Our Ever Thirsting Ignorance....
one does not go out into the open fields
to carry a book
read and pour upon all interests
in a picture
of birds and trees and
lakes,
one goes out into the open to watch a flock of birds,
homing
to a tall leafy tree
and hearing them all chirp
or sing
one goes into the sea to sail a boat
fish,
or swim and see the colors of the corals
or feel a school of
rainbow fishes
one finally leaves the book to its place
between the shelves
out there into the open fields
lies the unending pages of days, the lessons that no word
or groups of words
can ever trap,
for real knowledge like fish in the ocean
like whales
so huge, and slimy
always escape from our grasp leaving us the sound
that till today
shall mesmerize us
in the continual mysteries of
our thirsting
ignorance
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Chornicles of a Dark Heart Part 16 The open book's monologue
Red what is it to you black the color of death? maybe maybe not? anyone here play video games? FOR CHAOS? ring any bells help spread the taint more quickly? what might an open book write
what would a open book draw
what would an open book think
open books are predictable
so predict what the picture means
why is black black? why is red O infused? what is the meaning only you know maybe only me...
(added years later)
Maybe I'm the book, and maybe you're the reader
but who is you? is it not everyone
since I'm open, for all to point at laugh at, out of malice or for fun
because they know my thoughts, they know i love her? !
what did i do?
i never said i love you! ! !
how can they know?
how did i reap what i did now sow? !
The worst part
about being an open book,
is an open book can't close itself, can't have a heart
anyone can know all from just one look
there seems to be something wrong with being too open and honest
but it's too late a book can't close itself
can't move by its own accord to a shelf
an open book can never rest
so now I'm the book, so since im there just read
just read.... and watch my heart, my purpose, my soul, my life, me
watch.... watch them bleed
poem by David Knox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Open Book's Monologue (revisited the years later portion of part 16)
Maybe I'm the book, and maybe you're the reader
but who is you? is it not everyone
since I'm open, for all to point at laugh at, out of malice or for fun
because they know my thoughts, they know i love her? !
what did i do?
i never said i love you! ! !
how can they know?
how did i reap what i did now sow? !
The worst part
about being an open book,
is an open book can't close itself, can't have a heart
anyone can know all from just one look
there seems to be something wrong with being too open and honest
but it's too late a book can't close itself
can't move by its own accord to a shelf
an open book can never rest
so now I'm the book, so since im there just read
just read.... and watch my heart, my purpose, my soul, my life, me
watch.... watch them bleed
poem by David Knox
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The Only Person Who
The problem with an open book, is it can't know
How it feels, what it says, who it is.... only show
The problem with an open book is its fraught with confusion yet no answer
With danger yet no protection
How can i run from her?
When she's written all over me like an inscription
Open books don't have a say
Open books won't last more than a day
If left open, they cannot defend or close
Can't run away, no toes
Even if it's all an illusion
This delusion
This me, I'm the open book because I'm the the only
One who can't read me
The only one who doesn't know how I feel
So please tell me because I get hurt, but no one heals
I feel this way or that
But to me I don't know what is fact
What is dreamed and what is real
The only person who doesn't know me is me
Someone close it or kill it so then no one can see
poem by David Knox
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Sky And Water
Birds fly in the sky,
Below the fishes
Swim in the big flat sea.
A bird
Jumps into the water,
Head down, aiming
To catch a fish.
Deeper,
A fish, as it swims up
Toward the surface,
Catches the birds.
As the fish jumps into the air,
A bird catches the fish.
Fishes are birds,
Only water is not like
The air.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Love
I love Thee in the sky,
After long, hot summer days,
Like to run through the fields,
When they've finished makin' hay.
I love meeting people,
I've never met before.
And I like it when my friends,
Come knocking at my door, yeah.
Ooh, I love the sky at night,
Just to sit and count the stars.
I like to mess around,
With bicycles and cars.
I love to see the moon,
When it's up and full.
