Rejecting The Walk...
the walk is
negligible, compared
to the
words that are like
ships
homing to the ports
of my mind
like pigeons
roosting on the branches
of my hair
for, now,
tree, sea, boat am i,
rolled into
one
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Boasting About Trees
There you stood among other trees
In a garden of legendary emeralds
Your luxuriant leaves waving to the heavens
You arresting branches kissing the sky
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree
My enraptured eyes are still swimming in bliss
From the first time they saw you
Untouched, unspoiled and unsurpassed
Flora of such sublime character
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree
My heart swims in the deluge of desire
Sweet songs of attraction, passion and fire
It is you that awakens my appetite
My dulcet cynosure
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree
Others may boast of oranges and apples
Grapes and pears and pomegranates too
I will be silent until I talk of you
And from my lips will dropp the words
Honey cannot be compared to thee
You are my mango tree
poem by Howard Simon
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Roosting Of The Pegions
i did not have the time to appreciate
the pigeons roosting on a tree
and the way they took flight
away from me
i did not mind at all
i am also here on my journey
towards a place without a name
===================================== =====================
PAGBATOG SA MGA SALAPATI
wala ko makahigayon pagdayeg
sa pagbatog sa mga salapati
ug ang paglupad nila palayo kanako
wala na nako matagad pa samtang
ako usab nia sa akong pagpanaw
paingon sa dapit nga wala pay ngalan
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That Love That You Once Gave Me...
i'd like to think
that i will be the man who waits for you
on that third step of the
stairs at the facade of the
biggest mall
in Asia
there is a certain
kind of anticipation in waiting for someone
you think
loves you
i had it so many times
but all of them always end up
in wanton abandon
each regretting
nothing
there are ships that pass at night
on that not so well lighted ports
they disappear
as usual
but there are ghost ships that keep on
coming back
and perhaps that is the reason
why i keep on waiting
again
at the stairways of the malls
then
to dim ports
out of nowhere
i am a lot of nonsense too
but mind you
i am more alive in this
that feeling that i was the one abandoned
and no one comes back
for no reason at all
for in truth
it is not my love that makes me live
but yours &
yours
alone....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The boy and the apple tree
Once there was a boy who used to play under an apple tree
He played so happily that it was a joy to see
As he grew old, he got bore of playing alone
Toys and gadgets he desired to be his own
So, under the apple tree the boy muttered
‘Tree can you give me toys I now desire? ’
‘Toys I don’t have, my boy, ’ the tree replied
‘But my fruits you can sell to get your toys.’
So the boy took the fruits and went away
The tree waited for his return day after day
Many years had passed and the boy got older
He married a girl to be his wife and lover
The adult boy now needing a new house for his family
Went to the tree and asked for its advice earnestly
The tree glad to see him once again said
‘My branches will be sufficient to make your nest.’
To these words the adult boy listened
And took all the branches away with him
With these he constructed a house for his family
Where he lived for several years happily
One day, the boy now a fully mature adult thought
‘It will be wise to travel around and sail the sea across’
So, he went to the now old apple tree and asked
‘Tree, can you tell me, a boat, where I can get? ’
The tree which was happy to see him again sighed and said
‘Though I am old, my stem you may take if you want’
On hearing this, the guy cut the tree down
And made a large boat, which was fine and strong
Many years had passed and the guy now became an old man
Tired from his adventures across the sea and land
He went and saw the apple tree once again
Which was now but a stump nobody would want
The old stump on seeing the old man cried
‘My old boy what can I do for you this time’
The old man on hearing this softly replied
‘I just want to lean against you till the end of my life.’
poem by Henry Chen
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Y.. Tree of Life
The tree of life
It has a branch
A money making branch
The bigger the money making branch
The more comfortable our life
But if the money making branch
Is the only branch
On our tree of life
It is such an ugly and unstable tree.
A prayer and devotion branch
Will stabilize the tree of life
Let it be a real big branch
On your tree of life
But if only two branches on a tree
Imagine how ugly it would still be!
So let there be branches
Of Affability and Charity
Of Cheerfulness and Friendliness
Of Gentleness and Honesty
Of Humility and Compassion
Of Spirituality and Wisdom
Of Courage and Hard work
With these branches present,
It will carry soon the lush greenery
Of love and job satisfaction
And soon enough, the tree of life
Will bear the fruits
Of peace of mind and happiness.
A wonderful tree of life I wish you
with many fine branches
and lots of greenery and fruits.
poem by Aufie Zophy
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No one hit home runs the way Babe did. They were something special. They were like homing pigeons. The ball would leave the bat, pause briefly, suddenly gain its bearings, then take off for the stands.
quote by Lefty Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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War is being declared tomorrow here so perhaps you can understand that I have been working under difficulties, but difficulties negligible compared with what others have to go through.
quote by Malcolm Lowry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ports-of-call
Written by gerry beckley and dewey bunnell, 1994
Found on hourglass.
