En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Meeting The New Year...

we do not wish to meet this new year
with firecrackers
we get away from the tradition of noise
and wild merrymaking
the smoke that chokes us
the rubbish that we give to what could
have been a neat morning
we pledge that what we offer for the year
is the peace of the hearth of the home
the silence of the moss
the coolness of the pond
the songs of birds hovering on
the twigs of oak trees and
the softness of the ferns

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The First Morning Of The New Year

and now everyone is back to sleep
last night's revelry was a must
firecrackers, heavy drinking,
loud music, motors honking
and at the last countdown
the clinking of wine glasses
for the toasts

a happy new year
they all promised themselves

i slept early last nigth
after a silent prayer

waking up at 4 in the morning
another silence meets me

and this silence shall be the same
for another year

strong, and ponderous
trying not to disturb anyone
curling satisfactorily upon itself
like a boa that i just fed.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: All Things Have a Purpose

A wild tree grows for ants to be its guests!
Old water-tank helps frogs spawn, croak each year;
A neem tree grows for birds to build their nests;
The refuse-dumps rear insects sounding ear.

The cut tree-trunks help white ants eat and breed;
The papayas help birds to beak with joy;
On wild berries, squirrels happily feed;
The tall palm-trees house pea-fowls to enjoy.

The wilder trees add greenness to the earth;
The wild flowers give nectar to wild bees;
The parrot-noise though disturbing, gives mirth;
His duty to His creatures all, God sees.

Don’t blame something if you can’t understand;
God knows the uses of the desert-sand!

poem by John Celes
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Time Warp

the wind billowed gusts from decades ago
breeze borrowed coolness from a christmas that had passed
the morning stole its existence from a year
from a year which obviously did not last
the silence of the stillness played a familiar melody
brought a familiar feeling despite the isolation
a company in the midst of melancholy
this may be a blissful condemnation

poem by Estrellita Dedel
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Funky New Year

Went to a party just last night
Wanted to bring the year in right
Woke up this morning I don't know how
Last night I was a happy man, but the way I feel right now
It's gonna be a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Ooo, Ahh, got to be a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Can't remember when I ever felt worse
Nothing matters and everything hurts
They were passin' round the bottle, made me feel brand new
Trouble with the new man he wants a hit too, hit me
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
oooooo, it's a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Lord, mmm, FUNKY NEW YEAR
Nurse I'm worse FUNKY NEW YEAR
I got to perk up a little FUNKY NEW YEAR
My hair hurts FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
A party baby
Never again FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Who's shoes are these FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Party hardy baby FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
What year is this anyway?

song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The New Forest

Tall trees offer the birds and beasts much protection;
Of flora and fauna, there is a truly fabulous collection.
Through the forest, ponies roam around wild and free;
Up above their heads, the small birds nest in the trees.

Under the canopy of the trees, the world seems so dim,
But, in grassy clearings, the sunlight is suddenly let in.
Trees, caught from falling, stand at an angle, inclined;
With other trees, their twisted limbs are now entwined.

Rabbits risk emerging from warren holes to run around;
Their long ears stand erect, listening for the tiniest sound.
The forest is punctuated with patches of soft, marshy land,
Where large pools of stagnant water, always seem to stand.

Herds of deer roam around, with their heads held up high;
But on seeing any human, they suddenly feel slightly shy.
Earthen tracks have been formed, by countless falling feet;
Eager to avoid the hidden dangers, of the soft bogs of peat.

Couples companionably dawdle, as they exercise their dogs,
Who, in their eagerness, vault over fallen, moss covered logs.
The boughs of Silver birch trees gently shimmer in the sun;
Twigs snap under foot, sounding like a shot fired from a gun.

The silence is sometimes broken, in places, by passing trains,
But once they've passed by, peace and quiet, once again, reign.
Leaves, twigs, pine cones, and berries, carpet the forest's floor.
For birds and animals, the forest is Mother Nature's food store.

The forest is a sanctuary from the pressures of modern living;
The pace there, compared to everyday life, is more forgiving.
The forest can be a magical place; it seems almost enchanted.
Tiny tots believe fairies live there and want their wishes granted.

Here and there, the ground rises into grassy mounds and banks.
The trees stand tall, like the attentive soldiers in military ranks.
In the shady spots, unfurl a multitude of magnificent spiky ferns.
In autumn, dressed in bright colours, the trees almost seem to burn.

Broken boughs lie abandoned; under lichen laden logs, insects hide.
Streams meander through the forest, and the surrounding countryside.
All of this outstanding natural beauty, is given to us humans for free;
There isn't a more tranquil place upon this earth, where I'd rather be.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Inspired by Issa - New Year's Morning Temple

smoke denser
than house on fire
new year morning's temple

joss-sticks bigger
and taller than the gods
new year eve's temple

inspired by

on New Year's morning
the prayers to Buddha
come and go
-Issa,1825

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Spring

Sound the flute!
Now it’s mute.
Birds delight
Day and night;
Nightingale
In the dale,
Lark in sky,
Merrily,
Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.

