En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Standing By The Brook One Day

a stone from my hand
ripples the waters of the brook
taking me to the turmoils
of childhood.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walking And Fishing

an early morning walk is like
a fishing venture where you sail with your boat alone on the waters
you wait and some ripples come
and then you remember

you catch fish, you stumble upon a stone
you take hold of each, and then the ripples are gone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little Ripples

On a tranquil sea.
Are they really that calm?
Can I cross them,
Like a bump in the road.
Do I find the strength
Like in youthful naivety?)
To speed on through
Till one overtakes me
In my mind.
Little ripples.
They scare me so.
I keep swimming day by day.
Eyes just above the ripples.
Little ripples, Little ripples
Be kind to my mind!
The salt water relaxation
Is taking me away
From earthly cares.
But how many more ripples
Can I surmount?
Before I give up
And just become a memory
In peoples minds`.

poem by Peter Vealey
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A Pebble

I toss a pebble in the brook.
I close my eyes then take a look.
I see the ripples in circular form
and watch it increase in size.

When the water becomes still again
I toss another stone.
Being able to do this continuous thing
while I’m all alone

calms my mind and brings me peace.
And I forget for these minutes of time
everything that troubles me.
And I understand that I’m

just like the pebble I throw.
I create an effect that I know
makes ripples on the folks I meet
wherever it is I go.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sonnet: To The River Otter

Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have past,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that vein'd with various dyes
Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of Childhood! oft have ye beguil'd
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless Child!

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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To The River Otter

Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have passed,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes,
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless child!

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Sonnet

To the River Otter

Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have past,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that vein'd with various dyes
Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of Childhood! oft have ye beguil'd
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless Child!

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Rippling Waters

Rippling Waters
By: Adam M. Snow

Let the water ripples;
as our reflection is shown.
For it has tripled;
for we are all alone.

Let the rain dropp upon rippling waters;
showing us our past and our future.
For we are no longer curse;
for it shows what we once were.

Let our reflection in the ripples show;
how our love gently flow.
For our touch is also smooth;
for there is no need to lie for we know the truth.

Let the moon beam upon our reflection;
showing us there is no affliction.
Let our reflection in the ripples show;
how our love gently flow.

poem by Adam M. Snow
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Down the Stream

From whence the brook? From where the waters gather
In mountains' deep recesses, stone-black lakes
And dripping crevices. It ripples forth
Into the shining day with scarce a voice,
And with no strength at all, till mountain showers
And winter's snow and spring storms pour their flood
Into the dancing brook, that foams and starts
And rushes headlong down the steeps and throws
Into the Unknown all its youth and strength,
And thunders into hell, to rise again
In sheets of whiteness into dreamy veils,
To kiss the flowers' feet and overflow
The meadows; thence, o'erbridged and caught and fastened
To wheels, to grind and grind with irksome noise,
To lose all liberty, all winsome frolic,
And work till doomsday. On and on the stream
Goes widening into calm and mighty strength,
A hero of a stream, that bears the ships
Like toys, and carries legions.
Wider still
He grows, and stronger, as he drags the waters
Of hundred rivers with him to the sea.
At last his course is sluggish, tired, slow,
A living death, till, blended with the sea,
A rising tide will carry him away
Into oblivion. Such is life! A stream
From unknown heights through storm and dangerous fall,
Through unknown land and never-ending work
Unto Eternity's great, unknown sea.
You cannot rise above the height you come from,
You only widen and expand--but downwards,--
Your strength is gone, your impetus is quenched.
And then the world will call you great and grand,
And make a fortune out of all those waters:
Your tears, your blood, your work, and what you spent;
The strength of all your aims and all your falls!

poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Brook In The City

The farmhouse lingers, though averse to square
With the new city street it has to wear
A number in. But what about the brook
That held the house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
From growing under pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was thrown
Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid darkness still to live and run --
And all for nothing it had ever done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being kept forever under,
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.

poem by Robert Frost
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Autumn Sonata: Celebrating Love

love was the lake in your two eyes
which you afforded me to swim in
taking me whole into your cherish
our joy jumped like fishes in spring waters
love is the road we have both vowed
to take hand in hand, heart to heart
spring, summer, autumn and winter
breathing in each other's breath
surviving on each other's strengths
and weaknesses taking challenges
like roses that bow and dance in the winds
love will be the maple each autumn paints
to celebrate a love tale in red blood passion
before they trail into divinity hands whispering
and sighing for an eternal blessing the joy of
two fishes jumping in spring waters

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Landscapes

Landscapes

The landscape I walk, used to be guarded by stone hedges; infinite
supply of stones this soil yields if not much else. Nature has taken
back what man did, the landscape is lush of weed, and bent trees.
I’m sliding into silence, but if I listen I can hear Spanish bluebells
peal in a mild breeze that also carries a whisper of a Nordic lullaby,
Last year a Canadian couple walked with me, their ancestors came
from around here. We stopped outside a ruin and they went silent,
cried. An ancient memory stirred they knew this place. Where their
tears had fertilized the ground, is, this year, full of wild flowers.
No, they are not returning, Canadians now and proud of that too.
I sit on a stone, not by the river of Babylon, and see how the brook,
free from icy shackles elatedly run, will not heed words of caution.
I have made boats of bark, and sail of green leaves, see them hasten
towards the North Sea. The brook is no more, indifference has seen
to that, but the landscape of my childhood is clear as a stream.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Brook-Song

Little brook! Little brook!
You have such a happy look--
Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and
curve and crook--
And your ripples, one and one,
Reach each other's hands and run
Like laughing little children in the sun!

