The Dying Too....
the bed takes only sleep
it has lessened its variety
before that
years ago
it was something else
it was more than its nature
a playground,
even a sea where boats sail
where seagulls nest
it was a spread of green cool grass
even clouds
it was even an island of paradise
with parakeets
and orchids and singing creeks
or squeaks
a bed ages
those who are in love, and remains to be so
keeps it
friendship starts to seed
flowers bloom, roots widespread
and the bed still becomes a home
of shed skin, white hair,
uncut fingernails
and missing words, and unspoken dreams
it's long partners, the ceiling and the fan
and the bulb that blinks sometimes
still vigil the whole night
time changes everything, it is sad,
the bed wears the blanket in white
dusts accumulate, pictures are removed
from the headboard
the bed also dies, and then waits again
sometime, for the weary, the hopeful
and the like all the rest, the dying too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sexy Woman
white clouds
blue sea
green long island
on the shallow waters
a woman faces me
white bra
white panty
(two piece)
at the middle
the water touches
the center of her
being
the grass of her earth
is wet
she walks away
dripping
her hair is long and curly
black
she does not own me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Into the Shadow
Come; let us walk towards the water's edge
through soft green grass, adorned with wild flowers.
Sheltered on a blanket spread, we will stretch
beneath the shadow of the Alder's boughs.
I shall lean sure against your beating heart
as setting sun dips towards ev'ning sky.
While long fingers creep silently across
the day, in knowledge of you, I shall lie.
When darkness moves into the dim of night
and we must fold the blanket of our dreams
into the ending of our grateful lives
closing our way along the bright white beam
may dominion keep our two hands entwined
and keep them thus until the end of time.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Muse of Love
The heart is a dream catcher
Elves play amongst the trees
Winds blow with supple song
Words flow like singing seas
Sparrows dart like little angels
Rainbows sing and rivers run
Love brightens daily bread
Gratitude shines like morning sun
Perception enhanced by choice
We receive what we believe
Harps and lutes of eternal joy
As a man thinketh so is he
Change brings new reasoning
See the flowers bloom with love
Yellow and red like bright stars
The sky kisses the earth with love
Moonlight shadows dance in paradise
Lovers dance as one sweet garden
Orchids white as wedding gowns
Sing from the heart that’s pardoned
Lofty Venus burns with mystery
Clouds sail like souls going home
Tender touch where bliss sighs
Muse of love writes a poem
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Grass
The world is all one smother of grass,
Waves of it rolling deep and green,
Clothing the paddocks’ gentle slope,
Laughing the brown tree-trunks between.
And some are praising the brilliant flowers,
The beauty of foliage as they pass,
But I am drinking its glory in
And thanking the Lord for grass, for grass!
The air is a-murmur with rippling sound
From jubilant creeks long fed with rain,
Singing of drought and travail past
And a bounteous earth drown young again-
An earth that is telling its thankfulness
With passionate rapture too deep for words
In acres and acres of waving grass,
Haven of promise to starving herds.
There’s a tangle of bloom in its moist green shade,
Mottled yam-flowers and gentians blue,
Small white stars that are honey sweet,
And nodding bluebells all drenched with dew.
And oh! The breath of its incense rare
As the summer breezes over it pass,
My heart is thrilling with voiceless prayer
And thanking the Giver of things for grass.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Spring (Double Rondelet Triolet)
With a deep touch,
The red poppy awakes the grass.
With a deep touch,
Red wants green's vibration so much,
The sun awakes the sky's watch glass.
The sky vibrates like a string bass,
With a deep touch.
The red flowers bloom in the Spring
When the time of the green grass comes.
The sky vibrates like a bass string.
The red flowers bloom in the Spring.
I see the nature's purest swing.
The wind searches his bongo drums,
The red flowers bloom in the Spring
When the time of the green grass comes.
I see His love
Like a white lily among thorns.
I see His love
Like in clefts of the rock, a dove.
When red flower its grass adorns
And her dead Winter, Spring mourns,
I see His love.
Shadows are inlaid in color
When red poppy awakes the grass.
When the land is multicolor,
Shadows are inlaid in color.
When the cuckoo is a caller,
The sun awakes the sky's watch glass.
Shadows are inlaid in color
When red poppy awakes the grass.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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When My Dreams Say, ' We Are No More There
When my dreams say, ' We are no more there'
I shall sail unto an island far off.
There I shall have the sapling of a dream tree planted
And it will grow.
When my dream tree begins to bloom
I will never pluck its flowers ever,
So will when its fruits begin to ripe
I remain hungry and thirsty there.
I shall lie in the shade of the tree
Without ever dreaming to have a dream for me.
Then I shall climb its branches and see for myself
The vast expanse of water green or blue.
I shall hoot from the top of it like an own
Blind often or blinded by the dreams of the past.
I shall shout unto the skies blue
About having dreams aplenty and not still having them.
When I once return to the home in the mainland,
I shall carry one hundred fruits from the dream tree,
I shall give them to men and women I like most
And nay, I will never give them to children ever.
I shall play hide and seek with children
And shall tell about the need for climbing the dream trees
Which will grow and touch the sky once
Even as they might still be dreaming a lot.