And I like it when a fish,
Gives my line a pull.
So, it's easy to see,
Just how good You been to me.
Oh, you made life's mystery,
An open book for all to see.
I love stone ground bread,
And I like it when I get my breakfast in bed.
I love little old ladies,
Who make funny faces at brand new babies.
So, it's easy to see,
Just how good You been to me.
Oh, you made life's mystery,
An open book for all to see.
I love St. Judy's comet,
I love to break bread,
I get a blessing from it.
And I love to see a Bible,
That's been well used.
'Cause when a Bible's well used,
The devil's not amused.
So, it's easy to see,
Just how good You been to me.
Oh, you made life's mystery,
An open book for all to see.
So, it's easy to see,
Just how good You been to me.
Oh, you made life's mystery,
An open book for all to see.
Yeah, yeah,
Anyone can read the book.
Oh, the feel of a long, hot summer day.
I love, I love,
Little old ladies, who make funny faces at brand new babies.
You made life's mystery and open book for all to see.
I love breaking bread.
I love to see a Bible when it's been well read,
When it's well used, you know the devil's not amused.
I love, I love, I love, I love, yeah,
I love, I love, I love, I love.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birds Who Sing The Same Song
Once upon the hunter's lifetime
He entered the forest with his hound
As he waited for animal senses,
He heard the same sound
The sound came from above
It was the sound of birds
Though they were very different,
They had similar words
The birds were of two colors
They were either brown or green
They sang on top of their voices
The song of a queen
First, the hunter watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught some green birds
He brought them home
Thinking he has caught something good
After preparing the meal,
He realizes their meat is not right for food
Again, he watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught brown birds
He brought them home
Thinking the browns would not taste the same
After preparing the meal,
He realizes the meat was worse in the bowl of shame
He now understood the words
And watches them as they sing
The same song, one meaning
A song to get trapped in a ring
The birds sing the same song
A song of the soul
They sing in a competition
They compete for a common goal
They look attractive on the tree
They sing the same song
Understanding their words is the key
They sing the same song
They sound very kind
They sing the same song
They have a motive in mind
They sing the same song
They sing and fly from the leaves to the stem
But the hunter desires none of them
The hunter would now find other creatures
With the best of all features
Because the birds sing the same song
poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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Even leaves beg me'' says Eagle
eagle, niggard and black
perched on sycomore on Nile bank
tasty fish gambolled in water
at lightening speed eagle caught
tasty fish and scrambled out
eagle flew and perched on a tree
man was under a tree
and glanced at what sat on tree
eagle and man eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying
''man may conjure him
by evil eyes''
eagle flew and perched on second tree
some birds were on that tree
Eagle and others birds eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying he
'' choke as birds watch him eating''
Eagle flew and perched on third tree
the breeze shook leaves of tree
eagle saw leaves unfolded shaking
like a begging hand
eagle flew away saying
'' everything beg me , even leaves
beg me too''
Eagle flew and perched on fourth withered tree
no birds, men and leaves around there
only exrtreme silence around there
eagle ate tasty fish
sang in loudest resounding voice
''eel fish and tasty fish are not the same
I ate tasyty fish until heart palpitated in happiness''
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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The timetable of four
The golden glows of sunlight hit me
The smell of freshly cut grass reached me
The sight of freedom exhilarated me
The sounds of birds intrigued me
The beauty around me radiated from everything
The long open stretches of grass
The shady woodlands going on and on
The unending number of livening creatures
The cawing raven in the tree branches
The worm busily digging in the soil
The fish swimming idly in the pond
The child playing happily in the park
It is summer now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Autumn
I’ll still be in my tree
The children are playing in the heaps of leaves
The leaves have all gone a golden colour
The ravens are searching for bugs in the leaves
The fish are swimming slower in their pond
It is Autumn now but it will soon change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Winter
I’ll still be in my tree
There are no children playing
There are no leaves on the trees
The ravens have all gone south
There are no fish in the pond
It is Winter now but it will soon change
It will soon change
It will soon change into spring
I’ll still be in my tree
The children are starting to come back
The ravens are backing cawing in the trees
There is new fish in the pond
There are new buds on the trees
It is Spring now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Summer
I’ll still be in my tree
Waiting
Watching
Writing
Thinking
Fishees Underwater
Fish have many pretty colors, they live beneath the waves
Some fish seem to swim in schools while others live in caves
Some are short and some are small and some are stringy thin
Some of them are wide and tall and some just dig right in.
