Nature's Hidden Niche
the stone has learned the language of the moss
in harmony with the stillness of the clear water of the pond
the grasses and the marshes have marked their boundaries
the fog is a white blanket on the foot of the cold hills
the clouds are watching with awe
this peace and quiet
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The moss that loves the stone
It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Gather Moss And More Of Moss
to gather moss
be a stone
to gather more moss
be a very still stone
be a stone still till the end
of time
you stand still and think
you want to be the moss
rather than a stone
to be all moss
you must betray the stillness
of stone
you must even forget
the importance of
what a moss can be
then you think some more
to be completely this moss
you need to be friendly
to the water and to the river
then you decide to be the water
instead of the moss
to be more than the water
you wish instead to become the river
and so you flow and learn the rush
and become the running river
until what you want really
is just to flow
to rush and run and then
you become nothing
but the motion itself
until you are lost
and then
you become what you are now
lost but real
always flowing, rushing, running
where nobody owns you
not even the river
or the stones or the moss
you have become
this running, this flowing, this being
so real so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If God...
if god had wings
he'd be a sparrow,
and fly the vast expanse of sky.
if god were water,
he'd be a river,
and forge new paths
through stone and moss.
if god were fire,
he'd burn away all the hatreds,
and leave us to build again on ash.
if god were stillness,
he'd quiet all the fighting,
and the world would sing
the songs of peace.
if god were flesh and blood,
he'd be the man in the mirror,
doing the work
that brings life to the living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pond World
if this world is only a pond
of crystal clear water
the mirror of cotton clouds
the intimate half of the sky
if this world is only a matter
of the moon sitting softly
on the comfort of the marshes
or some whispers of the reeds
and an offering of beauty
with the petals of the pink lotus
and leaves opening to space
embracing everything in a universe
i would not have walked away
and looked for my star
i would not have followed what
the fingers of the sun hinted
i would not have believed
that somewhere at the foot
of a rainbow lies my pot of gold
i would not have succumbed to
the misery of the worms the
tragedy of the broken wings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In A Garden
Gushing from the mouths of stone men
To spread at ease under the sky
In granite-lipped basins,
Where iris dabble their feet
And rustle to a passing wind,
The water fills the garden with its rushing,
In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns.
Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone,
Where trickle and plash the fountains,
Marble fountains, yellowed with much water.
Splashing down moss-tarnished steps
It falls, the water;
And the air is throbbing with it.
With its gurgling and running.
With its leaping, and deep, cool murmur.
And I wished for night and you.
I wanted to see you in the swimming-pool,
White and shining in the silver-flecked water.
While the moon rode over the garden,
High in the arch of night,
And the scent of the lilacs was heavy with stillness.
Night, and the water, and you in your whiteness, bathing!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Quiet (& Still)
quiet
this princess that dwells
in the secret pond of
my heart
the lotus
that blooms
in the stillness of the water
above this mud
quiet
the stare that i give
to darkness
to death
quiet
the hands that despite
the odds
willingly shall surrender
to God's law
shall abide
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Read It When You Are Tired
Like jazz
Tension note with a perfect harmony.
It unleashed my tension for the day.
Throwing a stone to a quiet pond, something like that.
Sunset is melting onto the pond.
A pond above, a pool below,
A pond above, a pool below,
And between, water flows
Down moss green cement
Then white about rounded stones.
You stroll by me,
Your hand hooked upon my shoulder,
My hand warm in your back pocket.
Sun and shade dapple your hair,
Our legs, they make us one.
You pause upon the dam
And look across the still pond.
Two leaves float on the smooth surface,
Autumn yellow, separate and still,
Serene amongst reflected clouds and sky.
A breeze nudges them against the concrete race
And over and down the green dropp they glide.
You cross the path and watch
As briefly they touch
As they toboggan upon the flow.
Then separate and reaching the pool below,
Again they float quiet, apart and slow.
That day now seems so long ago.
Today I searched your name
And got a scattering of hits,
References to children's summer soccer
And on a company's marketing site, your picture.
Your hair's gray, your skin's no longer clear.
Oh, that that moment on the dam together
Had not left us drifting apart.
poem by William L Roberts
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The Scientific Method
Cold Stone
Idle and still
A Human
Titled
A Mad Man
Nowhere to go
Nothing to do
No success
No failure
It's crazy
But why?
