The Clouds Of Narcissus
the clouds of narcissus pass by today
along a clear pond by the side of a rice paddy
they stop to get a good glimpse of their faces and bodies
cottony white, shades of blue, pluffy, and soft
they stop and take a longer gaze, admiring every
beauty of its hands and fingers, a longer time
an island of grass some reeds and dry leaves
get curious about what is happening why the clouds
stop and made a longer stare over the clear reflection
of their bodies on the little pond. They talk. They are curious.
and then the clouds finally get done with what is usual.
they left. Slowly sail away from what they are seeing lovingly.
Nothing happens since then. They own no one.No one owns them.
They leave. They do not know how to love. Neither are they loved.
They are gone. The island of grass is silent. The reeds hush.
And the pond has become murky.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Clouds Too Have A Way Of Looking
the clouds too have a way of looking
at themselves on the pond
its mirror
for a while they stay there and admire
their puffs and cottons
the reeds standing by the murky water
take pride
an island of grass stays beside them
then the clouds slowly move away
nobody owns them
and they do not touch anybody too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Simplicity Of Nature
reeds on the side of the lake
ripples of water
sand over mud
a green island on the other side
shades of the horizon
blue and darker sometimes
blue skies and fluffy white clouds
how this view sings in harmony
with the heart of a man
sitting in solitude under a tree
on the grass
nature is indeed simpler than man
more beautiful even without him
but who shall know? when man becomes
extinct, who shall know?
when man is finally excluded, who shall tell?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Could Have Told You
THAT YELLOW
SOLO LEAF floating on a very clear pond,
was it last summer?
will it really matter when someone is finally gone?
will the wind remember?
will the deep water of the pond be always true to its clarity and peace?
that yellow leaf that sank on the very clear pond on one peaceful day
will someone still remember?
i think, i will,
if i, too, shall live
longer than
you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Swan ~ A Villanelle
Floating upon the crystal pond
She kept wearing her diamond crown
While the other white swan was gone
Never doubting their fierce loving bond
As the leaves went from reddish to brown
Floating upon the crystal pond
Her blue eyes searching far beyond
Couldn't see that he'd recently drowned
While the other white swan was gone
So curling, becoming withdrawn
When ten suns in the sky settled down
Floating upon the crystal pond
She talked to the geese that were blond
And asked where he was with a frown
While the other white swan was gone
They cared not and didn't respond
In the reeds was a kings golden crown
Floating upon the crystal pond
While the other white swan was gone
poem by Sara Fielder
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I look at clouds
I look at clouds
which sails past
in the blue sky
and it’s almost as if white
is part of the blue colour
and maybe every thing here
is more pure
and yesterday and the rain
from days long
and grey clouds
have disappeared
and the sneeze
that comes
from lawn
that had to be mowed
even Allergex
Cannot stop
and it’s so different
from where you are,
where the air
is much deeper and dark blue
with things much more intense.
Maybe today I long
just a little too much
and look at two toddlers in pink
playing on the grass
next to the road
and I wish
that life could turn back
as it had been,
but I am here
and you are there
and now I have
to sit and stare
at the clouds.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Draw Me A Map Of This World
lady draw me a map of
this world
and tell me where the
mountains and
rivers are
draw me an island
of soft grass
where a man and
woman can rest
and make love
draw me a pond
a larger one where
the orange goldfish
are fat where the
swans can swim
draw me some
clouds where the
birds can fly
make them real
please
i need all of them
for me
to be real today.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pond World
if this world is only a pond
of crystal clear water
the mirror of cotton clouds
the intimate half of the sky
if this world is only a matter
of the moon sitting softly
on the comfort of the marshes
or some whispers of the reeds
and an offering of beauty
with the petals of the pink lotus
and leaves opening to space
embracing everything in a universe
i would not have walked away
and looked for my star
i would not have followed what
the fingers of the sun hinted
i would not have believed
that somewhere at the foot
of a rainbow lies my pot of gold
i would not have succumbed to
the misery of the worms the
tragedy of the broken wings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A View Of This Place That I Remember
the back space of this house
used to be a green ricefield
and there was that tall mango tree
where i used to sit underneath
shading me from the scourging sun
i always remember
the view
of the carabaos grazing
with white herons standing on their back
and blue cottony clouds drifting above
the place is now cemented
with a wall as high as three men added-up
high buildings rise from here
reaching the cottony clouds out there
and the river is no longer a hype
but a big silent hard steel pipe.
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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A pond above, a pool below,
A pond above, a pool below,
And between, water flows
Down moss green cement
Then white about rounded stones.
You stroll by me,
Your hand hooked upon my shoulder,
My hand warm in your back pocket.
Sun and shade dapple your hair,
Our legs, they make us one.
You pause upon the dam
And look across the still pond.
Two leaves float on the smooth surface,
Autumn yellow, separate and still,
Serene amongst reflected clouds and sky.
A breeze nudges them against the concrete race
And over and down the green dropp they glide.
You cross the path and watch
As briefly they touch
As they toboggan upon the flow.
Then separate and reaching the pool below,
Again they float quiet, apart and slow.
That day now seems so long ago.