There's not much light beneath the waves of all our great big seas,
But all the fish don't seem to mind, they somehow still can see
Plants live down there, under water and make things seem so nice,
That all the fishes dance around and always check things twice.
Some fish swim deep down there, others they just won't
Some of them seem unafraid, but most of them just don't
Some fish have large shiny teeth, some have none at all
Some of them swim hastily, while others only crawl.
Of all the fish and animals my favorite is a star fish
If I find one on the beach, I stop and make a wish
I pick them up and throw them back, far out into the ocean
And hope they learn to not return, or repeat that silly notion.
poem by Daniel Lloyd Kennedy
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She Is There
i see some bamboo poles
lining up
on the shallow sea
she is there
watching some fishes without fins
without scales
she is there on some exclamations
this cannot be!
this cannot be!
the fish i know have fins!
the fish i know have scales all over their elongated bodies!
the fish i know can swim!
why are these fishes dying?
why are these fishes swimless in the sea where they belong?
yes my dear, the fishes and the sea, you do not belong there
the fishes are not yours and you do not belong to them
they have their own salty, slimy, scaly world,
they have gills and fins and round eyes
that do not blink
so you cannot tell them what to do, what to become.
in fact, you are neither fish nor fowl
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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31
A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment
Do you have other fish to fry for now?
Is there other matter requiring my attention?
Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Some things that can happen with a fish
A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment
Do you have other fish to fry for now?
Is there other matter requiring my attention?
Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Killer Whales
Come my friends give an ear to this tale
It's all about the ocean and the big black whales
They are humongous, and hardly seen
Unless you are submerged in a submarine
Their home is the ocean,
They swim to the depths
And can easily escape the fishermen nets
In books you must have read their tales,
They are sea monsters called Killer Whales
They use echolocation to communicate and hunt
At times when the come up, you can watch their stunts
They are black with a few spots of white
And swim the ocean at the speed of light
The feast on marine mammals, fish and seals
That makes for them a wonderful meal
Each whale weights six tons or more
And are mostly found on the ocean floor
The enjoy the ocean without any fear
The King of the seas, thrust up like a spear.
poem by Meena Mustafa
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Short Supply
Where are
The sunny days
The blue skies
The flowers for the children
The colors for their eyes?
Dont you see
Dont you see
All these things now days
Come in short supply
Its time that we
Its time that we
Make a space in our hearts
And open our eyes
Where are
All the sandy beaches
Fishes in the sea
Birds to sing for daybreak?
Where are all the trees?
Dont you see
Dont you see
All these things now days
Come in short supply
Its time that we
Its time that we
Make a space in our hearts
And open our eyes
Where are all the grassy hilltops
Clean air to breathe
Pure water to drink of
Beautiful sights to see?
Dont you see
Dont you see
All these things now days
Come in short supply
Its time that we
Its time that we
Make a space in our hearts
And open our eyes
Or therell be no more you
Therell be no more me
Therell be no more children
All we know will cease to be
Dont you see
Dont you see
The things of this earth
Keep us alive
Its time that we
Its time that we
Make a space in our hearts
And open our eyes
Where are the sunny days?
Blue skies
The flowers for the children
All the colors for their eyes
All the sandy beaches
Fishes in the sea
All the birds to sing for daybreak
Where are
Where are
Where are all the trees?
