Soledad
in true faith to her name
she lives alone in a small house
on the side of a hill
the trees are cut and the grasses
have grown taller
the house sheds of window panes
pillars recede their heights
soledad in true faith to her name
continues to live alone in that small house
on the side of the dead hill
she waits for her beloved
who long died in the war.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
She Lives Alone
She lives alone in a house on a hill.
Sitting in her favourite chair
alone by the window she'd sit and stare
waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to notice the tears in her eye
She lives alone in a house on the river
Standing at the open front door
alone on the porch, she waits for an hour or more
waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to notice the tears in her eye
She lives alone in a house in a wood
Lying in her cold single bed
still and alone, for she is dead
she was waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to be there and say goodbye
poem by Nicola Burkett
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Home On a Hill
I travel towards a house that's not a home
My home is on a hill burnt down
Burnt by the love of money and fame
Burning before we crashed
Half dead before we died
He dragged us along to leave us behind
He followed his idols of money and fame
He took us from Olympus to none
We had beaten the horizon
But he turned us away from the sun
My home on a hill was a happy home
My home till he burnt it down
I waved through the window
Said goodbye with a frown
And was told that the new house was better
These bricks and others can be what they want
Maybe the worst would be better
All he saw was a green shade of black
Enough is never the end of the track
We move on and further away
But the house on a hill was a home
A Story Of My Life
My house is there by the side of the hill
Without color without name
Father andmother brought me into that
House by the side of the hill
Without color without name
Each day there is a celebration of
Nothingness
Without reason without cause
Without color without name
I am the anonymous of the that nothingnes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Complacency
the road to understanding
appears to us
fenced and paved
the way all cleared
and the grasses on the side
well trimmed
the trees grown on a line
and flowers are grouped
according to their kind
complacent we think that this is all
that there is nothing to be figured out anymore
there is nothing to be scrutinized
nothing to question
you sit inside the hut on the side of a hill
and rest and breathe the air from there
there is nothing to be done
everything is handed
and what we do is only to receive
and behave
no one jumps over the fence
no one puts another kind of flower anymore
what grass you know
is the grass that is well trimmed
nature manicured
i have long gone away from that place
i live in the forest
and struggle to communicate with the monkeys
i am clearing my own way
and building my own house on top of a tree
i am well, and i guess happier.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Expectedly
houses are strong
and well insulated
in your
hinterland
but mine is on top
of the hill
kissed by the sun
it is open to the
air
they come and go
and come again
this is the house without
doors and stairs
a house deprived of
windows
and peeping holes
and cracks and
slits
this is the house of the
sun
the earth loves it
its body attached
to the grass
it has no pillars
but trees
no roof but clouds
no walls but spaces
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Every House
Every house has a sun and moon,
And a little porcelain cup,
And a little silver spoon;
Every house has laughter and pain,
And feels the kiss of a needed rain.
Every house has a pet or two,
A cat in the tree,
A dove that coo;
Every house has a little mouse,
Lives in a hole he never comes out.
Every house has a window or two,
And some grass and trees,
And a sky that's blue;
Every house has a child that dreams,
As he plucks at raw reality's seams.
poem by Patti Masterman
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The House Where Love Lives
A squeaky gate a welcome lock a big shaggy dog that lives out back
And some might even call it a shack but this is the house where love lives
The paint is peelin' off of the cells the mailbox is full of bills
And it's no mansion on the hill but this is the house where love lives
There's a little boy who looks just you with freckles on his nose and eyes of blue
A little girl almost two and everybody says she looks just like you
So thank you dear for loving me though I know rich we'll never be
But that doesn't matter to you and me cause we live in the house where love lives
[ steel ]
So thank you dear for loving me though I know rich we'll never be
But that doesn't matter to you and me cause we live in the house where love lives
We live in the house where love lives
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No house should ever be on a hill or on anything. It should be of the hill. Belonging to it. Hill and house should live together each the happier for the other.
quote by Frank Lloyd Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A House for Four
A house for four
What is it? a house for four
A dingy looking thing
Are there windows? none
What is it? a house for four
Such a palace
Are there greetings? none
What is it? a house for four
Why the space is so small
Is there privacy? none
What is it? a house for four
A dozen creeps could be creeping there
Is there any trust? none
Don't judge me for mine
Poor fool i wont
Even give you the time
Are you judging me?
Your quite the choir
With a cracking voice
And
A tall house that falls
To scrutiny
A house for four and
A house for four
A people of choir and
A people of poor
Do you not recognize
The stains are yours?
A house is not a house
Unless there is more
More and more
Sometimes less is more
poem by Deci Hernandez
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A Annoying Woodpecker
The woodpecker pecks gracefully
On the side of the house.
It's bothersome raps
wake me from a sound sleep.
I stumble out of bed in a
Sleepy fog, and walk outside
To somehow quiet the loud clatter.
I walk up to the house
The small woodpecker is startled
And hastily flies away.