Little boy,
Full of joy;
Little girl,
Sweet and small;
Cock does crow,
So do you;
Merry voice,
Infant noise,
Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.

Little lamb,
Here I am;
Come and lick
My white neck;
Let me pull
Your soft wool;
Let me kiss
Your soft face;
Merrily, merrily, we welcome in the year.

poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lend Me Silence

Lend me silence
The noise is drowning me
Making my heart unheard
Making my spirit inaudible
Silence is peace
Silence is joy

Give me silence
Give me peace
Noise is polluting
I long to hear
My breath
And whisper

Lend me silence
Lend me peace
My soul is yearning
For solace

poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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A Faithful Witness

To the firstborn of Yahseph,
Of all that is created;
To the secondborn of Yahseph,
Do set set your mind on Mount Zion;
For His name is His glory and,
Of the economic well-being.

Of the year of the rat,
Of the year of the dog,
Of the year of the cow,
Of the year of the bull,
Of the year of the sheep,
Of the year of the dragon,
Of the year of the snake,
Of the year of the pig,
Of the year of the goat,
Of the year of the lizard,
Of the year of the crocodile,
Of the year of the elephant,
Of the year of the scorpion,
Of the year of the turtle,
Of the year of the fish,
Of the year of the earth,
Of the year of the wind,
Of the year of the fire,
Of the year of the water,
And of the year of the bush!
Like the firstborns of slaves.

The hips of romance,
The faithful witness will not lie;
The same day,
The same night,
Of the love shared at where no oxen are;
And the crib was very clean.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Softness

the softness amidst the hardness
of things
the forgiving, the compassionate,
the tender silence, the comfort,
the mediator, the coolness of home,
the warmth of arms, the lullaby
the song in the middle of the night
the flower that blooms forever
the garden of my heart
a memory not forgotten
the moon inspiration
the silvery pond
the grace when everything seems harsh
the love without attached conditions
everlasting goodness

she is mother.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Year Like This One

After a year like this one
Im surprised I do not hate your guts
And, after a year like this one
Im suprised I still love music just as much
After a year like this one
Im suprised I did not eat my arm
And, after a year like this one
Im sorry if Im not cordial to everyone
La la la la la ....
After a year like this one
Im suprised I do not hate your guts
And, after a year like this one
Im suprised I still love music just as much
After a year like this one
Im suprised I did not eat my arm
And, after a year like this one
Im sorry if Im not cordial to everyone
La, la, la, la, la.....
After a year like this one
Im supised I am convinced at all
And, after a year like this one
I do not roll my eyes at the cynical
And,after a year like this one
I cant help wonder how theyve been
After a year like this one
I think Ill leave it all to my next-of-kin
La, la, la, la, la.....
After a year like this one
Im suprised were all not raving drunks and
After a year like this one
I want you to choose the restaurant
After a year like this one
Ill need a good whole 16 months alone and
After a year like this one
I think Ill make the west coast beaches my new home
La, la, la, la, la.....

song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Early Morning.....

this is what happened
that morning all i heard was the sound of chirping birds
haggling for a home upon those crown of trees
luscious leaves firm branches
tarring twigs

it might be an illusion since when the morning light came in profusion
upon those grounds
there is nothing

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetess

now that you have awakened from the deep slumber
you shall rise and meet this bright morning

do you see the sun rising from the thighs of the mountain?
do you hear the songs of birds from the mouths of the caves?
do you see how the trees dance to the caresses of the winds?
do you feel the coolness of the dew hanging on the blades of grass
as they all touch the soles of your feet?

they have been waiting for you
they are the images of your poetry
they are the symbols of your greatness

my dear poetess, how can you ever stop writing the words?
how can you ever stop to sing the songs of beauty?
how can you ever deny the true nature of your being?
my dear poetess, you must begin to write again
in all these, you shall not die.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Spring And The Fall

In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The trees were black where the bark was wet.
I see them yet, in the spring of the year.
He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach
That was out of the way and hard to reach.

In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The rooks went up with a raucous trill.
I hear them still, in the fall of the year.
He laughed at all I dared to praise,
And broke my heart, in little ways.

