Living A Clean Life
the grasses of the garden
are trimmed
and it looks so clean
and neat as it keeps on spreading
its capacity for longing
i wonder if we can be like the green grass
if we can be like the white sky
so beautiful yet true to their nature.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode To The Green Grass Of Summer
green green grass
spreading slowly on the path
of my feet
treaded upon
such green beauty
covering once
this dust, this mud,
this plain expanse
of ugliness
i sing the song
of green green grasess
spreading thinly on
the pavement
grasshoppers
and ants and some worms
yes, the green green grasses
are still their home
patches of earth
from far
you may see
this stitches
of moss
a landscape
of this earth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Complacency
the road to understanding
appears to us
fenced and paved
the way all cleared
and the grasses on the side
well trimmed
the trees grown on a line
and flowers are grouped
according to their kind
complacent we think that this is all
that there is nothing to be figured out anymore
there is nothing to be scrutinized
nothing to question
you sit inside the hut on the side of a hill
and rest and breathe the air from there
there is nothing to be done
everything is handed
and what we do is only to receive
and behave
no one jumps over the fence
no one puts another kind of flower anymore
what grass you know
is the grass that is well trimmed
nature manicured
i have long gone away from that place
i live in the forest
and struggle to communicate with the monkeys
i am clearing my own way
and building my own house on top of a tree
i am well, and i guess happier.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Grasses
Green beautiful grasses
Where lands the butterflies
Green grasshoppers just hopped
Greedily shining beautifully to be alive
Looking deeply in ones gazing eyes
And don't know how to say goodbye
Or tell ones flesh never to smile freely
With these green grasses
That smiles with a dog tooth
For flesh makes grasses ever green.
Green beautiful grasses
Just doesn't feel right
Growing on a burial ground
Across ones head
Having no yesterday,
And no to-morrow.
Forgetting thoughts, taught, time
Forgetting fortune, life and love
Lying at peace
With grasses growing all over ones head
Green beautiful grasses
Where I lay when I rise to the morning sun
Stretching legs during the burning ray
Forgetting about death or life
Feeling an angel
Angels cherish a background
Looking so beautiful,
A sight to see
A scene to show
How deep is a love….
written by: Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
© 2012
poem by Onyekachukwu Vincent Onyeche
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It is Spring Time
It is Spring Time
It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.
It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.
It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.
It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.
It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.
It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.
It is spring time.
poem by Crystal Chown
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The Green Grass Of Your Home...
they are the silent witnesses
of my first love
those spreading green grass of your home
away from mine
when we first kiss and when we finally made love
sweet juices flow on such blanket of green
so fresh then warm...
they shall be the same silent witness of my last breath
those wilting grasses of your home
away from mine
when we finally part and when the wreath is placed
above my home
away from yours
the elegy shall be said and the dirge shall be played
and the wilting grasses shall have heard
the sounds of my
final rest.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Daisies
In the great green park with the wooden palings -
The wooden palings so hard to climb,
There are fern and foxglove, primrose and violet,
And green things growing all the time;
And out in the open the daisies grow,
Pretty and proud in their proper places,
Millions of white-frilled daisy faces,
Millions and millions--not one or two.
And they call to the bluebells down in the wood:
'Are you out--are you in? We have been so good
All the school-time winter through,
But now it's playtime,
The gay time, the May time;
We are out and at play. Where are you?'
In the gritty garden inside the railings,
The spiky railings all painted green,
There are neat little beds of geraniums and fuchsia
With never a happy weed between.
There's a neat little grass plot, bald in places,
And very dusty to touch;
A respectable man comes once a week
To keep the garden weeded and swept,
To keep it as we don't want it kept.
He cuts the grass with his mowing-machine,
And we think he cuts it too much.
But even on the lawn, all dry and gritty,
The daisies play about.
They are so brave as well as so pretty,
You cannot keep them out.
I love them, I want to let them grow,
But that respectable man says no.
He cuts off their heads with his mowing-machine
Like the French Revolution guillotine.
He sweeps up the poor little pretty faces,
The dear little white-frilled daisy faces;
Says things must be kept in their proper places
He has no frill round his ugly face -
I wish I could find his proper place!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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If I come Again......
If I come again in
This beautiful earth,
I'll be a grass-flower,
In Nature's heart!
In the lush green meadow,
I'll laugh and chat with wind.
The breeze will pass me,
and tell the gossip
of the motley flies...
But, I'll play then with
the golden light of
morning, and with the
baby grasses, nodding
my head to say, yes to,
their every childlike talk.
