Nature Is
nature
is God's book
and he is
the careful author
whose main
intent
is to please us
with brooks and seas and forests
and landscapes
and birds and
butterflies
and sun and moon
and thousands stars in the heavens
and here we
are his little children
with our
ballpoint pens
scribbling
all his pages
irresponsibly
and possibly guilty
but God smiles
he knows we have fun
and He likes it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Lost Asylum, Wisdom.
She was tender at heart,
In love with a story book
That contained butterflies,
Gardens, lawns, sheep,
Shepherds and brooks.
Devoting attention fully,
Kept on reading slowly.
Paused, mused and resumed,
While words grew sentences,
And gave birth to paragraphs.
Pages matured day by day,
Until her eyes moistened,
With the very last line ended
On the heavy black tiny spot.
She ran to the first page
In pursuit of her intimates,
But could only find
An aged author bearing
Lines of title glaring.
Flies carried wisdom
To distant virgin gardens.
Shepherds with herds
Migrated into unholy lands.
Lawns merged in brooks,
And got asylum in seas!
poem by Tajudeen Shah
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Back To Nature....
sad to say
you have been looking on the pages of the book
away from the landscapes of the mountains
the calm unfolded soft linens of the sea
pages of days
the chapters of those seasons
a butterfly floating
is enough poem without so much use of words
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Best Book In The World
the best book
in the world
the only true book
is the world itself
the Book of Nature
the best book is the silence
the wordless-ness in
the clouds and the sky
and the rivers and the oceans
and the lands
and the grass that breaks through the concrete;
and in the deserts and the volcanoes
and the stars
and the moon
and the creatures of the earth
and in all fellow beings
and the vastness beyond
and the vastness within
the best book
the only true book
(every other book is distortion)
is the world itself
the Book of Nature:
read it
poem by Raj Arumugam
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If you get a book which is 600 pages, you have to reduce it to a script of 100 pages. In two hours of film, you cannot possibly include all the characters.
quote by Dino De Laurentiis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem about Poetry - Poetry draws out the individual
poetry is god revealing
the other side of himself
in his game with his artist
so that his poems would give
another view of the Creator
the moon is a grand old dame
lighting the path of nights, the sun
the irresistible dizzying love emanating
from the hands of nature to spin tales of creation
the sea is an eternal orchestra to the heavens
and the forests, peaceful green model cities
for co existence of all species
the birds are little violins, flutes and lutes
of thanks piped to the heavens at the dawn of
every new day
and the river? it is an all versatile music
instrument modulated by the curvaceous
fingers of land so that its grace flows and overflows
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Sequel To Mamta's Asking About Sky Scrapers
after the progress
when sky scrapers
stand tall reaching
the moon and the
stars and elbow to
elbow with the sun
the birds may have
asked: where shall we
put our nests?
and the trees may
have asked: where
shall we ever grow
again?
and the brooks may
have asked: where
shall we ever flow?
and yes, mamta, the
children as asking:
do we still have
playgrounds to play?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Theme On Unrequited Love Via The Moon And Sun
the sun in its might
finds meaning
to the moon and stars
at night
love sought
love not found
and always in its heavens
love is unrequited
for the meaning of his might
and sunshine
is always that pain
and longing
the moon and stars
are waiting
and the sun
always
cannot reach
them
fate and nature has it
on its design
there is no meeting
there is no fulfillment
but come to think about all these
what if one day
when the sun and moon come
and make love
will this earth not burn
with their passions?
will we all still be here
on that fatal day?
will not all the stars explode
with envy?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Butterflies For Breakfast? (Life Poem)
Butterflies before you sit the final exam,
Butterflies before you go for a job interview,
Butterflies before you ask her out on a date,
Butterflies before you kiss her for the first time,
Butterflies before you propose two will be one,
Butterflies before you meet her family,
Butterflies before you see her all in white,
Butterflies before you make that big speech,
Butterflies before you see that your baby is OK,
Butterflies before you get news from the doctor,
Butterflies before you lose your job again,
Butterflies before you face any little crisis,
But -
No butterflies for breakfast.
poem by Ian Beckett
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A Great Wonder Nature Is!
Sky, sea, mountains, falls, rivers, forests and fields;
Trees, leaves, flowers, fruits, bees, flies and birds;
Fish, reptiles, animals and men form living beings.
They are all creations of Nature created by God;
Naturally no doubt a great wonder Nature is ever!
Of all the beings man only has advanced by mind
And he feels a separate entity away from Nature
Due to attachment to body, matter and mind ever!
Galaxies, stars, planets and moon are boon of universe;
All pervading spirit is acting everything everywhere;
Nature is the matter It has created to do all wonders!
Man controls energy to do mechanical work by machines;
With materials he does all what is not naturally possible;
Yet, Nature’s wonders he cannot achieve by art or science!
poem by Ramesh T A
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We must protect the forests for our children, grandchildren and children yet to be born. We must protect the forests for those who can't speak for themselves such as the birds, animals, fish and trees.