I cant help thinkin as those ships sail away
What sirens beckon and call
How long at sea this time how long between
The ports-of-call, ports-of-call
Under the bridge they move to far off lands
Maybe australia or north african sands
Complete the mission, supply and demand
To ports-of-call, ports-of-call
And everyday as the sun is setting
Along the bay city lights appear
Snake charmers sway while the smoke is rising
Time is growing near
When theyll be casting off anchor as they sail away
Into the morning light
Rising and falling thru the blue and gray
To ports-of-call, ports-of-call
And everyday as the sun is setting
Along the bay city lights appear
Snake charmers sway while the smoke is rising
Time is growing near
And everyday as the sun is setting
Along the bay city lights appear
Snake charmers sway while the smoke is rising
Time is growing near
Ill take the chance this time to change my world (change my world)
And break those ties that bind (ties that bind)
Far from those people passing through my life
Like ports-of-call, ports-of-call
Under the bridge Ill move to far off lands (far off lands)
Maybe australia or north african sands (north african sands)
Complete my mission, hope you understand
Ports-of-call, ports-of-call
Ports-of-call, ports-of-call
Ports-of-call, ports-of-call ...
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Willow Tree
In the graveyard stands a willow tree,
You can hide within its branches,
And it will keep you safe,
And it will keep you warm,
And it will keep all your demons at bay,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,
As I look out through its branches,
I see people crying for their loved ones,
Tears rolling down their faces,
I want to shout to them,
And let them in here with me,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,
But I can’t, I can’t let them in,
Even though I know their suffering,
Because it’s the living that hurt you,
And I don’t want too be hurt anymore,
So only my dead friends are in here with me,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,
The willow tree.
poem by Darren Harris
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The girl I used to be
My tree will know it all
the tree of my childhood
with the endless branches
and the many whispers
My tree remembers
the girl with the wind in her hair
the girl with the crazy laughter
the girl with the fear of living
the girl I used to be
before
In my tree
everything I want to be
will be
In my tree
I can see the world
but no one can see me
My tree remembers me
the girl I used to be
before
poem by Pia Andersson
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The Demands Of Our Poetry....
it looks like a race of letters
there is this old typewriter writing everyday
till nighttime till dawn
and the numbers have become so many
looking tired and
clumsy
it so appears that the words do not experience any meaning at all
what is it to be a word in this
sentence? what is the meaning of such a literal existence?
is there a feeling between two conjunctions?
are the prepositions making the necessary links?
what clinching statement are you trying to
impress upon this
twink? there are no more stars in the heavens,
the moon has faded like a blue jean pair of pants,
the sun looks like a yellow button
and the universe has reduced itself into a plain white shirt
worn by an irresponsible teeter.
where are these evens leading us to? a devastated part of this island
speaks of the logical suicide,
ah, damned, the pigeons are not homing
and the chickens no longer roost on the same branch of the tree
indeed, the word do not entice anymore to live a good life
the whole novel is not new, it is melodramatic still
detached from that tsunami reality, pure soap, pure tearjecker
i wish to a truthful concern
one that touches not just the heart but the hair
one that surrenders and not just win
one that cares and cares and cares and cares
till the end......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On Seeing Tawny Frogmouths
At nightfall the birds known as tawny frogmouth come out in family groups of three or four
They do not have a song the only sounds they do make is a sort of a low pitched nasal snore
In the wooded parkland they fly from tree to tree in their search for tree insects and flies
And they return to roost on their roosting trees at the dawning just before sunrise,
Quite expert at camouflage in their colours of brown lengthwise on a bare branch of a tree
In the bright light of day they look part of the branch they are almost impossible to see
Disguised from the prying eyes of predators in safety they rest Nature never ceases to amaze
Of her so little we do seem to know we are strangers to Nature's ways,
Related to the nightgars nocturnal insect eating birds though frogmouths far greater in size
For better vision in dimlight the night birds 'twould seem than day birds have far larger eyes,
I have seen the frogmouths at nightfall in the park near my home almost tame to them I approached near
Of human kind so little they seem to know so of humans they show little fear,
From tree to tree in the parkland they fly these quiet brown birds of the night
So well camouflaged on their bare roosting branch they seem part of the tree in daylight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Family Is Like A Tree
A tree is like a family it starts
out very small but it soon begins
to grow and the family too also
grows.
The tree starts out with small branches.
A family ita a child.
as the years go by they have all
grown together.
Soon the tree has been generated with
new branches and too the family expands
not with branches, but generations.
.Their both so much a like in so many
ways., if nurtured and taken care of
they both will grow straight. and tall.
And generate many new branch
and many more generations too
come as the tree grows old
some branches will die and fall off.
When the generations of a family
get old they too will die off.
But both will leave something of
themselves behind.
.
To live on for many generations of
life and many generations of branches..
GAYLE GOFF
2008
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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The Dove of Dacca
The freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower—
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings—
And the thorns have covered the city of Gaur.