Year be springing or year be falling,
The bark will drip and the birds be calling.
There's much that's fine to see and hear
In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year.
'Tis not love's going hurt my days.
But that it went in little ways.

poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Roots And Leaves Themselves Alone

ROOTS and leaves themselves alone are these;
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods, and from the
pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love--fingers that wind around tighter
than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds, hid in the foliage of trees, as the
sun is risen;
Breezes of land and love--breezes set from living shores out to you
on the living sea--to you, O sailors!
Frost-mellow'd berries, and Third-month twigs, offer'd fresh to young
persons wandering out in the fields when the winter breaks up,
Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms;
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring
form, color, perfume, to you;
If you become the aliment and the wet, they will become flowers,
fruits, tall blanches and trees. 10

poem by Walt Whitman
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New Year

Farewell to the old year forever,
And all its sorrows and care
We'll bury in our hearts, and endeavor
New troubles and trials to bear.

The old year has gone with its sadness,
In oblivion to dwell evermore;
The new year will come with its gladness,
To welcome the rich and the poor.

Ah, welcome the new year with pleasure,
And welcome home friends, that is dear;
Be happy and joyful together,
And greet each happy new year.

Some people will meet in sadness,
For death has entered their home,
And robbed them of joy and gladness,
And left them forsaken and lone.

Young people not meet it in sorrow,
For their hearts are blithesome and gay,
Trouble will come with to-morrow,
So let them be happy to- day.

Farewell to the old year forever;
Lay its sorrows aside with a tear.
Think of the future; and endeavor
To greet each happy new year.

poem by Julia A Moore
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Strange But True 1 - The Burning House

There were four of us in the garden,
which overlooked a valley below.
The sunset was moving across the sky,
as the songs of twilight could be heard,
then a siren made us look around.
There below us within a grove of trees,
a spiral of smoke rose to meet the sky.
The house within the grove was burning fiercely;
its glow could be seen by us on higher ground,
but not by those on the lower ground.
We sat and watch in fascination
as there was little we could do.
Because the house was well hidden from the road,
the fire department missed it too.
Eventually when they reached the house, t
he occupants had perished in the flames.

Therefore, begins the story
I have never been able to explain.
A year went by and the charred ruins remained.
Nothing was ever built on the spot
nor the ground ever reclaimed.
The only monument that was left there
was the charred black timber on the ground.

My friends and I were playing
as we usually did in the garden,
overlooking the valley below
when a silence seem to engulf us.
In the distance, the mournful wail of a siren
broke the stillness there.
Looking down into the valley
we were amazed at what we saw,
a spiral of smoke reaching to the sky
within the grove of trees where the house used to be
from a burning building that was no longer there,
exactly how we had witnessed it a year before.
For an hour, we watched fascinated,
until the images we saw began to fade.
Did it all play back for some Anniversary,
or were our minds jut playing tricks on us all?
The question still bothers me
over fifty years from that day.
I will never know the truth,
and the mystery will always stay a mystery.

poem by David Harris
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It Rains For The First Day Of 2009

it rains for the first day of 2009
the firecrackers smoke all gone
the unnecessary papers
the trash that all of you left
are all wet and smeared

i do not wish to say
that this world is shedding tears

i know if these be tears from the skies
all these are but
tears of joy

you, my friend, who lies there still drunk
and sleepy, with dried saliva on your lips
curling on the floor like an abandoned child

yes, my friend, you can be positive about
all these

this year may still have so much patience
to give.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now That The Year Is Growing Kind Of Old (Envelope Couplet Sestets)

Now that the year is growing kind of old
when the true story of Jesus we are told,
we are living up to a day of giving
while daily we hear joyful birds singing
as when they did that child once behold,
now that the year is growing kind of old.

Now that the year is growing kind of old
our Christian faith we do at times uphold
while to others we bring some happiness
like messengers of God we try to bless,
sing happy songs on each friendly threshold,
now that the year is growing kind of old.

Now that the year is growing kind of old
while some live sheltered in a stronghold
in a world of chaos there is tranquillity,
when in God we find some serenity,
in our own lives we act cheerful and bold,
now that the year is growing kind of old.

Now that the year is growing kind of old
in our lives God’s blessings are manifold,
while merrily bells do jingle and chime,
we tell of loving that goes past all time,
we celebrate Christmas in each household,
now that the year is growing kind of old.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Vies Manquees

A YEAR ago we walked the wood--
A year ago to-day;
A blackbird fluttered round her brood
Deep in the white-flowered may.

We trod the happy woodland ways,
Where sunset streamed between
The hazel stems in long dusk rays,
And turned to gold the green.

A thrush sang where the ferns uncurled,
And clouds of wind-flowers grew:
I missed the meaning of the world
From lack of love for you.

You missed the beauty of the year,
And failed its self to see,
Through too much doubt and too much fear,
And too much love of me.

This year we hear the birds' glad strain,
Again the sunset glows,
We walk the wild wet woods again,
Again the wind-flower blows.

In cloudy white the falling may
Drifts down the scented wind,
And so the secret drifts away
Which we shall never find.

Our drifted spirits are not free
Spring's secret springs to touch,
For now you do not care for me,
And I love you too much.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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