Not Mine But Yours...
Nothing grows except the grass.
Nothing leaps into sight except some stone
and what the stone contains and protects.
Here, far from the beach,
far from the place where the water
returns every so often
rusted metal, moldy wood,
the corpse of a dolphin or a turtle.
The wind does not blow with the force
to propel us as far as the promised then.
The minutes that pass become hours
but never days, they become nights
that never agree to be years,
and centuries in which somebody dies
and someone else, who does not know it, yawns.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stone
how is it to be a stone?
how is it to be hard
and unfeeling?
how is it to be still
and immobile
rooted in
its place for years
and centuries
not growing
not speaking not listening
to the songs and sighs
of the river?
how is it to be completely
defenseless against
the moss
that invades and
covers
your body
of stone
the coldness
of the rain and
the boredom of the time
in years, in centuries?
how is it to be just being
inanimate
unmoved
untouched and
untouching?
you
you touch no one and nobody touches you
an island
of stone
you
are the stone
the rock
against
the middle
of the raging river
and i am asking all these questions to you.
oh! i am always the foolish one
petrified
facing you all day and getting
no answers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About A Stone Without A Door
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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339
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stone
The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....
poem by Apurva Jain
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Cares
HAVING certain cares to drown,
To the sea I took them down:
And I threw them in the wave,
That engulfed them like a grave.
Swiftly then I plied the oar
With a light heart to the shore.
But behind me came my foes:
Like a nine-days’ corpse each rose,
And (a ghastly sight to see!)
Clutched the boat and grinned at me!
With a heavy heart, alack,
To the land I bore them back.
Not in Water or in Wine
Can I drown these cares of mine.
But some day, for good and sure,
I shall bury them secure,
Where the soil is rich and brown,
With a stone to keep them down,
And to let their end be known,
Have my name carved on the stone;
So that passers-by may say,
“Here lie cares that had their day,”
And sometimes by moonlight wan,
I may sit that stone upon—
With a spectre’s solemn phlegm—
In my shroud, and laugh at them;
Or—who knows, when all is said?—
Maybe weep because they’re dead.
poem by Victor James Daley
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The wind of life
Everything has been taken down
everyone has up and left
gone, like the wind, taking leaves to another place
not necessarily better, but not the same as before
it's like the wind, an external force, is changing
all the leaves know against there own will
two paths to take, the choice at hand
embrace transition or live in your
memories, beautiful, so beautiful
memories, the times of your life
but memories, like a flytrap, like a cobra
lie in wait, appearance oh so memorizing
retreat to them, your memories, and you'll be eaten alive
by the shifting times, the wind
the external force causing constant change
but like a house, built on stone
my love for you will never fall
never bend, no never break
the wind will never move that house
so let the wind have its way
blow me away, blow you away
one thing remains, oh it will never change
poem by Dov Doviak
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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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I Am With Name
I was
Ramona a. stone
I started with no enemies of my own
I was an artiste
In a tunnel
But Ive been having a mid-life crisis
And Ive been dreaming in a sleep
And ape men with metal parts
Ive spat upon deeply felt age
Ive hid my hearts in
And I hate your funny colored english
Well creep togeher you and i
For I know who the small friends are
I am with name, I am with name,
I am ramona a stone
A night filled female
Good timing drone
I am with name
I am with name sleepy now
Your silhouette is so stationary
Youre released but your custody calls
And I want to be free
I am with name, I am with name
I am ramona a stone
She could say twitch & stream
Itll end in chrome
Night of the female good time drone
I am with name I am ramona a stone
She should say: I am with name
I am ramona a stone
I am ramona a stone
A person who loses a name
Feels anxiety descending
Left at the crossroads, between
The centuries a millenium fetish
I am with name, I am with name
I am ramona a stone
I am with name, night fear female
Good timing drone
I am with name
I am ramona a stone
I am ramona a stone
Anxiety descending
Anxiety descending
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Inverloch
The magpie's voice floated across the oval as the sun was warming in the summery sky
In what promised to be a beach day for many a few hours of sun and ocean to enjoy
At Inverloch its been said the sea is slightly warmer and the beach is never overcrowded there
And in a place that is free of pollution so good to breathe in the healthy ocean air.
