On The Shores Of My Island
on the shores of my island
are rocks
and stones with sharp
teeth
do not come
with bare feet
if you can invent wings
try putting them on
i am a friend of birds
and all that
is taking the softness
and blues
of clouds
the breeze puts the music
to my shells
they are all empty
the hermits are dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
In the island of my senses
In the island of my senses
You have come as a lover.
Last night you touch
With your fingers my
Softness and I wriggled
In such sweetness.
I touch you too with the
Sands of my shores
You do not really know
That I am here
In my flowers and
Shells. I whistle and
Sigh in my winds of
My islands. You do
Not know that I am
Here. In the island
Of my senses I lay
With desire concealed.
As I kiss you in your
Sleep, I am not even
A part of your dream.
In the island of my
Senses, you are
The boat that leaves
Me tomorrow. I am
Staying in pain.
My clouds bleed
In scarlet sunset.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Around The Island
the trip around the island
takes us a day
it is dark and we are back
at this beach resort
lighted by shells and
torches
dinner is served
prawns, and crabs
and some lamb's meat
from the farm
and some slices of
pineapple
again, so sweet
to my tongue
crunchy to my teeth
beside you
the music from the sea
the breeze plays our songs
of silence
that only our eyes speak
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poem (‘It Doesn’t Look Like A Finger...’)
It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather of broken glass
It doesn’t look like something to eat it looks like something eaten
It doesn’t look like an empty chair it looks like an old woman
searching in a heap of stones
It doesn’t look like a heap of stones it looks like an estuary where
the drifting filth is swept to and fro on the tide
It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather with broken teeth
The spaces between the stones are made of stone
It doesn’t look like a revolver it looks like a convolvulus
It doesn’t look like a living convolvulus it looks like a dead one
KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY FRIENDS USE THEM ON
YOUR BITCHES OR
YOURSELVES BUT KEEP THEM OFF MY FRIENDS
The faces between the stones are made of bone
It doesn’t look like an eye it looks like a bowl of rotten fruit
It doesn’t look like my mother in the garden it looks like my father
when he came up from the sea covered in shells and tangle
It doesn’t look like a feather it looks like a finger with broken wings
It doesn’t look like the old woman’s mouth it looks like a handful
of broken feathers or a revolver buried in cinders
The faces beneath the stones are made of stone
It doesn’t look like a broken cup it looks like a cut lip
It doesn’t look like yours it looks like mine
BUT IT IS YOURS NOW
SOON IT WILL LOOK LIKE YOURS
AND ANYTHING YOU SEE WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU
London Bulletin, No. 2 (May 1938), 7.
poem by Hugh Sykes Davies
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Rainbow Of Clouds
(09/27/11)
Oh! How I love to look at the sky
So many colors that attract the eye.
Blues, grey s , reds, and oranges too
Create such a perfect view.
Especially at dusk or dawn
When new colors are born.
Or when the white clouds look like
Snow covered mountain tops
And the rippling waves that it creates
Puts you at a restful state.
What about the patches of blue
In between the oranges and grey s
And your heart wishing that they would stay.
The skies can create such a therapeutic state
On which so many of us can relate.
Putting our minds and bodies at such ease
Like the feel of a soft gentle breeze.
It also has its black clouds
Covering its face like a shroud.
These dark clouds tend to hide the day
And you never know what will come your way.
But Even the darkest of clouds can bring joy.
The rains that the dark clouds bring
Gives life to everything.
poem by Louis Rams
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Between Two Islands
We sailed in a fishing-boat
between these two shores
the Island of Lovers
and the Island of Whores
You at the helm getting
Soaked to the skin
taking me to places
I'd never been
Where are you tonight?
In the clouds or on the sea?
I'm thinking of you now
Do you ever think of me?
In different locations
taken by surprise
I woke up one morning
and looked in your eyes
What were you thinking?
I never knew
You were the captain
I was the crew
Where are you tonight?
In the clouds or on the sea?
I'm thinking of you now
Do you ever think of me?
Catching my eye
I wonder what you saw?
A not quite unrequited lover
or just another whore?
Safe in our life-jackets
salvaged from the sea...
Now I'm drowning
Won't you rescue me?
Where are you tonight?
In the clouds or on the sea?
I'm thinking of you now
Do you ever think of me?
"I want you
and I want you to want me, baby
I want you
and I want you to want me too
I want you
and I want you to want me, baby
I want you
and I want you to want me too
The way that I want you
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sort of a Song
Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.
