En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Shallow Thoughts...

along the shores
where the salty vines have covered our tracks
the coconuts are growing tall
and being so nearly planted
their leaves reach for each other

in a little distance
the heaps of dry leaves and husks
make a mountain
and now covered by the vines
and so concealed

beyond this place is a grass-less space
it is where most of the strangers stay
the mass of people gather
and bask under the sun

the gates here are closed more often
there are no kids
neither are there old people who take
their leisure here

this is my own place
so private and so deserted
i would like to call it another solitude
but the coconut trees without nuts
on this rainy December
signify otherwise

it is lonely, the hut speaks.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Haunted Haven

Beyond the woods
The branching oak and canopy of leaves still abide
The bench is there
The leaves still fall
The cree still flows beneath the trees
The difference is
The oak is baren
The shiny bench is covered in moss
The leaves now lie beneath my feet
The place now lacks the presence of life
Though our laughter still echoes
Haunting the place of our childhood haven

poem by Humna Hamid
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Have You?

have you ever experienced walking
just walking away without having any destination in mind?
just seeing the place where you always pass
the trees along the path
some weeds and stones and carabao dung
no conclusions
just observations
the clouds hanging on the side of the hill
the sun shining above a tall coconut tree
you take shade
and some streaks of light pass thru the leaves

sometimes i drive the car
but i do not have any place in mind
or name
or purpose
i just keep driving following the road
and slowly i see the ordinary things
and people and
structures

an old bridge abandoned
beside its railing some vines
rust overcoming its steel edges

your mind keeps traveling
but you do not stop it
it is the one controlling itself
not you

the sounds of birds and the
motors and some conversations
of people around you
vendors and passers-by
carrying their goods and
important supplies

have you ever written a poem
without any plan as to its theme
or a careful thinking about some imagery
or a deliberation as to the propriety of its tone
its count and color?

this is the one.
this is the poem that is making itself.
no rules. no theme.
no expectations.
plain monologue.
no unity. no consistency. nothing logical.

it is free. and it may be nothing but
an ugly piece.
but it is.

it is. Just as it is.
and this could be nothing but a
portrait of the face of
nothing. Nobody. No one.

No.Yes. A No.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Part of the Soul

There is a part of the soul
Concrete gardens will not fill
Towering trees of steel
Fail to satisfy
Water trickling into the drain
Not excite

This part longs
For Burnett’s Secret Garden
For vines concealing the past
The creek’s laugh
The flower’s hope
And the enduring promise of tomorrow

A solitude that never
Leaves you feeling alone
The adventure of not knowing
What is just around the bend
Branch filtered sun beams
God’s whisper in the wind

Where the reflection in the water
Isn’t just you, but something greater
A place of superiority
Marred not by man’s imperfection
A place of solitude
Bringing you home.

poem by Bethany Waters
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Covered In Rain

These days, with the world getting colder,
She spends more time sleeping over
Than I planned.
Tonight were gonna order in,
Drinking wine and watch some cnn.
Its dark I know but then again
Its the brightest thing I got
When Im covered in rain
When Im covered in rain, rain, rain, rain
No, I am covered in rain, rain
Firewoods to fire places
Summer snow and fallen places
Now were people watching other people, people watching you and i
Standing by the missing signs at the cvs by the checkout line
Put your tiny hands in mine
Cause your the brightest thing I got
When youre covered in rain
Cause Im covered in rain
Cause Im covered in rain
No Im covered in rain
And its alright
If you dont want to go on
And its alright
If you dont want to be alone
And its alright
If you dont want to go home
Come december lydia left
Mentioned something about it being for the best
And I cant say I disagree
Now Im standing facing west
Tracing my fingers round a silhouette
I havent gotten used to yet
But its the brightest thing I got
And Im covered in rain
Cus Im covered in rain
Cus Im covered in rain
You and me and everyone, covered in rain

song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Beach On A Sunday Morning

this is an isolated place
the coconut trees are growing uninterrupted
by the talisay trees long ago cut by papa
fenced by barbed wires and planted with carabao grass
this is one thing that sometimes i miss in my life
the molave gate is left open
for the caretaker knows that i am coming
to spend my sunday here...

i told them that i prefer being alone this time.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am not bound for any public place, but for ground of my own where I have planted vines and orchard trees, and in the heat of the day climbed up into the healing shadow of the woods.

