Morning Walks
morning walks you spend alone
time squandered
without the sun fully shining
you see a gray horizon
feeling the limitless stretch
out there
shadows of trees
foggy mountains and
this sad bird still sleepy
on a branch of a tree
underneath the grasses wilt
and some unknown footsteps
you stop for a while to think
and then you keep on walking
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Morning
the house is surrounded by trees
and birds sleep there
some of those who do not have fears
made their nests
and this early morning i hear them sing
chirp if you may call it
but there is this feeling that nature is there
in the songs of birds
and the hush of the wind and the coming
bright rays of the sun
my dog is beside me
still asleep as i begin my prayers and rituals
for the day
behind the black shadows of the trees
the gray horizon starts
to brighten and now the mountains begin to
appear in view
their peaks touching the skies
as the clouds hang and float and drift....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Foggy Day
Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Thru the moments of twist
That the streets are now in
And gray morning has kissed
With a diffusional spin
Every hour in its gray
As the evening passes thru
And kids in streets play
For each opportunity new
When feelings are in laughter
In every moments awake
And what there comes after
In their giving and take
Foggy day in the city
Like a haze of the grays
So much playful and witty
That is now in its haze
Sideway kids there talking
Youth of hope and a smile
Brussels playground walking
For its enduring while
Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Whisper dark soon there
With its nocturnal sleep
As darkness is everywhere
In their dreams to keep
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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A Foggy Day
I was a stranger in the city
Out of town were the people I knew
I had that feeling of self-pity
What to do, what to do, what to do
The outlook was decidedly blue
But as I walked through the foggy streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest day I've known
A foggy day, in London Town
Had me low, had me down
I viewed the morning, with much alarm
British museum, had lost its charm
How long I wondered,
Could this thing last
But the age of miracles, hadn't past
For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London Town,
The sun was shining everywhere
For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London Town,
The sun was shining everywhere
Everywhere
Everywhere
Everywhere
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald, music by George Gershwin, lyrics by Ira Gershwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Five Flights Up
Still dark.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires
once or twice, quavering.
Questions---if that is what they are---
answered directly, simply,
by day itself.
Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.
The little black dog runs in his yard.
His owner's voice arises, stern,
"You ought to be ashamed!"
What has he done?
He bounces cheerfully up and down;
he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.
Obviously, he has no sense of shame.
He and the bird know everything is answered,
all taken care of,
no need to ask again.
---Yesterday brought to today so lightly!
(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Like A Song Bird
Like A Song Bird
Every morning when I wake up
I open my dew-drenched sash window
to the lilting tune of the kiskadee
hopping and popping on a branch
of the jamoon tree
loaded with mouth-full bunches of
jamoon berries, purple and delicious
fresh-scented air wet with the morning dew
intoxicate my nostrils with a heave and sigh
I stretch my open arms
in welcome glee
to spread my soul among the trees
I wish my voice could echo
like a song bird
kiss-kiss-ka-dee
kiss-kiss-ka-dee
to make me free.
poem by Leonard Dabydeen
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Willow Tree
underneth it stood a little girl
not very fond but she had a pearl
it was magical
and very fragile
underneath the willow tree
there stood a butterfly
that started to cry
it was colorful
and very sad
we dont know why just the thought of it made me mad
underneath the willow tree
there the bird stood on a branch
looks like it is about to launch
it was very sick
every where in her body was a flick
it was very frighting
then struck lighting
and that was the last day
underneath the willow tree
poem by Amber Magee
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How I Can Smell Like Dusts And Molds....
i take a walk this morning
in this village of trees where there are no houses of
dwellers,
i am looking for a peaceful place as i carry with me a load of some
thoughts heavy on my hair
i do not think that i am being punished with these
i am just trying to take my time
listening to my own footsteps
to the sound of the leaves on those grasses and trees
a river walks along with me
that is how i see it
it is a water traveler wanting a companion
towards a far end
that it knows too well for i am but new here
a lost stranger to his view
a novice of distance
i bring peace in my heart, i have set some pigeons free
my gifts to the balding mountains and to the hills with brown grasses
no pen, no paper, nothing about personal computers or cellphones
no signal, i am satisfied,
i am sucking air, words are carried with it in my nostrils
the river smiles, flows, and winds itself like a snake smooth on the grass
i listen too much, i become this earth
the river winds around my hair, birds are building nests,
the owl sleeps for the night beside my ears,
how peaceful is this place, how foolish had i been for all those years
hiding behind those rooms and rooms of books,
which explains why the river says that i smell nothing but
dusts and molds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Man Walks Slowly/ When He Has Nowhere Special To Go
A man walks slowly
When he has nowhere special to go-
A man walks slowly
And has the time to look around
The flowers, the trees,
His own memories his dreams-
He walks slowly
And enjoys his walking-
Who knows how much longer
He will be able to go on walking?