Dont you see
All these things they come in short supply
Its time that we
Make a space inside our hearts
And open our eyes
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thru And Thru
You know that we do take away
We deliver too
Open 24 hours babe
Just waiting on a call from you
Waiting on a call from you
Well I'm in the yellow pages
You just take a look
Look me up under services
You know it's just an open book
Babe it's just an open book
It's just an open book
Well baby
Any minute
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Voodoo Lounge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Own Chosen Solitude....
in my solitude i take the walk back to the woods
i go deeper under the trees and it is a world of wanton schemes
i discharge every crowd that resides in my head
i welcome dead leaves falling from the trees that seem to have hands
reaching the dark skies.
i am unloading and i do not stop until i am empty.
each step draws an idea which i fish from the water.
i see what disturbance is. I feel the chaos that wants to escape from
the barks of the trees, from the scales of each fish.
the solitude too struggles like a mouse caught in a trap.
it has learned the trick of calmness, of being steady, of
being still, in its own chosen silence.
the walk has finally taken me like a trap, and i cannot stop anymore.
there, ideas are born. flowers grow. animals talk,
there, dusts have grown the white wings of the doves,
there, man escapes from a hole, stands tall, and finally walks away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Freedom
Butterflies are free
To sail the breeze
To wonder up in the sky.
To float around
With natures sound
To live, and float and then die.
Flowers are free
Along with the trees
To grow upon our Earth.
With their beauties to be seen
To fulfill Mans dreams
That is their greatest worth.
Birds are free
Like the fish in the sea
To sail upon mighty waves.
To sing their song
To swim their quests
I wish I could, as I pray.
Man Isn't free
Though He wish He could be
To grasp life by the hand.
To reach for the Stars
And not knowing, “Too Far! ”
But sadly, Man is but Man.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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A Closed Book
A book unopened
leaves words to die.
A book unopened
leaves words to lie
in perpetuity,
never alive, never free
to deliver its thoughts
for any to see.
Who was the writer?
What did he pen?
The absence of readers
are lost and then
the book lies quietly
on a shelf
and maybe all by itself it knows.
It will never be opened.
It will always be closed,
just like some people
who won't open up
and speak their words to you.
Their life is something
you'll never know,
something you won't view.
For they are a closed book too.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Sea’s Fish
Fish are commands of the sea,
Opening our shelves and brilliance.
Guard yourself from the hungry fish,
Letting them go in the sea and ocean.
Inside the fish are fishes, of gold,
Of silver and flesh, of simple metal.
Let this be a challenge for the mighty in health,
Not for a soul too weak, afraid of fish.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Open Book's Monologue Part 3: My Lie
Maybe a lie was told
Believed by all of you now old
If you read the open book
You'd see
The words 'I care nothing about how someone might look'
When searching for love for that girl that I want with me
Remember that and pay attention when the open book says looks are not
An issue
But realizing the lie, this book will need a strong tissue
For, the book will cry
And need support, no spine
Because if I care nothing about looks
Why do I want (maybe crave) to hold her or share a kiss?
How can this
Be true? Why does that matter? It should not!
I should be content with talking....feelings....not if she is hot
I tell myself if she is hot, such things matter to me not
But if that's true why do I want to hug or touch?
Why do I want the physical contact and such
How can I reconcile my claim, when once before
I loved a girl only for how she looked and that made her perfect
Without defect
How can I trust myself after that am I not something to abhor?
What can you do when a book you read does lie
That is the case with this open book, crafty and sly
I can't trust myself, but who else knows how I feel, who knows
Where my heart goes
And to where does it belong?
O how I long for the completion of love and affection
But how can I have that, when I can't handle it, I'm not mature
Plagued by imperfection
The flaw of my nature
What do I love? And what do I love about you?
But also if what I say even to myself can be a lie then just who
Just..... just who am I? ! ? ! ? ! ? ! ?
poem by David Knox
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