quote by Wendell Berry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rural Scene

a line of carabaos grazing
on a newly harvested ricefield
behind an abandoned nipa hut
some wilted grass and dry leaves

shadows of hills and mountains
tall coconut trees and a footpath

two little boys holding each other's hands
bound for home on a late afternoon

sunset, red and orange, and then you
leave the place: your pain is subdued.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How To Deal With A Very Beautiful Disciple

she comes like a princess from the
a castle high up there on those blue clouds
descending from the sun
down to the mountains
and the rivers
and to this
pond

i am the grass, and she wants to lie down with me
so i can teach her about what, i ask, about poetry she says,
no there is no poetry with me for

i am the grass, and you signal the wind so you may leave at once
and be back to the arms of the heavens
but i think a while and change my mind for i am the grass

and i am a teacher of all mankind, those who want to die and be
covered with my hands, and those who want to stay and be
with my greeness, my softness and i in humility whispers to her

my princess, stay with me for a while, lie with me, and sleep with me
under the moon, the darkness of the night shall be our blanket,
my thick leaves of grass, your pillow,

i am the grass, i may not teach you what poetry is,
what i have is to spread
love and togetherness, and intimacy that i have with the soil
my secrets with the worms, my eternity
with what death has concealed from the eyes of your world.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wrong Direction Home

In a shingle covered cottage at the foothills of blue stacks
Near a mountain stream thats flowing crystal clear
Where the humming birds and honey bees feed on mamas roses
My memries just grow sweeter with the years
Memries of my childhood are as sweet as mountain honey
And as fresh as a dew on morning glory vines
I grew up surrounded by the sights and sounds of nature
And theyre forever present in my mind
But Im headed in the wrong direction home
Headed in the wrong direction home
Theres no place like home
But Im headed in the wrong direction home
Teardrops mingled with the summer rain that was a falling
The day I left my mountain home behind
With a suitcase in my hand and a hope in my heart
I was following a dream I had to find
In that shingled covered cottage at the foothills of the smokies
Waits a family hat Im longing to see
And mountain streams and fields of green
And rolling hills stay in my dreams
But Im many, many miles from tennessee
And still headed in the wrong direction home
Headed in the wrong direction home
But maybe Ill get back before too long
But Im headed in the wrong direction home

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thr Railroad Tracks

Who lived across the railroad tracks?
A few of us whites, but mostly blacks.
These railroad tracks without even knowing
separated my town and kept it growing
into a segregated place.

I used to listen for the sound of the train.
As it rolled on by, it would never remain.
It just kept rolling to where it was going.
The engineer waved. The smoke kept blowing
into a segregated place.

Even when the trains stopped the rolling
the tracks will still there.They were controlling
the thinking of the people in our town.
So they kept the tracks there, never tore them down
in our segregated place.

Some were on the right side of the tracks, you see.
Some were on the wrong side of the tracks, like me.
They never took the tracks down from 60 years ago.
And the town I grew up in doesn't want to know
it's a segregated place.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The last sunshine

The cold breeze
with icy freezing fingers
brushed leaves freezing
against the windowpanes.

Rain fell from a cold grey sky
seeping trough everything,
driving the freezing winter in.

I tried to lock the winter out
closed French louver windowpanes
and to only let
the much too timid sun in.

Outside the evergreen bay leave tree
that had been blown over
in a summer storm

have sprouted new long stems
covered with green leaves
already growing higher
than the roof
moving to and fro
as if rocked by the wind.

Distance is locking you out
and in your mind
we are growing apart
and are in a winter
of the heart

and you are sad
and read a farewell
in my lines
although I am still trying
to catch the last sunshine
of that which lies
between us.

poem by Gert Strydom
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That Afternoon

i was there again
standing by the side of the old
glass windows
hazy because of the dust
it is hazy, hazy
the sea is linen white
the coconut trees as tall as they are very old
planted perhaps before the war
before the Japanese came
and ravished the spirits of our innocent people
i was there again
standing on a moment
always seeing
that rusty van parked
without its front wheel
nobody from there is asking
what is happening
it is hazy, as hazy as dusts
on that old glass window
then a black bird flies through
it breaking the thin old glass
into shattered pieces

the afternoon ended
on that sudden noise
i am telling you
i am not shocked because
i am not new to this
how can i be? i am as old and as
tall as that coconut tree
i am from this place
and i know each grain of sand
on the shore
of that white linen sea.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Paradise Valley

can't think straight my mind is covered with clouds
no doubt what I'm talking about;
I've never seen a place like this I miss no bliss
how could I ever forget how it feels, how it heals,
my wound, my blood, whatever pain my soul has got
these waters so clear
near and far all I can hear
rustle of leaves and insects hummin on trees
no place like this - no place like this
paradise valley
the sun reflects some billion glitters of water
direct in my face but I can't take my eyes of this place
so peaceful, beautiful, it flows all into one
meadows, mountains, I, the sky
so close I can never feel to gods own miracle
and then I see, I see that eagle fly
no place like this - no place like this
paradise valley

song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here to Bark You

I'm here to bark you.
With a not too thick protecterate.
Enclosing you to allow you growth.
To allow your branches,
To reach with leaves.