I want to stay as small,
as the tiny flower of grass,
to equip the earth with
my innocent soul!
I'll stretch wide, wide,
to join the absolute whole!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Environments
innocence asks,
why is the sky blue
and the grass green,
guilt asks, of blue and green,
sky and grass,
redemption for sinning,
polluting skies and grasses
grey with smog,
why oh why,
is the sky not blue
nor the grass not green
poem by Shimon Weinroth
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The Colors
sky blue clouds
saffron flowers
green green grass
orange horizons
fading afternoon
black starless nights
pastel brown nipples
spreading legs
on white mattresses.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Green Grass Of Home
The old home town looks the same as I step off the train
Meeting every train in my mind's eye till the man in mail came
Hair like gold, lips like cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
Green, green grass of home, green green grass of home.
Only dream I know of is to be found hair like gold, lips like a cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me, on the steps of my sweet dream
It's good I dreamt the green, green grass of home
I wait and look around me at the broken walls that surround me
And out here I was on the ground.
There's a garden in the path of progress unharmed through winter's day break
Then I'll touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me from the chains of the old dark hollow
The green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me on the steps, my sweet dream
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain Drops
Here comes the grey clouds
rolling in,
Spreading rain all over the
town.
Rain drops help to moisten
the earth's beautiful green
grass.
Sidewalks once dusty are
washed and cleaned.
Rivers and lakes are given
plenty more water.
Fishes swim around happy
beneath the rain drops,
creating millions of ripples
upon the water.
Flowers and plants no longer
Thirst,
Even trees and bushes seem
to dance after a good drink
of water,
Animals get their fill of
water too.
Just Like a shower,
Rain drops clean and
cleanse everything,
Leaving the earth refreshed
and renewed.
After the storm has passed,
The sun shines spreading its
warmth.
Rain drops that are left behind
on Flowers, plants, trees and
grass,
It is like heaven for many insects
to fill their thirsty little
mouths.
Without clouds we would have no
rain drops,
Without rain drops everything would
never be the same.
poem by Derek James
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Emerson
I saw the bee!
But when i came around to your garden, it turned into a butterfly;
Yes, in the land of your muse where you have a beautiful garden.
For, true love brought me closer to you.
This is about the wonderful garden of your love! !
And of all the things planted in this garden;
But, your magical works tranformed this bee that i saw into a butterfly,
However, i will always like to visit this garden of love.
I am Emerson and, this bee that i saw attracted me to your beautiful garden;
And like the muse of true love in the land of beautiful flowers,
But, this magical touch will always be in my mind.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A General Statement About Those Who Spread The Mess...
they seem always to be happier
spreading mess like confetti from a tall dark red building
in the middle of the city
it is not the ordinary mess that you see on the streets
it is professional and too deceiving
authorized as it is with
the validity of the laws of their own creation
we who are below and who watch these makings
grit our teeth like we are grilled in hell
as a matter of internalization
it becomes evident that we who want to be clean
are the most unhappy people on this patch of the earth
perhaps that is the nature of this world
it is more of the scattering rather than the keeping
it is more of the destruction rather than the intricacy of the web of creation
trigger-happy are the murderers of the master plan
and those who want to keep things alive and intact
neat and beautiful
are always the mourners of the morgue.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Green Grass Of Queensland
Wind rocking sway through cloudy sky
My eyeballs fixed on pure smile face
On Byron beach, mirror calm bay
Passed a tiny hole of Ausie law
Lay down over green green grass
Seat over horse's saddle, eying the cows
Anxiety heart turn to peacefully
In the middle of jokes of mixing couple
The job killed the memory of cheeky girls
In my hometown and Borneo island
But longing of Nun Hilla, Nun Baun
Timor homeland villages
Haunting, never fade away
Surrounded by multicolor garden flowers
Green green grass of ranches environment
And traditional Savu scraps in Whites resident
The copy of my beloved homeland
In the break time never stop learning
Writing arts class I am yearning
With beautiful students around
But my wounded soul kept sour
My heart insisted to going home
poem by Pinondang Situmeang
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Tiny Feelings 08
Dedicated to Poet Naidz Ladia
Corporate culture
Sparkling globalization
Kind exploitation
Floating dragonfly
Spreading sapphire
Painting gallery
Space is separation
Kite on the sky
Streets are muddy
Learning black and white
Yesterday to tomorrow
Acrobat on the rope
A4 80g/m² premium sheet
Black-red-orange-yellow-green-blue-purpl e
I need more colors
Single grass
Within millions of grasses
Alone I am
Cockroaches walking
Midnight motionless
Dark chewing chocolate
poem by Ashraful Musaddeq
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Nature Is Bountiful
Nature is whispering
Light winds over the hills and dales
And is spreading its sunshine
Over beautiful vales
For nature is bountiful
With its glory and shine
And wonderful colors
Of rainbow hue fine
For nature is the art of gracious God
Who spreads his bliss for all
In the form of beautiful flowers and clouds
All trees and brooks and rainbow small
For God sends for us autumn and spring
With their beauty, grace and delight
Where birds dance and joyously sing
To make it a beautiful and a priceless sight
For nature is bountiful
And inspires us to live
In its astonishing beauty
That is present and alive
So let the peace of God Almighty flow
Through calm waves or sunshine hue
And listen carefully to the whispering wind
That nature is spreading like a morning dew.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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Avalon
In this world, the nature is dying
The way we once were is leaving us.
