That Morning Years Ago
the chickens just jumped
from the branches
where at night they are
birds
the white magnolia just
bloomed
such a nice scent spread
in the air
the bamboo leaves start
to dance with the
wind from the hills
the sun is about to shine
we are two bodies
making the river sing
on the crystal waters.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Finished
the stalking is finally over
the poems still keep popping
and flowers blooming
(oh the cliche of birds singing
and cicadas chirping)
the bamboo leaves bring
the hush in the making
the sea is crystal clear
i swim there
and this i must wait
when i rise up from the
waters
when my hair is wet
and my body still dangling
with glistening sea foams and drops
i now find this joy
of lying upon the big stone
by the shore
sunbathing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-57
Campbell's Magnolia(Magnolia campbelli)
Dwarf Magnolia(Cempaka Telur, Magnolia coco)
Temple Magnolia(Magnolia doltsopa)
Banana Shrub(Magnolia figo)
Magnolia(Southern magnolia, Magnolia grandiflora)
Egg Magnolia(Magnolia liliifera)
Lily Magnolia(Magnolia lilliflora)
Saucer Magnolia(Magnolia x soulangiana)
Disparity is not His intention
For creation all beauty adorned
Painting different here and there
Passion for His colourful creation
So is Magnolia big and florescent
Champak white and yellow hale here
Cream and pink there purplish pale
Leaves large elliptic, oblong, obovate
Born are big in blossoms dignified
For His praises glorious colourful
Born are dwarf fragrant strong high
For His praises vast wide in demand
So not atall disparity His intention
Even Temple Magnolia can ascertain
On par all Himalayan with the southern
Magnolias pretty beauty for His creation
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Poetry, Poesy, Ars Poetica, Erotica,
i am hooked to you.
i need rehabilitation
in China, the bamboo rafts there
can help, i will sail
on the Yangtze river
together with you
my rudder on the shallow
jade green waters,
i shall hear robins making
love calls,
i am stuck on this trip
lots of rainbow illusions
colors in my mind
i am jailed in your arms
my heart enthralled to
this injunction
everyday i set aside other
works, the plants are wilting
and the trees are dying,
my dogs are hungry
unfed
my chickens cross the
fence
to feed on other grains
i am stuck in here
because i like it here
China can wait
the chickens may die
even my dogs
let them be impounded.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Bamboo Groves
i fly for i have wings
and i go inside the closely knitted
bamboo groves
where the leaves dance
with the wind
where my bleeding heart
begins to heal
and sing...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Winters advance...
In the dark of night the wind do'th blow,
Through the hills and the drifting snow.
The branches of an oak tree sigh and creek,
Raised above that silent snowy sheet.
Winter snowflakes soon come dancing,
As the winter storm it is advancing.
At first a few, but then so many,
When at first there were not any.
Engulfing a wintery slumbering earth,
In a snowy cotton across her girth.
Fashioning a crystal white snowy gown,
Woven from the whitest down.
Now covered in her pure white sheet,
Our mother earth has gone to sleep.
Her yearly rest forever taken,
When spring time comes she shall awaken...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Ode To Bird Watching
Now
Let's look for birds!
The tall iron branches
in the forest,
The dense
fertility on the ground.
The world
is wet.
A dewdrop or raindrop
shines,
a diminutive star
among the leaves.
The morning time
mother earth
is cool.
The air
is like a river
which shakes
the silence.
It smells of rosemary,
of space
and roots.
Overhead,
a crazy song.
It's a bird.
How
out of its throat
smaller than a finger
can there fall the waters
of its song?
Luminous ease!
Invisible
power
torrent
of music
in the leaves.
Sacred conversations!
Clean and fresh washed
is this
day resounding
like a green dulcimer.
I bury
my shoes
in the mud,
jump over rivulets.
A thorn
bites me and a gust
of air like a crystal
wave
splits up inside my chest.
Where
are the birds?
Maybe it was
that
rustling in the foliage
or that fleeting pellet
of brown velvet
or that displaced
perfume? That
leaf that let loose cinnamon smell
- was that a bird? That dust
from an irritated magnolia
or that fruit
which fell with a thump -
was that a flight?
Oh, invisible little
critters
birds of the devil
with their ringing
with their useless feathers.
I only want
to caress them,
to see them resplendent.
I don't want
to see under glass
the embalmed lightning.
I want to see them living.
I want to touch their gloves
of real hide,
which they never forget in
the branches
and to converse with
them
sitting on my shoulders
although they may leave
me like certain statues
undeservedly whitewashed.
Impossible.
You can't touch them.
You can hear them
like a heavenly
rustle or movement.
They converse
with precision.
They repeat
their observations.
They brag
of how much they do.
They comment
on everything that exists.
They learn
certain sciences
like hydrography.
and by a sure science
they know
where there are harvests
of grain
poem by Pablo Neruda
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The Boatman's Crossing!
The boatman is out, crossing the swollen river,
Dips the bamboo staff, churns the frowning waters,
Calling for strength from the still depths, he moves on,
Like children running behind a cart, waves giggle along.
The river asks no questions.