He walks slowsly
He has nowhere special to go-
He enjoys the morning light
He is at home with the world and happy-
He walks slowly
And is at home wherever he goes-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Blossom
Without anyone to love you
What will you blossom into?
Without anyone to hold you
How will you grow?
And in the Wildwood trees
The wild wind blows
And the nighttime crushes the hurricane rose
And with no one to care for you
Who knows
Blossom for me rose
You're the picture of my love
Blossom for me rose
Stretch out underneath the stars
And when tomorrow comes
I will hold you up
Little blossom, shining in the sun
Without any place to go to
How will your soul return to
Without anyone to keep you
Where will you go
And in the shadows of the past
Where you're spinning so fast
It's hard to see it coming
And it never lasts
And with nothing to judge your life by
How will you know
Blossom for me rose
You're the picture of my life
Blossom for me rose
Stretch out underneath the stars
And when tomorrow comes
I will hold you up
Little blossom, shining in the sun
Without anyone to love you
What will you blossom into
Without anyone to hold you
How will you grow
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking In My Footsteps
You're walking in my footsteps
From the tracks
That I have left.
You're walking in my footsteps
For now you see
My regrets.
For now you walk
With a limp
From your burdens
Your back is bent.
And you're walking in my footsteps
For now I see
That you're upset
You're walking the road
That I've walked before
The one I swore
I'd walk no more.
And you're walking in my footsteps
For now you see
The tracks I left
You're walking it so fast
Just like a run
Leaving the mud prints
Under the sun
That dries up
and turns to dirt
Which blows away
But stays the hurt.
And you're walking in my footsteps
From your burdens
That I have kept
I see the blood
That I have shed
Mixed with yours
Though it still is red.
And you're walking in my footsteps
For the footsteps now, are the same
With the same depth
From the same tears
From the same old troubles
From the same old fears.
And you're walking in your footsteps
For mine are gone
And yours are here.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Sound Of The Beating Heart!
we spend lifetimes searching
for the sound the leaf makes
turning from green to orange to red...
we spend our loving burning branches
in the shadow of the tree.
we spend our faith trying to capture,
and hold the wind for a moment...
never knowing that what we search for
is only our own being!
we are the leaf, the branches, the fire,
the tree, and the wind...
the sound, the loving, and the faith.
and yet we are nothing.
we are but a moment,
familiar taste and scent.
we are eternity,
the breath of an unknown god.
the sun has set,
stillness comes walking
across the mountains.
i listen for the voices
that have no face.
dead poets sit by a vagrant fire,
immigrants, refugees...
spinning old tales.
my friends smell like trees,
and leaves turned brown.
we cross bridges unseen,
with no destination.
and the only sound
that even god can hear...
the sound of the beating heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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One Day Nearer Spring
The weather cold this morning it is only two degrees
And a thick fog through the woodland, I can hardly see the trees
And the wildborn birds are silent there is scarcely any breeze
It's a day for woolly jumper though not cold enough to freeze.
For Winter in Victoria the weather seems quite dry
And the mornings foggy and quite cold allowing for July
And the fog doesn't lift till mid morning and the sun shines through the gray
And you see the grayness of your breath on a chilly Winter
day.
But only yesterday I saw male blackbird searching for a nesting site
On the ivy along galvanize fence in mid afternoon sunlight
And from there he flew to camellia tree as he pondered on where best
Might be the safest place for him and his mate to build their year's first nest.
