One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Rain Drops
Here comes the grey clouds
rolling in,
Spreading rain all over the
town.
Rain drops help to moisten
the earth's beautiful green
grass.
Sidewalks once dusty are
washed and cleaned.
Rivers and lakes are given
plenty more water.
Fishes swim around happy
beneath the rain drops,
creating millions of ripples
upon the water.
Flowers and plants no longer
Thirst,
Even trees and bushes seem
to dance after a good drink
of water,
Animals get their fill of
water too.
Just Like a shower,
Rain drops clean and
cleanse everything,
Leaving the earth refreshed
and renewed.
After the storm has passed,
The sun shines spreading its
warmth.
Rain drops that are left behind
on Flowers, plants, trees and
grass,
It is like heaven for many insects
to fill their thirsty little
mouths.
Without clouds we would have no
rain drops,
Without rain drops everything would
never be the same.
poem by Derek James
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Your Dance My Love
you are so beautiful when you start to dance
when all the leaves fall off from your arms
naked, i have seen everything that your earth has to offer:
your hills and trees and forest, your creeks and rivers,
your clouds and seas, your grass and flowers
i have seen them all and touched them
your hills i have climbed
your trees with sweet fruits
i have gathered them all
and bit and sucked and savored each sap and juice
its flesh and fiber
i have slept on your grass
i have smelled your flowers
i have gazed on your clouds and have taken the dive
on your seas
i have sailed on your rivers
i have bathed on your creeks
i have done everything for you to please you my love
yet why are your eyes so sad tonight?
you are like a moon fading in the dark
you are like the song of a bird dissolving in distance.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evening Prayer
Wind stirs in expectation; it
softly strokes my face.
The March sun reassures me,
warms pale flesh
through layers of thick sweater
and winter coat.
Under indigo hills
new grass flows,
yellow and green,
as past distant ranges,
to the sky-bright, rounded sea
he flees and sends
a gift of clouds,
aflame
in glory.
Peace to the grass of the fields!
Peace
to dark hills and drifting clouds,
and to the sacrificial sun
peace!
poem by Steven Federle
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A Natural Green
Who coloured the green trees?
Who coloured the green grass?
Who coloured the green hills?
How about my green spider plant? ?
Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.
Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life....
A ride on a helicopter over the huge Rain Forest and see nothing, but acres & acres of simply gorgeous green!
Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.
Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life...
GREEN, I admire and respect the vitality you bring in the air that I breathe...
poem by Premila Patel
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Sestina
I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
to the short day and to the whitening hills,
when the colour is all lost from the grass,
though my desire will not lose its green,
so rooted is it in this hardest stone,
that speaks and feels as though it were a woman.
And likewise this heaven-born woman
stays frozen, like the snow in shadow,
and is unmoved, or moved like a stone,
by the sweet season that warms all the hills,
and makes them alter from pure white to green,
so as to clothe them with the flowers and grass.
When her head wears a crown of grass
she draws the mind from any other woman,
because she blends her gold hair with the green
so well that Amor lingers in their shadow,
he who fastens me in these low hills,
more certainly than lime fastens stone.
Her beauty has more virtue than rare stone.
The wound she gives cannot be healed with grass,
since I have travelled, through the plains and hills,
to find my release from such a woman,
yet from her light had never a shadow
thrown on me, by hill, wall, or leaves’ green.
I have seen her walk all dressed in green,
so formed she would have sparked love in a stone,
that love I bear for her very shadow,
so that I wished her, in those fields of grass,
as much in love as ever yet was woman,
closed around by all the highest hills.
The rivers will flow upwards to the hills
before this wood, that is so soft and green,
takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
for me, who would choose to sleep on stone,
all my life, and go eating grass,
only to gaze at where her clothes cast shadow.
Whenever the hills cast blackest shadow,
with her sweet green, the lovely woman
hides it, as a man hides stone in grass.
poem by Dante Alighieri
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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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Missing those old times
moon
sun stars
clouds
trees
seas lakes
hills
are these all
that you can say?