Dark for lies shrouded in curtains of inky black,
Moon just a strained smile, is seized by the clouds crack,
Lovelorn silver edges aglow, puff in pride on the conquest,
Homesick, signaling to each other, stars join in the jest.
The night asks no questions.
Yet to startle darkness, the weakest hour of morn,
Pushing this log of wood, is yet to be born,
Thick as honey, wind flutters leaves in bouts of rage,
Dripping with the scent of hill balsams and lush foliage.
The wind asks no questions.
Heaving branches of blossoms and figs, offer themselves,
In homage to the river, on either banks banyan trees swagger,
Dipping their flowing roots, like an old woman’s tress,
Bait fish; like one throws pebbles in water seeking answers,
The trees ask no questions.
This, a strange journey he makes in the quiet of the morn,
Questions arise in his head, like on the banks- the wayside corn,
To lull them sings, a wailing tune, like in wilderness richotteing nails,
His mother sang, to stall his questions after
her bed-timetales.
The boatman asks no questions.
As they sail by, birds sent aflutter, snigger, trees jeer,
A startled stork from the far-off horizon hollers-All clear,
Drawn by his song, in his trailing nets fishes ensnare,
Like a maiden in panic, the river hastens, after a night’s dare.
The birds ask no questions.
Dawn breaks its garland of flushing colors galore,
A veiled maiden sits at the boat’s far-end, shadows devour
Head bowed, eyes downcast, break not her silence of the night,
Lest she should dropp off like an unopened bud at first light.
poem by Seema joglekar
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To Dance And Sing
what do we need
to be happy?
no props
we can always dance
on bare feet
under the rain
no microphones
we can always sing
the songs of our
hearts
we live, dance and sing
naked deep in the night
the moon watches
on the river
waters splashing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Juliana....
on early morning
she walks down the river
leaving all her
coverings on the grass
she wades in the water
naked
as the bamboo trees
bend with the wind
paying homage to her
raw beauty
she plunges into the
cool waters of the river
and the river
takes joy of her body
then she rises
as water drips on her breasts
giving way to her
nipples
as the water cascades down
her abdomen
to her legs
Juliana, the mountain beauty
once i have seen her
under the moon amidst
the trees in the forest
and the virgin hills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetic Waters
behold this vast lake
silent serene waters
moonlight shimmers
upon life ephemeral
crystal cut wavelets
crystal wavelets dance
whisper in moonlit breeze
breeze blow cool upon
warm flesh homage perceiving
perceiving wisdom in vast
depth shimmer creative waters
in dawn’s yellow finger
light fresh beauty focus shapes
depth colour light touch
sound scent stir movement
life springs forth creates
creation dawn serenade
smell scent rhythm fresh
before hot overhead noon sun
time bestows eyes philosophy
divinity mind dream wakes
cast a pebble
upon surface
light reflective waters
watch time
spread wave rings
spread forth uniform
wave ripples spread forth
harmonic embrace minds
pebble sinks
deep embrace
welcomed by
wisdom’s waters
pebble rough
or smooth
passed on
seen in
third eye
memory
pebble or rock
shaped perception
is ever gone
seen no more
passage enfolds
enlightenment
shape formatic embraces
review rapid ripples harmonic
contemplate message symmetry
singer sing songs freeborn
on breeze string stir vibrations
remember
wisdom encoded
words
singer rock
are seen no more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Nature
Like a chariot all pervading
She is still there
Wading through the stream
Down the hill
In the dale
Chasing the sheep
In the meadows lush green
Sweet scent spreads around
Birds sing in your ears
Even the deaf can hear
Fishes swim to the birds song
Bees provide the gong
And trees swing to conduct the song.
Harmony, perfect harmony
Gives birth to the snowy clouds
That spread the light
Crystal waters touch the virgin land
Sweetened water comes through this land
Stand not here
Pay homage and pass
Carry her in your thoughts
For how long can she withstand ‘Cupid's' onslaught.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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The White Lily
By the river bank
The frogs croak and caress
Hoping along the river bank
From here to there
At a distant
The swallows twitter with fondness
The lilies rupture with the morning sun
The water reeds sway
As the wind blows along
The river bank
But yet....i feel lost
In this scenery of dexteric desires
I feel caught in lifes pedestals
Tender steps i make....
Along the river bank...
Lilies..
The white lily...
That symbolise
The purity of those souls
Enmeshed in lovesframe
The white lily
That symbolise
The fire that burns within circles
The white lily that symbolises
Long lost desires
Re-invented and rejuvenated
In this river of dexteric desires
The white lily
So white...so pure...
By the river bank
I watch the white lily float and dance
Along the river waters
Their is tenderness in the river
The fishes swim with tenderness
The waters flowing
With a lovers moan
Rythmic drums can be heard from afar
Magic everywhere
I sit and stare at the white lily
With a longing yen....