The last leaves off of deciduous tree lay scattered on the ground
And in the grayness of the dawn the silence is profound,
The ghost like trees shrouded in gray and the birds refuse to sing
But every Winter day that dawns is one day nearer Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Morning’s Glory
Dawn breaks the stranglehold
of a sleepy dusky night.
The sun peers above the eastern horizon
as morning begins to break into full glory.
Flowers open their petals wide
to allow the warmth inside;
birds leave their roosts
to wander the sky.
The morning’s glory soars
on delicate golden wings
as the early birds begin to sing.
Morning’s glory looks down on all
awakening with sleepy eyes,
preparing them to go
through a brand new day
that starts with the morning’s glory
and the sun shining bright.
9 December 2009
poem by David Harris
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Sleepy Time Time
By jack bruce and janet godfrey
Im a sleepy time baby, a sleepy time boy.
Work only maybe, life is a joy.
Well have a sleepy time time.
Well have a sleepy time time.
Well have a sleepy time time.
Well have a sleepy time time.
Sleepy time time, sleepy time all the time.
Asleep in the daytime, asleep at night.
Life is all playtime; working aint right.
Chorus
I have my sunday, that aint no lie.
But on monday morning comes my favorite cry.
Chorus
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Can't Stop
I Can't Stop [Controversy Music]
------------
I can't stop this feeling I got
I feel it right down to my toes
I can't stop this feeling I got
My body want you don't you know
I can't stop this feeling I got
It's running all down my leg
I can't stop this feeling I got
Why you wanna make me beg
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
You know I can't sleep at night
I can't stop you know I love you a lot
I never want you out of my sight
I can't stop this feeling I got
I get to shakin' all in my shoes
I can't stop this feeling I got
The doctor said there's nothing that he can do
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
My body wants you. I want you, want you
I can't stop this feeling I got
Baby, baby, baby. Yeah
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
No.
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
I can't stop this feeling I got
Feeling, feeling, feeling, ooh.
Huh, if that don't work
Yeah what
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Morning Poem
darkness again fades away
slowly light comes as a dilution
the leaves turn from gray to green
and what is hazy becomes jazzy.
the crowing of the cocks and the
silence of the pavements
the shadows of the trees and
the silhouettes of the mountains
the opening of the windows
the coming of the breeze
your hands stretch to embrace
another day another beauty
your heart sings a prayer
God is here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sleepy Time Time
By jack bruce and janet godfrey
Im a sleepy time baby, a sleepy time boy.
Work only maybe, life is a joy.
Well have a sleepy time time.
Well have a sleepy time time.
Well have a sleepy time time.
Well have a sleepy time time.
Sleepy time time, sleepy time all the time.
Asleep in the daytime, asleep at night.
Life is all playtime; working aint right.
Chorus
I have my sunday, that aint no lie.
But oh monday morning aint my favorite cry.
Chorus
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Catfish John (studio Outtake)
Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Don't be hanging around old Catfish John."
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Take me back to another morning, to a time so long ago,
When the sweet magnolia blossomed, cotton fields as white as snow.
Catfish John was a river hobo who lived and died by the river's bed,
Looking back I still remember I was proud to be his friend.
Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Don't be hanging around old Catfish John."
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Born a slave in the town of Vicksburg, traded for a chestnut mare,
Lord her never spoke in anger though his load was hard to bear.
Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Euphoria
just walking, walking and walking
on a narrow street around the pond in the dark
surrounded by the mountains
so dark that I could see the light of the town behind the mountains
if there were always a truth over something
would you like to see it?
would you like to start over, or leave it alone?
tempting, but I will leave it alone
even if I feel like apologizing to someone
and I walk again as if with no purpose in the foggy rain
even if mud sticks to me
sentimentally mystic euphoria
T8
there is a winding river
beside tall mountains
you must know that we have
crossed this river
ten times already
it is the same river
winding through the banks
of these foggy mountains
the tall cogon grasses
can deceive us and so
are the boulders of rocks
that lie along our paths
we are grasping for air
to reach the highest peak of these range
of mountains and valleys and
plains
at the topmost
there we can see the truth and negate
that we can never step twice
on that same river that winds through the hillsides
snake, boa, venomous circuitous foggy paths
damned, we stepped on the same river more than twice
this is the tenth, and this is the highest peak
the world is nothing but a winding snake.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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