there are those that
must be given: light, mist, waves,
depths, rolling
green
hanging cottons
we sometimes need to feel
what movements they have
drifting, wavering,
dive, thunder, lightning
softness of blue
softness of silk,
coldness of rain
and then let us move somewhere
into hands holding
our bodies side by side
against the coldness of the
ground and rocks
it is the intimacy that we lack
the sticky wetness
that we have forgotten
the entanglement of
lovely thoughts
the odor of dreams
the sweetness of our tongues
bones and cartilage
cinnamon and vanilla
sauce and pineapples
sugar and salt and the bitterness
of some herbs
all these ingredients
of life
they all make us whole again
not just stars and sun and moon
and sky
it is when we lie on the grass again
to see the maps of stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mountain Tops
sunrise in the moutain tops
green grass all over the place
and the trees are not just green
but they glitter under the rays
wind blows and coldness in the skin
there is joy
there is pain
in the eyes, but
it is thy happiness still that shows
for a moment
forgetting the world
which is more real
that is not a question
no rain or snow
weather may change
but not withered leaf
can stop flowers from blooming
sunrise in the mountain tops
green grass all over the place
poem by Princess Kathleene Gabunales
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On The Eastern Ghats On A Monsoon Day
a benevolent sky
a silken road
uplifting green on either side
the blue-grey hills move farther away
as i move closer to them
always standing on a hill
the other hill looked more welcoming
never there a high point
nor a lower point!
hills to the right
hills to the left
hills in front
hills behind
down in the valleys
green stretches of paddy
dotted by men, women
from the virgin ghats
a soothing breeze
blowing across the hills
covers them in a huge grey cloud
carefully led here from elsewhere
the hills appear hazy
the trees dance to a merry tune
all connive to release
a comforting shower
tip tap goes the music
lo, here’s the shower
and a little distance away
no rain, the rain at its
game of hide and seek!
rain and breeze blown through
the thick foliage of
coffee and creepers of pepper
winding the sky-kissing silver oaks
the smell of rain
the aroma of air-ripples
touch my cheek
i step on to the road
to be one with the unique
blend of all the earthy perfumes
hordes of unruly cattle and goats
having had their fill
trail back homeward
their keeper struggling
to discipline them
men under large palm-leaf-umbrellas
women giggling with the showers
clouds enveloping us
clouds chasing us
i slowly but reluctantly descend
still smelling of the blended scents
still smelling of raindrops…
21jul2010
13.25hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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398
words like a forest hide me
and you will not see me crying
because my eyes have become leaves
without tearglands
words like a wall of rain cover
my weeping with the sound of its heavy rainfall
and you cannot hear me anymore
except the tender sound of a shower
and the rolling of the accompanying thunder
now i have grown words like a garden of grass
and some seeds are groomed to become trees
now i have kept my words like wild vines
and climbers and they cover everything about
my grief and lamentations
now you ask me where i am, ask my words
oh they will not tell you. You are my pain.
And there is no word equivalent to your name
anymore in this forest, in this grassy garden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Drought
Right through the veldt the grass are dried out yellow,
almost everything under the eye,
the sun burns trees and bushes,
whirlwinds blow red dust clouds high into the air
and it looks as if every bush and tree is stripped of leaves,
the sky is blue and open with all clouds missing
on farms cattle, bucks and sheep are bellowing and bleating
and farmers come to a confession
that all things comes from the hand of God, gather in towns
where they admit the dependence of man
where everything comes to a halt
and they pray to God for rain.
Even the most prominent people pray
while atheists sit in the bars
drinking tot after tot while moaning about the heat
and on the horizon lightning slams down white
while it’s pressing hot clouds gather
before a enormous rainstorm erupts,
a thunderbolt falls on the porch of a bar
rain rattles on the zinc roof
the thirsty red dust flies into the air with big drops falling,
are filled overnight with knee high green grass
and the animals that are feeding in the fields
go plumb to the markets.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Words Like A Forest Hide Me
words like a forest hide me
and you will not see me crying
because my eyes have become leaves
without tear glands
words like a wall of rain cover
my weeping
with the sound of its heavy rainfall
and you cannot hear me anymore
except the tender sound of a shower
and the rolling of the accompanying thunder
now i have grown words like a garden of grass
and some seeds are groomed to become trees
now i have kept my words like wild vines
and climbers and they cover everything
my grief and lamentations
now you ask me where i am,
ask my words
oh they will not tell you.
You are my pain.
And there is no word
equivalent to your name
anymore in this forest, in this grassy garden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Simply Living / California Grass
Fields of dark green grass
Getting sunburned in the summer.
The green turns brown, then
Bleached white gold.
The Spring brings rain;
The smell of new life
The gold turns green again
Its life seems brand new.
Grass lives so simply,
Changing with the weather.
Too bad that's not true
For people like me and you.
Simply living seems so much better
Than the way people do.
poem by Tom O'Connor
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The Gippsland Hills
The hills of Gippsland were so green but that was in September
And songbirds piping happy songs as well I might remember
But now the Gippsland hills are gray since sun changed the grass colour
And though the sun shines hot today this countryside looks duller.