-- through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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The Island
true the island looks like a crocodile
a protruding mouth
sharp teeth and a very long tail
but at the end be amazed
the women there are tall and white and so free
like the wind and the breeze and the waves
surging on the laps of the shore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dead Poets
dead poets; old cars
junked in heaps
in front of
abandoned houses...
empty mailboxes
rusting to the
ground...
empty swings creaking
in the late evening breeze;
a bottle of wine,
half-empty,
moans in the shadows.
the fields have been picked,
nothing left, but sweat stained dirt....
even the embers have grown cold,
and the pot is empty.
the sounds and smells of living
linger by unmarked stones...
dead poets; old cars...
running on empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Friends
Just sit yourself down friend
Pull up a chair friend
There aint nobody here friend
But the people you need
Roll yourself a joint friend
Empty your head friend
Make yourself at home friend
This is where you belong
Chorus:
Put your feet up on the fire
If it makes you feel much better
Have a glass of homegrown wine
Dont you think it tastes fine
Tear you away friend
On a planet to space friend
Faster than you can think friend
Youll be there before you know
(agnew, charlton, mccafferty, sweet)
Mountain music/carlin music
1972 nazareth (dunfermline) ltd.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blues
Hes gonna tell you bout his dear old mother
Burned up in a factory in springfield, mass.
Hes gonna tell you bout his baby brother
Hustlin down the city streets
And selling his ass for a dollar bag
Hes gonna tell you bout his uncle neddy
Locked up in a prison out in oregon
Hes gonna tell you bout his best friend eddie
Killed in a bar fight with a pair of marines
And a sailor
Oh
Hes got the blues, this boy
Hes got the blues
You can hear it in his music
Hes got the blues, this boy
Hes got the blues
You can hear it, you can hear it
When I was nine years old
My daddy ran away
With a woman he met on a train, oh
His little boy
Ran to the room
Where his piano
Lay in wait for him
He played and he played
He played and he played
Hes got the blues, this boy
Hes got the blues
You can hear it, you can hear it
Hes got the blues, this boy
Hes got the blues
A year ago, I met a girl
I thought wed hit a massive groove
But she dumped me
And all wed hit were the blues
Hes got the blues, this boy
Hes got the blues
You can hear it in his music
Hes got the blues, this boy
Hes really got the blues
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Reminder For All Of Us
according to the laws of evolution something that is not used
may finally be lost. It fades. It is gone. So like the fins of a fish
who migrated to the island, they slowly fall out and from there shall
grow a set of wings and claws. They become birds.And they soon
learn to fly. They dream of clouds.
Like the moss of the rocks by the shore
by the lake. They envy the worms. They dream to wriggle
and move and push their tiny bodies.Soon the acquire the gift
of motion. Soon they become worms and crawl their way up
on the leaf. They even become caterpillars. Soon they become
the new butterflies.
So it will be with us. If we do not walk, our feet will soon be forgotten.
They will become mere skin. Our feet shrink and become part of
our bottom. If we do not think and use our minds, soon the brain
becomes a stone. Hard. Brittle. Soon they become part of the river
where a passerby simply steps upon it. Upon us.
Soon we will just be the sand. And the river flows upon.
If we do not love, soon we will just become a wall, a floor,
a house whose doors will close. A place for nothing
but merely departure.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Ordinary Summer Evening
On a temperate summer evening
am walking lonely under the vast horizon.
Hither and thither patches of clouds,
creating shapes like dwarfs and elves.
Soothing, gentle breeze flowing
breeze so soft as a new-born baby
kissing bare feet, wrist and palm.
Crows are taking homewards flight: a warm retreat,
the day must have be an auspicious one.
Clouds are now evenly spread-
not a trace of single break-
covered with azure tints and shades.
Tip-toe, tip-toe rain drizzles
a merry rain: rain that brings loss to none
Oh rain! Oh breeze!
Do touch my soul
Do touch my heart
The weather there is cold and numb
Winter there is not yet gone
Make the weather inside warm
Weather is not what you see outside
It is what you feel inside
Clouds
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue;
Rain, the rain descends aslant from angry ashen skies;
Winds, the winds bemoan their loss of reins and calm control;
Shades, the shades appear suffused, alone in lurid haze;
Trees, the trees enshroud the eyes of misty brooding woods;
Leaves, the leaves desert their branches, falling one by one;
Birds, the birds intone a tune, a mourning monody;
Grass, the grass surrenders blades, impaled in truant winds;
Fields, the fields imbibe and quaff to quench an arid thirst;
Stones, the stones repulse the pearls, exploding tears of gloom;
Streams, the streams meander, hushed, to distant vapid shores;
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Poverty Doesn’t Laugh
Fill the rivers,
With poverty’s tears,
Only then will they be filled with innocent water.