I've done the pines,
With their needles to prick.
I've done the birch,
To have them stand out...
For an easy search.

The oak and maple were not difficult for me.
The redwoods were the ones,
To reach as high as the eye could see!
Towers and the tallest on Earth,
They chose to be!

I'm here to bark you.
With a not too thick protecterate.
Enclosing you to allow you growth.
To allow your branches,
To reach with leaves.

I'm here to bark you...
Trees, woody vines and shrubs.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?

Eddie delange / loise alter
Do you know what is means to miss new orleans
I miss it, each night and day
The longer I stay away
Miss the moist covered vines
The tall sugar pines
Where mocking birds use to sing
And I like to see the lazy mississippi
Are hurrying to spring
The mardy grass memories
Of creool tunes that fill the air
I dream of orleanders in june
And soon Im wishing that I was there
Do you know what is means to miss new orleans
And there is something more
I miss the one I care for
More than I miss new orleans

song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A lane in England

In autumn I walked in England
in a lane full of trees
where leaves lay auburn
on a road wet from rain.

Barren, stripped oak trees
were between other green ones
and it was as if I was going
right through a tunnel
with here and there trees
of which the leaves were more yellow.

In the distance the road bended to the right
where a bush fence
cut neatly square
and telephone poles
ran along the edge of the road

and the green moss banks
were covered with auburn leaves
at places
and on the other side
of the road
a shrub stretched out green and long
like a sausage
that was lying next to the road

and I would love
to have a lane like that
next to my driveway.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Those That Merely Wait And Unmoved

walking, just walking, sometimes just this
no thoughts, no decisions, just plain walking

you see the light of the day
striking on the trees and plains and the daffodils

you are not part of it, you are just walking it
you are met by the wind from the mountain

you are not talking you are not interested about
what this wind these trees these daffodils are bringing you

you do not show any interest at all about some leaves falling
the light spreads and sprawls on the grass and sand and pebbles

you are not dazzled you are not completely covered by light
you are just walking, stepping into God's own creation

spectator, just plain walking in, not involved, not commenting
just plain watching, those that crawl and sprawl, those that stay and leave

those that simply lay themselves as plain receptors, grass and sang
mountains and trees, and daffodils, those that merely wait and unmoved.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Places For Lonely People

There is no shortage

Of places for lonely people.

Any place

Can be a place

For lonely people.

Unfortunately Some lonely people

Can

Come to a rollicking place

And clear it

And make it

A place for lonely people.

poem by Lonely People Champion
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Trees in the Garden

Ah in the thunder air
how still the trees are!

And the lime-tree, lovely and tall, every leaf silent
hardly looses even a last breath of perfume.

And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree of leaves
white, ivory white among the rambling greens
how evanescent, variegated elder, she hesitates on the green grass
as if, in another moment, she would disappear
with all her grace of foam!

And the larch that is only a column, it goes up too tall to see:
and the balsam-pines that are blue with the grey-blue blueness of
things from the sea,
and the young copper beech, its leaves red-rosy at the ends
how still they are together, they stand so still
in the thunder air, all strangers to one another
as the green grass glows upwards, strangers in the silent garden.

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Paco De Lucia In Guitar Strings

the guitar strings of paco de lucia
are not new to me
the sound of his spanish guitar
strumming on my mind
they were with me
in my childhood
with my friends
we get a smooth
long and strong
coconut palm
take it on top
of a hill
covered with green
carabao grass
and we ride
on the palm
slide it
on the hill
and

yehey
yehehey
yehey yehey

we laugh
so hard
my little
brown friends
that
the foreign
white visitors
call monkeys

we take
the coconut palm
on top of the hill
we ride on it
and we slide
on the
hill
green
with
carabao grass
grass

yehey
yehehey
yehey

we tumble
and roll
when we
reach the
foot of the hill
covered with
green
carabao
grass
we
crash

there may
be some bruises
on our arms
and
legs
but we
laugh
we enjoy
the sliding
the falling
the crashing
on the green
green
carabao
grass
we
crash

yehey
yehehey
yehehey

we are
the happy
little brown
monkeys

yehey
yehehey
yehey

we are
happy.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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