Stillness
Equivalent to
not existing
No existence
Means peace
And peace
Means freedom
Freedom and peace
is Nirvana
Nirvana is
Not existing
This thought process
Now in cycle
Going round:
The shape of
The Cold Stone
Conclusion:
The Cold Stone
is Buddha
New Hypothesis:
Why are the
Nowhere Men
Unhappy?
poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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I Could Have Told You
THAT YELLOW
SOLO LEAF floating on a very clear pond,
was it last summer?
will it really matter when someone is finally gone?
will the wind remember?
will the deep water of the pond be always true to its clarity and peace?
that yellow leaf that sank on the very clear pond on one peaceful day
will someone still remember?
i think, i will,
if i, too, shall live
longer than
you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Water so Deep and Profound
Water so sinuous and devious,
And as mystifying as you.
Water is always hiding its true self,
Never in one form.
Water can be the shimmer,
Reflecting off the light of the pond,
Making the pond seem magnificent.
Water can be the rushing sound,
As it escapes the secretive pond,
And runes down into the vast ocean,
Seeking adventure and unfound dreams.
Water can be the feeling of calmness,
As it sits there, overlooking the pond,
With wonder and seeing how it made it what it is.
Water so supple and wondrous,
The pond is born from the water.
Water so deep and profound,
Just like you,
The pond so incomplete without water,
Just like your family.
poem by Music Galore
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Harmony (From" Harmony")
Harmony
Unforgettable harmony
Harmony
First there was harmony
And there was rhyme
This was our time
Harmony
Did we have harmony
And that's just about all we had!
Suddenly
A little harmony
And the poverty's not so bad
Thin, we were
Poor as sin in berlin, we were!
Patches on our pants
Mercif'lly, when you're in harmony
You're in a trance
Others went marching
Not us, we'd dance
No one in grodnogubernia
Ever learned to dance like this!
Spoken:
(Believe it or not I was a rabbi before all this started!
In grodnogubernia yet!)
If you're in grodnogubernia
Tell em', this you shouldn't miss!
Harmony
All arm in arm were we
Well, except when the punches flew
Squabbles, sure
But squabbles don't endure
When there's harmony in the brew
Then did we
Oh, so splendidly blend, did we
Like a spell had come
It was clear
My pals and I could hear
A different drum
Outside they hollered!
But we hadharmony!
In this joint
All encounters with counterpoint
End in harmony
And it's clear
No man's a solo here
Not even me
No solo mio!
No we've got harmony!
When we've got harmony
Then just maybe we've got a chance
Harmony, the best is harmony!
And the rest is a song and dance!
Where you find
You're in harmony
There you find
Shelter in a storm
Every note
A button on the coat
That keeps you warm
Stars have the heavens
But we've got harmony!
Harmony!
Harmony!
Harmony!
Troubles disappear
And what you feel is what you hear
Not what you see!
Yes, first there was
Harmony!
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In some fields of grass under the hills (sestina)
This afternoon the peaks throw a big shade
with the black cliffs shining up on the hills,
while we lay together in the long grass,
I look in your eyes that are amber-green
while under my head there is a small stone
and you smile at me like the prettiest lady.
I had once known another charming lady;
that part of my life is now left in shade,
bad churchmen were casting stone upon stone,
while I had to flee from them to the hills
to pastures were everything is green
to find the Lord in divine fields of grass.
Under your head there is a crown of grass
and your mother is a gracious, kind lady,
around us everything is lovely green
while we are still resting in the cool shade,
we are softly chatting about life’s hills,
about walls of very hard granite stone.
Your eyes are much brighter than emerald stone
while all of your words are softer than grass,
reaching higher and beyond all the hills,
the high mountain which is dangerous lady,
while from our pain nothing gives any shade,
nowhere is a place of rest that is green.
Your summer dress is lovely, is bright green,
suddenly all our ails have turned to stone
I follow you further; see your small shade,
I am seen as one that woos any lady,
we walk past some flowers growing in grass,
climbing up higher into the foothills.
Bright streams are splashing down some of the hills,
with water transparent, sometimes cold and green,
love and lust burns like in a youthful lady
while I at that moment feel cold as stone,
we notice a deer feeding on lone grass
while our garments lie under a tree’s shade.