He perches on a small branch
And looks at me
I leave the woodpecker
To his business
In hopes that he would get
Bored and leave
For my house's sake.
poem by Melanie Dickie
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Lamps burn in every house
Lamps burn in every house,
O blind one! and you cannot see them.
One day your eyes shall suddenly be opened,
and you shall see: and the fetters of death will fall from you.
There is nothing to say or to hear,
there is nothing to do:
it is he who is living, yet dead, who shall never die again.
Because he lives in solitude,
therefore the Yogi says that his home is far away.
Your Lord is near: yet you are climbing the palm-tree to seek Him.
The Brahman priest goes from house to house
and initiates people into faith:
Alas! the true fountain of life is beside you,
and you have set up a stone to worship.
Kabîr says: 'I may never express how sweet my Lord is.
Yoga and the telling of beads,
virtue and vice-these are naught to Him.'
Time Does Not Make Me Notice
been away
and been busy
the usual answer
to any inquiry
this time
i sit upon a chair
facing the sea
on the porch of the
old house
that papa left me
when he died
five years ago
the bamboo
on the side facing
the big mountains
has grown tall
and its leaves
are outreaching
the trees
i feel so small
like a sparrow
and i feel the
wings unfurling
feathers on my
sides
i have long
wished for this:
flying away from here
and not coming back
now it is a reality.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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i do beleive in God
there may be doubts
like pebbles along the path towards a house
there may be darkness
at the end of day
but there is still a candle to light
a gas lamp by the side
of the door
outside the house covered by a glass
you see how even during the storm
through the window
transparent on the curtains
there is still this flickering light
despite the wind
even in my sleep my nightmares
faith still glistens
like a distant star
amen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Little House
Our little house upon the hill
In winter time is strangely still;
The roof tree, bare of leaves, stands high,
A candelabrum for the sky,
And down below the lamplights glow,
And ours makes answer o'er the snow.
Our little house upon the hill
In summer time strange voices fill;
With ceaseless rustle of the leaves,
And birds that twitter in the eaves,
And all the vines entangled so
The village lights no longer show.
Our little house upon the hill
Is just the house of Jack and Jill,
And whether showing or unseen,
Hid behind its leafy screen;
There's a star that points it out
When the lamp lights are in doubt.
poem by Thomas Walsh
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The Houses
1898 -- A Song of the Dominions
'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Story Behind The Fire This Morning
before the house was razed by fire
the old man visited the house and cried
telling me about a young man who promised
that if he ever loves another woman
the house shall be burned
to strip it of its meaning
at 6: 30 today early morning the firemen
called it a day. The house is gone
The old man gone. The young man gone.
i like to write the story behind all these
misfortune
but i am afraid that some parts of it
may not be true
or that if true, it may not be fair at all,
or that it be totally unjust
so that there is no use
writing it anymore
The old woman died a year ago
She floated in air
suffered vertigo
she gave up finally
the young man to the world
heard the promise of the old man
who could not do anything
when the house
got burned.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: True Faith
Yes, faith can lift a mountain from its base!
Yes, faith can turn a river off its course;
Yes, faith can win an impossible race!
Yes, faith can calm a lion as he roars!
Sure, faith can do impossible a thing!
Sure, faith can hold a marriage till the end!
Sure, faith can well a happy ending bring!
Sure, faith can truly iron bars too bend!
True faith can make a friendship very strong!
True faith unites two lovers tie the knot!
True faith can make miles look like one furlong!
True faith can win a war although ill-fought!
None can afford to lose faith since their birth,
And faith in God is what we need on earth.
poem by John Celes
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A Look At Nature's Magnificent Painting
i see a slope of a hill filled with trees
and grass
a pathway of human footprints
climbs the hill in concentric circles
a man leads his ass
carrying a bundle of clothes
a pregnant woman follows him
above them is the full moon
on the top of the hill is a little house
roof of hay and walls of bamboos
a tiny light flickers on the window
it is wrapped by the coldness of the wind
and somewhere you feel
a certain orifice
of hope
you cannot just pinpoint exactly where
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Cat, The House And The Trees
there is this cat
that looks like a feline version of batman
though without a cape
and a bat-mobile
it sits on a fence
and waits
the trees murmur
and the house stares at it
curiously without blinking
this cat has one life to live
the other eight it lost to the
years of his giving up
that despair and
psychological confusion
now it is prepared to give
the last one
the house is afraid
and closes its door
the wooden fence shakes
like a bridge losing its hold on the other side
tomorrow the cat shall be dead
yet it is prepared with an epitaph
of no regret, its life is always lived
for another
and this is it that really matter
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cauldron with no Steam
They say hope is good
- hope is the house
in which faith dwells,
faith that swears by god.
I say desire is the house
from of which all seeds
called hope,
in mortal clusters sprout.
If desires are dead maggots
hopes the bad eggs,
faith is an empty cauldron
from where no steam rises.
Saranyan BV © October 2011
poem by Saranyan Bee
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