At Inverloch a sea side Town in Gippsland life always goes on at a steady pace
And even in the height of the holiday season it never is an overcrowded place
Some families from the eastern Melbourne suburbs at Inverloch enjoy their holiday
They swim and on the wide beach play beach cricket and for a few weeks relax by the bay.
At Inverloch a two hours drive from Melbourne a place of peace and beauty by the sea
Life goes on at a steady pace as usual even in the holiday
month of January
The magpie's voice it floats across the oval as the family pack their lunch and flask of tea
For the five minutes walk that will take them to the wide beach for two hours of sun or maybe even three.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Days
My days are but the tombs of buried hours ;
Which tombs are hidden in the piled years ;
But from the mounds there spring up many flowers,
Whose beauty well repays their cost of tears.
Time, like a sexton, pileth mould on mould,
Minutes on minutes till the tombs are high ;
But from the dust there fall some grains of gold,
And the dead corpse leaves what will never die-
It may be but a thought, the nursling seed
Of many thoughts, of many a high desire ;
Some little act that stirs a noble deed,
Like breath rekindling a smouldering fire :
They only live who have not lived in vain,
For in their works their life returns again.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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When God And I Sang Love Songs
In the beginning was the word and the word wanted me
words many words haunted my days haunted my nights
sleepless nights so tired so tired yet the word wanted me
wanting needing to sleep yet words drove me would not let me be
words lines of verse filling filling my mind time after absorbent time
poems born in the night night visions night words wanting born life
no choice no choice the word commands commanded servant soul writes
hot summer nights sped youth hair dusty blond skin beach burnt brown
wind kissed bronze naked skin sea carried surging soul safe in wave water
salt spray wave spray sea foam wave burst white foam birth born surging
sea surge ocean surge wind wide sea beach breaking over wild soul free
swimming beach sand river tides water pulse washing over through soul
riding out hard fast with death wave laughing life rhythms tide fast run
words nights of words stone dropping given in love to God life codes
biorhythms still life lost thirty minutes hours blink in deep meditations
diving into quest states mind soaring soaring
through vast layered sea deep meaning
poems freeborn so many poems written intermixing
together rhythm worship never ending
poems life love wave vibrant harmonic ad hoc fusing
soul carried I sang our life songs of life
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Einstein, Nicholas, My Fantastic Wife And Our Dog On The Beach At Home
a stone
a relative stone
a meteoric stone
a Newtonian stone
a photoelectric stone
a stone from Manhattan
a thermodynamic stone
one stone
a son
in my life
in my wife
a sun
alone
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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From
Sweet solitude, what joy to be alone--
In wild, wood-shady dell to stay for hours.
Twould soften hearts if they were hard as stone
To see glad butterflies and smiling flowers.
Tis pleasant in these quiet lonely places,
Where not the voice of man our pleasure mars,
To see the little bees with coal black faces
Gathering sweets from little flowers like stars.
The wind seems calling, though not understood.
A voice is speaking; hark, it louder calls.
It echoes in the far-outstretching wood.
First twas a hum, but now it loudly squalls;
And then the pattering rain begins to fall,
And it is hushed--the fern leaves scarcely shake,
The tottergrass it scarcely stirs at all.
And then the rolling thunder gets awake,
And from black clouds the lightning flashes break.
The sunshine's gone, and now an April evening
Commences with a dim and mackerel sky.
Gold light and woolpacks in the west are leaving,
And leaden streaks their splendid place supply.
Sheep ointment seems to daub the dead-hued sky,
And night shuts up the lightsomeness of day,
All dark and absent as a corpse's eye.
Flower, tree, and bush, like all the shadows grey,
In leaden hues of desolation fade away.
Tis May; and yet the March flower Dandelion
Is still in bloom among the emerald grass,
Shining like guineas with the sun's warm eye on--
We almost think they are gold as we pass,
Or fallen stars in a green sea of grass.
They shine in fields, or waste grounds near the town.
They closed like painter's brush when even was.
At length they turn to nothing else but down,
While the rude winds blow off each shadowy crown.
poem by John Clare
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Bandstand Beach
From the west the fast winds blow,
By force and with lovely sound,
By and by my emotions grow,
And freshness is there me around.