Tracks, Trails, Lines and pages
Tracks in forests… of woodland creatures
Trails of shooting stars in summer skies
Tracks of rockets o’er bloody battlefields
Traces of wrinkles round wizened eyes
Lines of wisdom on wrinkled faces
Lines of ants upon the floor
Lines of prose on parchment pages
Lines of carts inside the stores
Pages of life, inside old diarys
Pages dog-eared to mark the places
Pages filled with tales sad and fiery
Pages filled with empty spaces
poem by David Whalen
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Disembarkment From The Nature
Love for the nature is always
there in my heart
I am as sensitive as
the nature
I love nature as love as
I love my mother
I am neither a tech savvy
nor development savvy
but I am nature lover at heart
I love shy butterflies
rivers without dams
i love sunsets and sun rises
which we can n't dreamt of
in our concrete jungles
With every new development make
us more insensitive, unkind
and arrogant to the nature
we always thought of above nature
we destroyed forests and building parks
we build the dams destroyed
the sanctity of rivers
we killed butterflies with pollution
and deforestation in the name of development
we lost ourselelves in
the cut throat competition
and globalization
It is not too late
let us start love the nature
let us not sacrifice the nature
on the altar of profits
if nature turns furious
it will wipe out human kind
(Dedicated to the nature lovers and who are in fighting for environment and human rights)
poem by Varun Madhu
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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Faery Song
Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania, in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.
We who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Gie to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Condensing evolution
condensing evolution
to five thousand years
time flips over creation
like children enthuse over
the pages of a pictorial book
men run like swarms of ants
turning from monkeys to suave
dandies, the hair losing their grip
and skins changing ala cameleon
black to white, to brown to yellow
the sea unleashes peaks
to scale the heavens and also
levels them to take our feet to
show us nature's fairer hands
lands embrace each other
like a family to eventually float away
never to see each other again
trees rush to grow themselves
taking us into their frenzied trail
that soon sees them high and
dry skeletal postures raising
a thousand fingers to the heavens
for their fate and fire up figments
of our imagination as to the lesson
they are pointing out to us right below
and animals they sprout beaks
wings, legs, hands, fingers, horns,
scales, fur, feathers, gills, lungs and
mind tugging protrusions a painting
that spews spontaneously from the pencil
of an ingenious noosey three year old -
fishes swim in azure sky, dinosaurs trumpet
into scarlet sky, a tarzan rescues her frail princess
a snake devours a lion and a monkey puts on an
apron to cook lunch for her brood while the moon
smiles and waves all the way from her luminuous throne
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A sensual scribble
I was the scribe who woke up at dawn
Finding a clean sheet of paper
And this glossy sort of ballpoint pen
Having the urge to write
Something sensual
My fingers spread the paper
On this table
Where there is so much disorder
Some paper clips and
Floppy discs scattered
Scotch tapes and mail openers
And some still unopened mails
That I did not mind
Not my priority
I was into something sensual
On this clean sheet of paper
On an urge to write
Grabbed this glossy sort of ballpoint pen
And start scribbling
Some lovely head notes
“My dear darling”
Careful strokes in curves
Sliding on paper
My fingers are wildly
Caressing to the shapes of
Sensual letters and words
And breathtaking sentences
“You know that you make me
Hot and you make me wild
And I always remember you”
And I am at the middle
Of so much longing
Using such letters
U and I
And w and e
Lots of ohs and ahs
And s and e and x
L and o and v and e
To make sense
Without pretense
Some exclamations
And pauses of commas and
Semicolons spread on some
Corners of this paper
With so much
Unstoppable anticipation
Somewhere in the center
I pierced this paper
With this glossy ballpoint pen
Writing something
Emphatic
Clinching
And I was at the height
Of my desiring and
So much liking
Something ecstatic
And calming
At the end
It was a beautiful piece
Of a scribble
Written at dawn
And I wrote at the end part there
“With all my love I remain
Your faithful slave”
And a postscript at the tip
Of my tongue
Written with a nip
“When will I see you again? ”
The letter shall be mailed at once
She will understand that pierce
Somewhere at the center something
That was ecstatic and she will remember
Every letter every word was an ember embedded.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beautiful sunset
The day fades
As the sun disappears
The moon smiles
For its yoke breaks
The stars rejoice
As each shines
With their twinkling
They fill the heavens
poem by Nicholas Boateng
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Billet-Doux
She reads by the light of a guttering candle
and likes the feel of each page's gilt edge
as she lifts it slightly at the corner, readying
herself to turn it. If the wind whips
the sycamore branches outside her window,
if her nightgowned shoulders shudder once
from a sudden chill, so much the better,
and the book must tell of children toiling
for bread and pennies in a textile mill,
or tender brothers doomed to sharpen
their bayonets in opposing armies,
or a family of refugees, dust
in their mouths, gazing with longing at the far
shore of a river. And I long only
to be the author of that book she reads
whose page glows from the same dim
flame that illuminates her face,
the author whose thought she contemplates
as she touches a fingertip to a word
to mark her place and turns her head
toward the kettle that has begun to whistle.
poem by Chris Forhan
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A Faery Song
i{Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania,}
i{in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.}
WE who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Today... 'Author of eternal salvation
The last eternal chapter has been written
telling of how The Lamb of God was smitten.
This great story of salvation I will tell
of the Saviour who has saved my soul from hell.
My song will echo throughout eternity
and I'll sing Your praise in the heavenly city.
Life everlasting to all those who obey
eternal salvation as we walk God's way.
Prayers and petitions are offered on high
by the Only Son who came to earth to die.
The Author of Eternal Salvation came
for it was to bear our sin and all its shame.
For the Author of Life died upon the cross
suffering such agonising shame and loss.
Then rising from the dead He ascended high
into the heavens and nevermore will die.
And my name in love He has recorded there
In the Book of Life kept safe in heavens care.
With His crimson blood each letter He has penned
Waiting for the day when the book is opened.
All of the redeemed gathered in safety there
‘n the glory together each will declare
they were saved from Gods great condemnation
By the Author of Eternal Salvation.
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)