The Gippsland hills were green in Spring and grass growing winds were blowing
And all along the sunlit hills the wildering flowers were showing
And bell magpie piped his joyful notes and butcherbird was singing
And through those hills those happy hills the bushlark's voice went ringing.
The Gippsland hills the sunburnt hills grown lonelier and quieter
And like the shades of old man's hair they've turned a gray type whiter
The nearby creek in trickle flow, the birds have lost their voices
And not one of Nature's minstrels now on Gippsland hills rejoices.
The Gippsland hills the sunburnt hills have lost their Spring like colour
And though the sun shines hot today the Gippsland hills look duller
But Spring bring green to Gippsland hills Spring rains and soft winds blowing
And birds will sing on Gippsland hills and Gippsland creeks fast flowing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Gold In Them Hills
I know it doesn't seem that way
But maybe it's the perfect day
Even though the bills are piling
And maybe Lady Luck ain't smiling
But if we'd only open our eyes
We'd see the blessings in disguise
That all the rain clouds are fountains
Though our troubles seem like mountains
There's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose heart
Give the day a chance to start
Every now and then life says
Where do you think you're going so fast
We're apt to think it cruel but sometimes
It's a case of cruel to be kind
And if we'd get up off our knees
Why then we'd see the forest for the trees
And we'd see the new sun rising
Over the hills on the horizon
There's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose faith
Give the world a chance to say...
A word or two, my friend
There's no telling how the day might end
And we'll never know until we see
That there's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose heart
Give the day a chance to start
There's gold in them hills...
There's gold in them hills...
song performed by by Coldplay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is How All Sunny Days Should Be
Green grass grows fast, green grass
I want you to grow so fast
So I can leap up, from the ground
And pretend to fly, soar so high
And then gravity, cruel, vile, unkind
Will drag me down, and shut my laugh
And then, green grass, (grow fast)
I’ll be sad of falling down
But then, my friend you’ll muffle my fall
And ill lie there
……..Calm………..
And hide, in the very green, tall,
Great, bed like grass
And then I’ll stare at the sky
(Light blue, immense sky)
And get lost in the clouds
(White, light absorbing clouds)
And then I’ll only hear the birds
And the wind brushing the branches
And the flowers will be dancing
To the rhythm of the air
And then I’ll think
“This is how all sunny days should be”
The Details
one gets too particular about the details of
the morning picture: there are two rainbows
from the top of the galvanized roof of the old house
surrounded by trees
its other foot extending to the hazy hills
the rain is soft
landing on the small ponds
below the trees with few brownish leaves
making some ripples
the grass is wilting by the previous summer heat
the wind whispers softly like a woman in love
the horizon gives a gray boundary of the foot of the hills
some houses look like pigments of black and brown spots
too distant for my sight
i sit here
my mind is calm like a pigeon roosting on the steel beam
of the gymnasium
they say
that when one gets too lonely
the details of the world becomes
too visible
one can even hear the flapping wings
of a butterfly lost inside
the room of your heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Green Grass Of Home
The old home town looks the same as I step off the train
Meeting every train in my mind's eye till the man in mail came
Hair like gold, lips like cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
Green, green grass of home, green green grass of home.
Only dream I know of is to be found hair like gold, lips like a cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me, on the steps of my sweet dream
It's good I dreamt the green, green grass of home
I wait and look around me at the broken walls that surround me
And out here I was on the ground.
There's a garden in the path of progress unharmed through winter's day break
Then I'll touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me from the chains of the old dark hollow
The green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me on the steps, my sweet dream
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Simple Beauty
The simple beauty of the frozen sadness
Than tears of the blue is not much less
And not much more than beauty of the clouds
Inside the rain, to rain the flaky crowds.
But green inside the beauty as the winter keeps
Means more than grass of sorrow as the beauty weeps.
And eyes of green can see it in the whisper's ness
As their tears of blue than yours are not much less.
(dedicated to Alfred Lord Tennyson)
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Dawning
it is dawning
gray wraps the trees and grass in black
as i walk along this boulevard
the light comes
thru the shutters of the clouds
this morning
rays like hands touch me
there is warmth
spreading on my face
there is fire
in my heart
i look at the stretch of
of acacia trees where the street lights
slowly close one by one
and at this moment
the years spread themselves
like some green grass
where i rest my weary soul
in my mind
i always remember you
on my side i can stll feel the warmth
of your skin
it simply dawned in me
the fire of yesterday
and the coldness was gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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