Uplifting their heads, waves me reach,
And with stone and rocks they collide,
And sprinkles water on me on the beach,
And I try taking my notebook aside.
O wind! Thou touches the Arabian Sea,
That comes from the holiest place,
And so you lovely and dear to me,
Cause therein thou bring peace and grace.
May you blow through my sad heat,
And bestow me might to face the world,
O thou current and love thy art!
So Wash with love my every word.
Now darkness begins growing much more,
And standing I am not single fellow,
Lovers gather with beloveds on the shore,
Busy in love and romance but slow.
Who is true mate on the way of love?
I've remained my aspirations with me,
Like twinkling stars so high above,
But reflection is merely in the sea.
(composed on November 5th,2009)
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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The Gods Made Heavy Metal
In the beginning there was silence and darkness
All across the earth
Then came the wind and a hole in the sky
Thunder and lightning came crashing down
Hit the earth and split the ground
Fire burned high in the sky
From down below fire melted the stone
The ground shook and started to pound
The gods made heavy metal and they saw that is was good
They said to play it louder than Hell
We promised that we would
When losers say it's over with you know that it's a lie
The gods made heavy metal and it's never gonna die
We are the true believers
It's our turn to show the world
In the fire of heavy metal we were burned
It's more than our religion it's the only way to live
But the enemies of metal we can't forgive
Cause we believe in the power and the might
And the gods who made metal are with us tonight
The gods made heavy metal and they saw that is was good
They said to play it louder than Hell
We promised that we would
When losers say it's over with you know that it's a lie
The gods made heavy metal and it's never gonna die
We believe in the power and the might
And the gods who made metal are with us tonight
We're here tonight for heavy metal are you ready in the hall
They have chosen us and we have heard the call
Gonna tear the roof off with our sound
Crack the walls and shake the ground
Fight tonight for metal one and all
Cause we believe in the power and the might
And the gods who made metal are with us tonight
The gods made heavy metal and they saw that is was good
They said to play it louder than Hell
We promised that we would
When losers say it's over with you know that it's a lie
The gods made heavy metal and it's never gonna die
song performed by by Manowar from Louder Than Hell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Time Feels Without You
Seconds are like days
Minutes are like weeks
Hours are like months
Days are like years
Weeks are like centuries
When I'm away from you
poem by Steve Yeager
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Footprints in the Snow
footprints in the snow.
tiny unnamed orphan lifetimes
that melt without a sound
and are lost forever.
candlewax melted to the formless,
mountains worn down over a millennia...
the faces of wrinkled old men
and newborn babies, one and the same.
the fleeting dance of a butterfly,
a river singing across centuries.
70 years,50 years,20 years, ...
or maybe just tonite!
coming back over and over again,
or dissolving like ash into the wind.
a dropp of rain, or the surge of an ocean,
stone stacked upon stone, or thistle?
footprints in the snow...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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All Alone
She died in a house
Empty and alone.
They found her there
As cold as a stone.
A stone knows its place.
It stays on the ground.
But it's never alone.
Other stones are around.
But a woman alone
Who simply dies
Is out of place
'Cause no one cries.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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No Eyes to Kiss
It is sad when love dissipates
In a cruel, sunless season;
When sympathy ceases
And kind hearts become stone;
When a man is separated from family
And wanders alone.
I fear the days
When there will be
No eyes to kiss
And inner, hopeful vision
Grows weak.
One has to embrace someone
From a place of genuine tenderness
Before he becomes a breathing corpse
Awaiting his flowerless grave.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Rainy Day Women #12 & 35
Well, they'll stone ya when you're trying to be so good,
They'll stone ya just a-like they said they would.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to go home.
Then they'll stone ya when you're there all alone.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone ya when you're walkin' 'long the street.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to keep your seat.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' on the floor.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' to the door.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
They'll stone ya when you're at the breakfast table.
They'll stone ya when you are young and able.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to make a buck.
They'll stone ya and then they'll say, "good luck."
Tell ya what, i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you and say that it's the end.
Then they'll stone you and then they'll come back again.
They'll stone you when you're riding in your car.
They'll stone you when you're playing your guitar.
Yes, but i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you when you walk all alone.
They'll stone you when you are walking home.
They'll stone you and then say you are brave.
They'll stone you when you are set down in your grave.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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