Little brook, sing to me:
Sing about a bumblebee
That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled
mumblingly,
Because he wet the film
Of his wings, and had to swim,
While the water-bugs raced round and
laughed at him!

Little brook-sing a song
Of a leaf that sailed along
Down the golden-braided centre of your current
swift and strong,
And a dragon-fly that lit
On the tilting rim of it,
And rode away and wasn't scared a bit.

And sing--how oft in glee
Came a truant boy like me,
Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting
melody,
Till the gurgle and refrain
Of your music in his brain
Wrought a happiness as keen to him
as pain.

Little brook-laugh and leap!
Do not let the dreamer weep:
Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in
softest sleep;
And then sing soft and low
Through his dreams of long ago--
Sing back to him the rest he used to
know!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Taking You Home

Taking you home - (don henley/stan lynch/stuart brawley)
I had a good life
Before you came
I had my friends and my freedom
I had my name
Still there was sorrow and emptiness
til you made me glad
Oh, in this love I found strength I never knew I had
1st chorus:
And this love
Is like nothing I have ever known
Take my hand, love
Im taking you home
Taking you home
There were days, lonely days
When the world, wouldnt throw me a crumb, no no
But I kept on believing
That this day would come
And this love
Is like nothing I have ever known, no no baby
Take my hand love
Im taking you home
Im taking you, home
Where we can be with the ones who really care
Home, where we can grow together
Keep you in, my heart forever
Instrumental (keyboard)
2nd chorus:
Oh and this love
Is like nothing I have ever known, oh no no baby
Take my hand love
Im taking you home
3rd chorus:
Oh this love
Is like nothing I have ever known, no no baby
Take my hand.
Im taking you home
Im taking you, home
Yes I am, mm, mm, mm, hey baby, hey baby
Taking you home
Short instrumental w/background vocals
Im taking you home baby
Im taking you home.
End

song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moonbeams 3

Moonbeams like sparkling diamonds
dance across the waters
where the water sprites play.
They dance on the ripples
and tiptoe on the waves.
The dew drops of a silvery moon
that fall upon the waters
when the sun is held at bay.
The fairies harvest them
to keep the fireflies bright.
Moonbeams that fall
across the waters at night.

poem by David Harris
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A Brook In The City

in my heart
a river runs
alluvial, fishes,
leaves, flowers and all
a catfish winds
its way up to the surface
shows its pinkish whiskers
and round mouth
and down in a fleet second
puyu splash
their way down
after a fall
bubble, splash, bubble, splash,
big fish, small fish,
breakdance
down the river
their only way to show
joy and gratitude
for nature's care
like a gymnast
they turn their tails up
bend and sweep
the water swivels
and down they go
head plunging
the river a stage
of tail splashing game
how the world has changed since
thirty years the sweep of a puyu's tail
i could still collect that childhood heart
that had gone afflutter
the river that has changed course
to run through my heart
calming nerves and evoking childhood joy
the river now buried deep
in the town's memory
the river now imprisoned
caged between cement walls
no more fishes, no more splashdance, breakdance
red water, blooms and leaves!
the river that now only has me as its fish
splashing every now and then
to let its sweetness flow forth
the river now buried deep in the earth
in the city's mind

inspired by

A Brook In The City
The farmhouse lingers, though averse to square
With the new city street it has to wear
A number in. But what about the brook
That held the house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
From growing under pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was thrown
Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid darkness still to live and run -
And all for nothing it had ever done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being kept forever under,
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.
Robert Frost

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Silence Of Stone (revised)

take a stone,
from the beginning it was
a stone in form
and color and smell

and stone to stone
it shall be stone
unless you take it
in your hand
and keep it warm
in the hold of your palm
and take it home with you

you talk to it
and then it becomes
beyond itself

now
it is not just a stone
but your beloved
your lover

you will discover
that its silence also speaks
in tongues

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Existence First, Then Essence

take a stone,
from the beginning it was
a stone in form
and color and smell

and stone to stone
it shall be stone
unless you take it
in your hand
and keep it warm
in the hold of your palm
and take it home with you

you talk to it
and then it becomes
beyond itself

now
it is not just a stone
but your beloved
your lover

you will discover
that its silence also speaks
in tongues

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Childhood Garden

my childhood garden

my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden

my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden

my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden

my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden

poem by Danielle Eager
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One stone

Muscles, tighten
Up and to the pond
I release, one stone
Ripples, form
Like raised voices,
I hear, squabbles,
Wounds open,
Swords drawn
All these, I see,
Cause, my one stone
I know water is deep!

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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The Brook Leaps Riotous

The brook leaps riotous with its life just found,
That freshets from the mountain rains have fed,
Beats at the boulders in its hindered bed,
And fills the valley with its triumphing sound.
The strong unthirsty tarn sunk in deep ground
Has never a sigh wherewith its wealth is said,
Has no more ripples than the May-flies tread:
Silence of waters is where they abound.

And love, whatever love, sure, makes small boast:
'Tis the new lovers tell, in wonder yet.
Oh happy need! Enriched stream's jubilant gush!
But who being spouses well have learned love's most,
Being child and mother learned not nor forget,
These in their joyfulness feel the tarn's strong hush.

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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