Today I searched your name
And got a scattering of hits,
References to children's summer soccer
And on a company's marketing site, your picture.
Your hair's gray, your skin's no longer clear.
Oh, that that moment on the dam together
Had not left us drifting apart.
poem by William L Roberts
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When The Blue Bird Sings
oh! the wind cries with it
when the blue bird begins to sing
when the night is so cold
when the moon hides behind
the clouds
oh! the leaves begin to hush
and sympathize
but the blue bird does not stop singing
and then it stops
at dusk
it is no longer there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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109
a view of this place that i remember
the back space of this house
used to be a green ricefield
and there was that tall mango tree
where i used to sit underneath
shading me from the scourging sun
i always remember
the view
of the carabaos grazing
with white herons standing on their back
and blue cottony clouds drifting above
the place is now cemented
with a wall as high as three men added-up
high buildings rise from here
reaching the cottony clouds out there
and the river is no longer a hype
but a big silent hard steel pipe.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Memory
Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond,
A blue sky of spring,
White clouds on the wing;
What a little thing
To remember for years-
To remember with tears!
poem by William Allingham
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Four Ducks On A Pond
Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond,
A blue sky of spring,
White clouds on the wing;
What a little thing
To remember for years-
To remember with tears!
poem by William Allingham
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Upon The Silence Of The Pond
there is no futility
in the silence reigning upon
the pond
for the lilies too know
how to please
those silenced and
those who choose to be
silent
in here the tiny tadpoles
dance with their
cute tails
beneath the spreading
leaves
on beautiful choreography
of instinct
the clouds reflect
their changing faces
the lotus blooms
a dragonfly hovers upon
a blade of grass
and rests
its weary transparent
wings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Narcissus
A boy, Narcissus long ago lived in Greece
Perfect of body, dark hair fine as fleece
The face of an angel, no one could deny
Fair skin, large eyes as blue as the sky
A nymph for a mother, his father a god
Who ruled over all rivers, narrow 'n broad
Narcissus, loved by Apollo the most handsome of men
Would ascend Mount Olympus, to sojourn now 'n then
He dined with Zeus and with gods great and small
As demigods might at an extravagant Grand Ball
One day Narcissus sat in repose by a clear water pond
Looked down at his image and at once grew fond
Of the beauty neath him so at once he did fall
In love with himself, to the exclusion of all
Eyes only for self, this youth did briefly enjoy
But soon grew deluded and sad lonely boy
He faded, withered and would soon die
He lay on his back gazing up at the sky
Saw the form of Apollo looking down from above
A smile on his face, radiating warmth and pure love
Narcissus left his body, his spirit did rise,
No more burdened by beauty, he saw with new-eyes
Looked down at the earth so far below
Saw where he once lay, a flower did grow
A flower devoid of vanity, stately and sound
Blooming, seeding, spreading, soon to be found
By all who love beauty that speaks to one’s heart
Narcissus!
You're now of Earth’s landscape, no longer apart
poem by Ray Lucero
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The Dead
Their reward is
they become innocent again,
and when they reappear in memory
death has completely erased
the blurs, given them boundaries. They rise
and move through their new world with clean,
clear edges. My grandmother, in particular
has become buoyant, unattached finally
from her histories, from the trappings
of family. By no means was she
a good woman. But the dead don't care anymore for that.
Weightless, they no longer assume
responsibility, they no longer
have bodies. Once,
at the end of August, after swimming
in the muddy pond
I'd gone into the living room, cool
as vodka, where my grandmother
sat. Greed thins a woman,
I remember her rings, bigger
than her fingers.
Water ran down my legs
onto the floor becoming slippery
and my grandmother, her breath
scratchy from cigarettes and blended whiskey,
leaned into my ear and whispered
you're an ugly girl. Do I have
to forgive her? My mother tells me
no one ever loved her,
so when I see her, I see her again in the park
in her pink tailored suit, suede pumps,
I see her moving among the strange
gentlemen that have gathered, the dark
powerful men. She is still young, blonde
and most of all, she is beyond reach, beautiful.
poem by Kate Northrop
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After A Week Of Turbulence....
today i will find
a place
of my own
quiet
on the soft grass
under a tree
beside a clear pond
i close my eyes
and take some
needed
sleep
after a week of
restlessness
i think i deserve
this....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your mind is like water in a pond
Observe the water in a pond
Keep it still and particles will sediment to ground
Only then the surface becomes transparent and clear
Our reflections we can view without a blur
When wind blows and creates waves on the surface
Those sediments will be stirred up and make the water opaque
Then the water surface is no longer transparent and clear
And our reflections in it will become just blurs
Our mind is like water in that pond
Only when still and calm it can be clear and strong
If we let external forces disturb our still and calm mind
By those things we will be controlled and beguiled.
poem by Henry Chen
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Segregation
to make myself special is a sad thing,
for i may then be segregated
away from you, and i cannot take in all the sadness
let me just be an ordinary frog on that clear pond
blessed by so much rain
croaking happily with you
i do not need so much land
neither the sun
for with you, the moon and the marsh
and the reeds
are good enough,
let us have this good time swimming together
beside the tadpoles
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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