By the river bank.
poem by Jack Shaka
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Magnolia
From a table across the room
She was signaling me with her eyes
I walked over to be introduced
I said hello, she just smiled
And said I know a place not too far from here
We cou ld get away for awhile
Yeah, thats when she kissed me and told me her name
I never did tell her mine
Magnolia
I remember the smell of the wind through the suite
Magnolia
And I know that shes out there somewhere in the world
Shes forgotten me but I remember her
Magnolia
Well her lips were as warm
As that wet southern night
Her eyes were as black as the sky
And I wondered aloud
Just what I done right
As I lay there with her by my side
T hen she took hold of my hand
As she looked up at me
And said now I must tell you good-bye
And there in the moonlight
As I watched her leave
I felt a chill down inside
Magnolia
I remember the smell of the wind through the s uite
Magnolia
And I know that shes out there somewhere in the world
Shes forgotten me but I remember her
Magnolia
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River And Her
in the slow history of the river flowing
she wants to mark her own name with her fingers
religiously she goes there on a ritual of her own
naked she dips her skin on the water
so soft are her feet on the bed of pebbles
deep down the fishes ask for more of her toes
touched the river begins to sing a song for her
the bamboo leaves keep watching what happens next
will love dance on the surface of flimsy reasons?
will passion appear and last forever?
the banks want to close in on them: the river and her
the sun is worried what will happen next
it did end, but it was sad, as sad as the butterfly that lost one of its wings.
the river loses its name as she plunges deep to the tight arms of death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autumn of our lives
Its Autumn now and its the season
I'm getting old and there's a reason
Were casting off our summers bloom,
Amongst falling leaves I feel in tune
Leaves are falling, disrobing the tree
My hair turning silver, in sympathy
Winds of change are in the air
Stripping us of our summer flare
A gunmetal sky at mornings half light
Heralds the winters darkest night
No birds sing to welcome the day
Migrations begun they're on their way
Second year branches they start breaking
Like my old bones they start aching
We both are rooted to this place
Together the winter we will face
poem by Bob Gibson
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Strange Fruit
Lewis allen, sonny white
Seven trees
Bearin strange fruit
Blood on the leaves
And blood at the roots
Black bodies
Swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin
From the poplar trees
Pastoral scene
Of the gallant south
Them big bulging eyes
And the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia
Clean and fresh
Then the sudden smell
Of burnin flesh
Here is a fruit
For the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather
For the wind to suck
For the sun to rot
For the leaves to drop
Here is
Strange and bitter crop
As singed by billie holiday
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter cry.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art For Freedom!
Music and dance give relaxation and relief!
Wind and river dance and go forever free;
If we also dance to music we too feel free!
Painting, sculpture, poetry and music make us
Fresh and new inducing forgetfulness of the past!
Lyrical poetry makes us sing and dance to be free;
Its new version is pop song we hear everywhere!
Musicians, singers and dancers are best entertainers
Moving the world by their melodious tune memorable;
Oscar and Grammy awards are their worthy honours!
Lovers of freedom, birds sing and do all jobs joyously
From the morning till evening nonstop everyday ever!
Combining song and dance or work and dance they live
Making people learn value of music and dance in life;
This is the way to be happy and gay to live in freedom!
poem by Ramesh T A
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The River Flows
The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers entwine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.
The river with the soft scent of a calm day
With the smell of clean—hanging—still—in the grey
And sweetness carried on the breath of morning
It caresses the river—the waters flowing.
The river—crystalline from winter melt
And sweet with the summer soon felt
It tastes of springtime—the season between
And flows the river—so blue and clean.
The river—its lazy trickle of water
The musical rhythm—the ocean’s daughter
It whispers and murmurs—a song of its own
Playing over and over—in continuous drone.
The river—so clear and cool
The water flows—the color like a jewel
Its soft arms embrace the shore
The river surging from the days before.
The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers in twine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.
poem by Kailey Jennings
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Feel Like Making Love
Take my hand
Lead me to another place
I never been
I wanna be released
Set me free
I'm not talking bout letting me go
But I'm just talking bout pulling me close
To where our bodies are becoming as one
Turn off the lights cause boy we've just begun
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Here I am
I'm all yours for tonight
But every night
It could be
You and I
For a lifetime
Could have stayed all to myself
And played the game like everybody else
But boy I want you and that's no lie
Because you keep me so satisfied
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
It would be nice if you spend the night
Ain't nothing wrong if you treat me right
Why don't we take it nice and slow
Hold on tight baby don't let go
It would be nice if you spend the night
Ain't nothing wrong if you treat me right
Why don't we take it nice and slow
Hold on tight baby don't let go
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
Feel like making love
All through the night
All through the night
Come hold me tight
It would be nice if you spend the night
Ain't nothing wrong if you treat me right
Why don't we take it nice and slow
Hold on tight baby don't let go
It would be nice if you spend the night
Ain't nothing wrong if you treat me right
Why don't we take it nice and slow
Hold on tight baby don't let go
[Chorus till fade]
song performed by by Mary J Blige
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Outside The August Wind is Playing
Outside the August wind is playing
swinging branches up and down,
grabbing on flowers that are still standing
with fingers which are desiring
and I wait upon birds to appear again
after their around-the-world journey
while knobs are on the branches of fruit trees,
ready to unfold in blossoms
in early spring
but the cold is making its presence known
with ripe lying spread out in the early morning
while the winter season
is still doing its icy thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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