The brick that fills poverty’s throat
Should be filled with heaven’s food
Not hell’s slaughter.
Poverty’s hands should not be,
As empty as our hearts.
Their feet should not feel the piercing sand
While we rot in cars.
Poverty’s teeth are famished
Because they bite empty air,
Our teeth are stuffed with arrogance
Until our blessings with be stripped bare
In the night of hell
When guilt will crawl upon us
The worms and snakes of our sins
Will pierce venom through our selfishness
And there we will stand
Bare of all our blessings
The naked truth for the world to see
Will be paraded across poverty’s eyes
But they will not laugh.
poem by Mehreen Mujeeb
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The Island poem.
The Island was there surrounded by sea,
Where the family stayed, so much to see;
The birds flying in the sky, and on the water too,
Yes! They were enjoying their holiday, it's true.
The Island stretched for many a mile, they could see,
With plenty of shells, and sand, the sunsets so pretty;
The Coconut palms, and date palms, to walk in the cool,
And the children enjoyed it all, for there was no school.
The husband enjoyed to go fishing each day,
The children loved to run on the sand and play;
The wife, she enjoyed it too, to rest under the tree,
Then she called them all at night, it is time for tea.
The Island holiday soon came to an end,
The children said, our holiday we can pretend;
That we are still on our lovely holiday retreat,
And remember the birds, and the birds so sweet.
Have you ever been to an Island, for a holiday?
Maybe you travelled far, to Queensland, is what you'd say;
Or was it somewhere in the Islands of the south see?
You'll know it was a holiday to feel so very free.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Jealous Clouds
The dew of love settles on the blades of grass
In the marshes, the green frogs sleep
While the crickets play their wings like violins
For the hearts of geese to move their feet
And the water streams in content
While the clouds look down on earth
In jealousy clouds want to play
With and on earth's beauty..
They desire the touch of love by the sharp blades of grass
They want to feel the warmth of the frogs sleepy feet on their laps
And listen to the music of the cricket's wings
while they chase the running geese
Jealous clouds want to drink and splash in the azure streams of content
And on earth live in mirth, with the rest of nature's creatures!
O the Jealous Clouds—They can't stuck in heaven they are!
In jealousy they turn gray with sadness and weep
And hide the sun when mad at earth and its light they keep
The jealous clouds roar in thunder to scare our hearts
And tempt us with their purity, dressed in white, soft raiment
The jealous clouds piqued turn vermillion and blush
In admiration of our jealous dreamy eyes…
O jealous clouds how are you jealous of we?
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Bare Windows
I look at the world
Through bare windows,
And see it all --
Bright sunlight,
Deep shadows,
Birds in flight,
Bare dead trees,
Thick tangled vines
That whisper in the breeze.
Fox hunts the mouse.
Snake slithers by
Shedding his dry skin house.
I look at the world
Through bare windows,
And I love it all.
poem by M. Elizabeth Barrett Doyle
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Telegraphic
mountain breeze blowing tree tops
swinging upon cliffs rising from the sea
shores where sea shells abound
maiden walking along the seaweeds
picking some pieces of her past
that dims like a lamp without oil
or gas without a child hands covering
the wick from the harshness of the night
wind..who wants the light dead?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Old Friend The Blues
Just when every ray of hope was gone
I should have known that you would come along
I cant believe I ever doubted you
My old friend the blues
Another lonely night, a nameless town
If sleep dont take me first, youll come around
cause I know I can always count on you
My old friend the blues
Lovers leave and friends will let you down
But youre the only sure thing that Ive found
No matter what I do Ill never lose
My old friend the blues
Just let me hide my weary heart in you
My old friend the blues
song performed by by Proclaimers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lingers
shotgun shells,
and kentucky bourbon;
long howling nights,
bound by the moon/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood.
lingers.
the fiddle weeps,
while the mandolin prays.
old hat pulled down,
feet dance to the sound/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood...
lingers...
broke down and busted,
carried by the darkness.
fists pound the walls,
but there's no one home/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood.
lingers.
woman, smell and touch,
sucks the light from empty.
she rolls me over,
cries out like a cat/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood.
lingers.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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