Replaced by machines and war
Save for one tiny little corner of the globe.
Avalon.
The grass is green, watered with the water of the large lake.
There are trees, beautiful, tall, abudant.
The flowers are numerous, and so beautiful.
The one building is decorated with ivy and plants.
Inside, the magic of Avalon takes it hold.
Peacefully, animals and people get along with each other
The water in the lake is clean, pure, and fresh.
Everything here is wonderful.
Saved from war, machines, pollution.
The small island is like a large forest, only there are fields too.
Everything of nature, that we have destroyed
Can still be found, if you know where to look.
Avalon is wonderful.
Nothing here is ever destroyed.
Preserved, never to be found
Hidden by the magic,
The wonderful magic of Avalon
Avalon has no boundaries.
Everything seems perfect.
There is no better place
Nothing is more beautiful,
As nature, the way it should be.
The way it once was
Avalon cannot be found,
The magic is hiding,
For sadly, the world it knew is lost.
The world where nature was more than a home builder
The world where people cared
Cared for the trees.
Cared for the air
Cared for everything around them
Avalon's mists will stay unparted
Untill the world is ready
Ready for the wonderful magic of Avalon
Where nature stays strong.
Avalon
This is a message to the world. Plant a tree, grow a garden, something. We are losing what we once had, and once it is all gone, we cannot get it back. Believe in the magic of Avalon and help the world grow back again, grow enough to save itself
poem by Jessica Millsaps
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The Dumb Soldier
When the grass was closely mown,
Walking on the lawn alone,
In the turf a hole I found
And hid a soldier underground.
Spring and daisies came apace;
Grasses hid my hiding-place;
Grasses run like a green sea
O'er the lawn up to my knee.
Under grass alone he lies,
Looking up with leaden eyes,
Scarlet coat and pointed gun,
To the stars and to the sun.
When the grass is ripe like grain,
When the scythe is stoned again,
When the lawn is shaven clear,
Then my hole shall reappear.
I shall find him, never fear,
I shall find my grenadier;
But, for all that's gone and come,
I shall find my soldier dumb.
He has lived, a little thing,
In the grassy woods of spring;
Done, if he could tell me true,
Just as I should like to do.
He has seen the starry hours
And the springing of the flowers;
And the fairy things that pass
In the forests of the grass.
In the silence he has heard
Talking bee and ladybird,
And the butterfly has flown
O'er him as he lay alone.
Not a word will he disclose,
Not a word of all he knows.
I must lay him on the shelf,
And make up the tale myself.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Last Lovely Rose Of The Fall
Her pink petals lay on the short grass beside the red brick garden wall
By the thorny mother that bore her the last lovely rose of the Fall
White butterflies flit in the garden in the warm sunshine of mid day
And the shrike thrush he pipes on a low branch in his cloak of light brown to gray,
The rose tree has lost her last and her finest daughter next year new roses she will bear
And the rose tree in her flowers does look lovely than her there is none quite so fair
And her flowers they must return to Nature and on Nature's bosom decay
And the rose tree herself sooner or later must return to Nature one day,
The dark willy wagtail he sits on the brick wall his long black tail he wags to and fro
For him 'tis a very good Season on butterlies fat he does grow
Each life form serves a purpose in Nature for one to live one has to die
And what comes from Nature goes back to Nature and the same goes for you and for i
The pink rose petals lay on the grass by their mother on this warm March day in the Fall
And of all of the flowers in the garden in bloom she was the fairest of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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