Dove—dove—oh, homing dove!
Little white traitor, with woe on thy wings!
The Rajah of Dacca rode under the wall;
He set in his bosom a dove of flight—
`If she return, be sure that I fall."
Dove—dove—oh, homing dove!
Pressed to his heart in the thick of the fight.
"Fire the palace, the fort, and the keep—
Leave to the foeman no spoil at all.
In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep
If the dove—if the dove—if the homing dove
Come, and alone, to the palace wall."
The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad—
The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all.
Hot from slaughter he stooped at the ford,
And the dove—the dove—oh, the homing dove!
She thought of her cote on the palace-wall.
She opened her wings and she flew away—
Fluttered away beyond recall;
She came to the palace at break of day.
Dove—dove—oh, homing dove,
Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall!
The Queens of Dacca they slept in flame—
Slept in the flame of the palace old—
To save their honour from Moslem shame.
And the dove—the dove—oh, the homing dove,
She cooed to her young where the smoke-cloud rolled!
The Rajah of Dacca rode far and fleet,
Followed as fast as a horse could fly,
He came and the palace was black at his feet;
And the dove—the dove—the homing dove,
Circled alone in the stainless sky.
So the dove flew to the Rajah's tower—
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings;
So the thorns covered the city of Gaur,
And Dacca was lost for a white dove's wings.
Dove—dove—oh, homing dove,
Dacca is lost from the Roll of the Kings!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Disgarded Garden
Their once was a young man who wanted to become a Gardner. There once was a young Rose Tree that wanted a Gardener. They met each other one summer day and began what seemed to be a beautiful relationship. The Gardner was attentive of his garden along with his Rose Tree and the Rose Tree was so happy that its tender branches grew and it bloomed continuously for the Gardner so he’d always be happy.
As time went by the Rose Tree noticed that Gardner wouldn’t tend to her as much as he once did. And when he did he would cut away harshly at the Rose Tree. The Rose Tree being a simple plant who did not need much attention still bloomed for the Gardner. It seemed the more she tried, the more the Gardner would cut away and the tree was now nestled in the ground. Why could this be? He had a bountiful garden that any Gardner would have loved to have. What more could anyone want thought the Rose Tree.
Now in an abandoned garden the Rose Tree grows back its branches, with very thick thorn’s to protect it self. As time goes by one day, out of nowhere appears a Gardener who has silently admired the Rose Tree from outside the garden gates and begins to nurture the Rose Tree in her garden. He tenderly and sympathetically pulls away all the weeds and brush from the Rose Tree so the air, rain & sunshine can reach her again. Allowing her the opportunity to grow back as she once was; vibrant, strong, colorful and to be simply, herself.
This is something the Rose Tree had long forgotten and is very grateful for the loving words of encouragement and kindness that her new Gardner has shown. She longingly awaits for his visits and when the Gardner comes to see her she bloom’s for him and relaxes underneath his beautifully kind smile. My darling Gardner, I am glad fate has brought you to walk along the path leading to the once lost garden and Rose Tree.
poem by Sarah Barron
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Ships
(ian hunter)
We walked to the sea, just my father and me
And the dogs played around on the sand.
Winter cold cut the air, hanging still everywhere
Dressed in gray did he say hold my hand?
I said loves easier when its far away
We sat and watched the distant lights.
Were two ships that pass in the night
And we smile when we say its alright.
Were still here, its just that were out of sight
Like those ships that pass in the night.
Theres a boat on the line where the sea meets the sky.
Theres another that rides far behind.
And it seems you and I are like strangers a wide
Ways apart as we drift on through time.
He said its harder now youre far away
We only read you when you write.
Were two ships that pass in the night
We both smile when we say its alright.
Were still here, oh its just that were out of sight
Like those ships that pass in the night.
Were two ships that pass in the night
Were two ships that pass in the night
Were two ships that pass in the night
(repeat and fade)
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Baobab Tree
under whose branches lions lie down
dreaming in the sun,
where baboons sometimes play,
where elephants rip off some bark
and when you walk around it,
its branches look like rows of spears,
and birds do fly up, and bees buzz around it,
and when you come in its shade, smell its fruit,
its leaves and bark does not look similar
to any other tree.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Early Morning Happiness....
this morning
i wake up early
i see this hen
and her sixteen chicks
roosting
upon a strong branch
of the narra tree
i get a handful of
rice grains
and scatter them on
the ground
the chickens fly down
from the tree
and feed on
the scattered grains
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Resisting
in resisting you
your breaths so near my nostrils
your hands
warming my hands
your hair blown by this
scented air
from your eyes
silently too
gazing
sizing what i may give you
i gently
lift your hands
away from my hands
shy away from your hair
trying to entwine
some locks of my hair
i waft the scented
air away from
my nostrils
i gaze away
from your gaze
i walk a step farther
away from you
i become a boat
my mind like paddles
sailing away from you
against the current
i begin to feel
that i am a rock
in the middle
of this raging river
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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