shone your smile there, with your soft breath sighing:
'Have patience, for some day the flowers will grow.'
Some weeds you killed, you made a plot and tilled it;
'My plot,' you said, 'rich harvest yet shall give,'
With sun-warmed seeds of hope your dear hands filled it,
With rain-soft tears of pity bade them live.
So, weak among the weeds that had withstood you,
One little pure white flower grew by-and-by;
You could not pluck my flower--alas! how should you?
You sowed the seed, but let the blossom die.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Loboc River Cruise
we finally huddled in a boat
well decorated with some flowers
like the one in the Rose Parade
the boat slowly sails in the River
with a matching band of guitars and
animal skin drums
a woman sings another woman dances
as we see how the brown river is sliced
by the boat on the water
until we arrive at the end of this journey
where there is a waterfall
and then we turn back
to our way again
not really monotonous
and not a waste of time
been here i think seven times
but the river still sings
a lonely song
in my
heart
legend says....
there was once a beautiful maiden....
her heart was broken...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blizzard Of 77
In blizzard of 77
The cars were just lumps on the snow
And then later
Tripping in 7-11
The shelves were stretching out of control
On a plane ride
The more it shakes
The more I have to let go
Now the signals
Still getting all mixed up
Were always doing damage control
But in the middle of the night
I worry
Its blurry even without light
I know I have got a negative edge
Thats why I sharpen all the others a lot
Its like flowers or ladybugs
Pretty weeds or red beetles with dots
(chorus)
i miss you more than i knew
(repeat)
song performed by by Nada Surf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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on a Sunday back to the past that Papa left
on a Sunday
the man returns to the sea
to clean the foreshore
teeming with coconuts
from thick grass
bad grass and beetles
that eat buds and
kill
on a Sunday back
to the past again
clearing some forests
of memories
therein
one seeks a redemption
for what had been
putting some seeds again
as anticipations of
the future
that may never come
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Broken Windows Shattered Mirrors
Broken windows shattered mirrors
The tiny slivers fall like tears
They cut me till my arms run red
They make me wish that I was dead
And though I try to carry on
I know my time here's almost gone
Broken windows shattered mirrors
Broken windows shattered mirrors
I'm surrounded by these fears
I know I shouldn't be afraid
I feel like I'm locked up in a cage
I push and pull try to get out
I scream until I just can't shout
Broken windows shattered mirrors
Broken windows shattered mirrors
I'll have bad luck seven years
I know it's just a superstition
But I also know it's pure intuition
That made me stay not fade away
So I could live another day
Broken windows shattered mirrors
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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