Far into the hills you want love till dusk’s shade,
where you peep like some green moss from the grass,
are tossing me with a stone like no lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hunger Moon
Under a full hunger moon
her children in a ring
she stands at the hub
a basket of stones at the right
a February-cold jug of water
fresh from the stream
on the other.
Each one came barefoot
touching the earth
bare arms reaching up
to an unrelenting sky.
'Choose a stone' she said
'Place it under your left foot.
Stone does not yield. There will
be times when you must be
like stone.'
And over the reaching arms
walking within her family circle
she gently rained water down.
'Water does not resist. There
will be times when you must be
like water. Close your eyes
feel like stone like water.'
poem by Beryl Baigent
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A Reconnection
Koi feeding on
my hand
in the clear pond
beside
the neighbor's house
it is the first day
of this year
bubbles of water
rising to the surface
green moss and
rocks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Clouds Of Narcissus
the clouds of narcissus pass by today
along a clear pond by the side of a rice paddy
they stop to get a good glimpse of their faces and bodies
cottony white, shades of blue, pluffy, and soft
they stop and take a longer gaze, admiring every
beauty of its hands and fingers, a longer time
an island of grass some reeds and dry leaves
get curious about what is happening why the clouds
stop and made a longer stare over the clear reflection
of their bodies on the little pond. They talk. They are curious.
and then the clouds finally get done with what is usual.
they left. Slowly sail away from what they are seeing lovingly.
Nothing happens since then. They own no one.No one owns them.
They leave. They do not know how to love. Neither are they loved.
They are gone. The island of grass is silent. The reeds hush.
And the pond has become murky.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To The Frog Clan
This shall be the symbol of my clan
The slime of my ancestors
For those whose claim for life and prosperity
Is as prolonged as the length of the list found in the clan’s tree
This frog is your frog
It is part of the multitude
Taking the power of the ten rivers
Its croaking
Is the uproar against the loudest blur of the reigning rains
You are the frog like us
From water to land to grasses to marshes to trenches
Of this earth
We shall remain as the true descendants of the great frog
By our nature
We shall not go hungry
By the power of the longest tongue
By the secret poisons of our skins
By our rounded views
By our slime
By the strong clinging of our ties
We shall all be saved
From the great flood
May our dead ancestors
May the great frogs
Lead us to the most secure pond of our future lives
And may the frog in us
Give us the great leap
The great jump
Taking us to our dream
Our clear cool waters
Teeming with mashing marshes
And there
Dear loving frogs of this clan
Let all our croaking be one.
Let all our croaking be true.
Let our croaking be love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Serenity (5)
Quote: 'The hills: purple thoughts' -E.Pound
The pond glazed in complete silence.
In the last light
All I hear are the hills: purple thoughts
Watching their life in the water:
A tide of earth that became a sigh: old and soft.
===
from www.trilogyofthemirrors.com
poem by Raquel Angel Nagler
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Coyote and Frog (Native American)
Coyote and his friends walked to a pond
But found Frog and his clan now living there.
“This pond is small for all of us, ” Frog said.
“ Find water of your own. We cannot share.”
“If you will let us drink our fill and bathe,
I’ll get you a warm blanket and a blue stone
That’s bigger than your fist, ” Coyote offered.
When Frog agreed, Coyote went for them alone.
Frog took the gifts and led them to the pond.
Later as they left Frog laughed, “Good trade! ”
In fact, Coyote stole the gifts from Thunderbird,
Now furiously tracking prints the thief had made.
Coyote returned next day to find the Frog clan dead.
He took his people to the pond. “Good trade, ” he said.
poem by Chuck Toll
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Electric Eel Song
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Take out you’ foot
From the black river water
Haul out you’ hand
Out the slow river water
Stay ‘pon the bank
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Shadow ‘pon the bottom
Is the eel in the river
Something like you’ hand
Is the eel in the river
Swimming like you’ foot
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Foot after foot
Though the black river water
She can’t touch the bottom
Out the slow river water
Shirt like umbrella
In the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Cutlass shape
Is the eel in the river
Black blade or brown
Is the eel in the river
Dozing so quiet
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Slap of a tail
Through the black river water
Shiver like ague
Out the slow river water
As if she take cramp
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
No blood, just a thrill
Is the eel in the river
Lightning bold
Is the eel in the river
And she Drown now, she chilly
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
poem by Slade Hopkinson
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