But I am afraid, friends,
Even as my dreams have begun to fade out
My island withers out further
And I am left with a rudderless boat
To sail unto that green paradise of my Utopia!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Journal
Alpine expanse, green all around never ending
Clear horizon, the sky blue as can be seen
for miles and miles
Natural habitat, the natives undisturbed and living
as one with nature
Tall grass, a green blanket covering the ground and
preserving tranquility
Blazing sun, the brilliance of life and all things
Cool breeze, my face lights up as the gentle force
caresses my skin
Birds singing, hundreds of voices in a gigantic choir
Water rippling, sunlight shimmering
over the aquatic canvas
Night comes, the sun giving way to the darkness
An owl hoots, mysterious abstract voices
command the night creatures
A cricket chorus, thousands of invisible things
making a mighty sound
Fireside, the heat welcome compared to the late chill
Sleep comes, and dreams preclude the start
of a new day
Winter comes, the alpine is covered completely white
Black sky, the dark winter clouds come rolling in,
shrouding the forest and blocking the light
Birds flee, huge fleets fly away
to a less hostile season
Pond freezes, fishing will have to wait
Life is hard, the winter meat has to be protected
from the white winter wolves
Comfort is rare, the finger bleed red
and the blood runs cold
Animals suffer, over yonder lies an old stag
brought down by the elements
Campfire gone, another sleepless night...............
poem by Kevin Howell
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One Night In Monte Alegre
i see the sun
set in Monte Alegre
A White brow
framed by the window
long white hair
flowing like a polluted river
upon the neck of
an old woman
holding a cane
such trembling hands
worn out
stopping on the edge
of uncut fingernails
eyes
fixed upon
the nothingness that
i, who sit there,
am, beginning to see
it is not horrible
darkness creeping
upon the black thigh
dry blood
scarlet night
dead in Monte Alegre
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Maple Tree
The Maple with its tassell flowers of green
That turns to red, a stag horn shapèd seed
Just spreading out its scallopped leaves is seen,
Of yellowish hue yet beautifully green.
Bark ribb'd like corderoy in seamy screed
That farther up the stem is smoother seen,
Where the white hemlock with white umbel flowers
Up each spread stoven to the branches towers
And mossy round the stoven spread dark green
And blotched leaved orchis and the blue-bell flowers -
Thickly they grow and neath the leaves are seen.
I love to see them gemm'd with morning hours.
I love the lone green places where they be
And the sweet clothing of the Maple tree.
poem by John Clare
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Waiting
The sun has slipped his tether
And galloped down the west.
(Oh, it's weary, weary waiting, love.)
The little bird is sleeping
In the softness of its nest.
Night follows day, day follows dawn,
And so the time has come and gone:
And it's weary, weary waiting, love.
The cruel wind is rising
With a whistle and a wail.
(And it's weary, weary waiting, love.)
My eyes are seaward straining
For the coming of a sail;
But void the sea, and void the beach
Far and beyond where gaze can reach!
And it's weary, weary waiting, love.
I heard the bell-buoy ringing--
How long ago it seems!
(Oh, it's weary, weary waiting, love.)
And ever still, its knelling
Crashes in upon my dreams.
The banns were read, my frock was sewn;
Since then two seasons' winds have blown--
And it's weary, weary waiting, love.
The stretches of the ocean
Are bare and bleak to-day.
(Oh, it's weary, weary waiting, love.)
My eyes are growing dimmer--
Is it tears, or age, or spray?
But I will stay till you come home.
Strange ships come in across the foam!
But it's weary, weary waiting, love.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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iN dAKAK
We are here in this island
at the back the surrounding mountains
a little near the woods and bushes
we hear the birds singing this morning
it is eight o'clock in the morning
you walk along the coastline
as i watch you
i lay my body on a swing tied
between two coconut trees
under this big pitogo tree
i bathe in air and hear the hush of a
certain longing
it is so peaceful here
the clouds are bluer than in the city
do not ask me why
the sea is like a pastel blue blanket
spread in bed
the silence runs on the white sand
the hermit crabs run and stop and run
i can hear the crumpling of the castles in the sand
last night we built them
i put my buri hat hiding my hair and covering part
of my forehead
the leaves fall inside my mind
there are certain notes of sadness trickling
inside my heart
a cascading loneliness
my ears are hearing them
my arms till now cannot embrace
i do not doubt it
here is this paradise even with her
i still long for you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Awakened by Love
Nestled in white orchids of hope
Dreams peer from rivers of joy
Seraphim myths flow on sail boats
Every smile from a girl and a boy
Magic wands with sweet pixie dust
Circles and visions of children’s love
Everything whole in hands of trust
Innocent and open under the true sun
All along the shore children play
We all wait and long for true dreams
Foghorns blow in the distant bay
The wind is blowing soft and free
Old stonewalls have summer vines
Lust without friendship is doomed
Her eyes seem to melt into mine
Her eyes so sincere, bright and true
Gentleness blooms in spring blossoms
Simplicity is having nothing to hide
Cardinals have come back with robins
Sand bars appear in the low tide
I know I never want to hurt her
I know I want to really take my time
When I am around her love stirs
I feel my past resolve in broken time
No vendetta, no need to be right
Tenderness is such a fine emotion
No competition or rudeness or strife
We sit and watch the teaching ocean
Sandcastles wash away in the sea
Lost in the moment love comes alive
Laughter and joy fills the free breeze
Clamshells wash ashore, seagulls fly
Children of the moment awakening by love
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Charm
In darkness the loud sea makes moan;
And earth is shaken, and all evils creep
About her ways.
Oh, now to know you sleep!
Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone,
Out of the slow grim fight,
One thought to wing - to you, asleep,
In some cool room that's open to the night
Lying half-forward, breathing quietly,
One white hand on the white
Unrumpled sheet, and the ever-moving hair
Quiet and still at length! . . .
Your magic and your beauty and your strength,
Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree,
Sleeping prevail in earth and air.
In the sweet gloom above the brown and white
Night benedictions hover; and the winds of night
Move gently round the room, and watch you there.
And through the dreadful hours
The trees and waters and the hills have kept
The sacred vigil while you slept,
And lay a way of dew and flowers
Where your feet, your morning feet, shall tread.
And still the darkness ebbs about your bed.
Quiet, and strange, and loving-kind, you sleep.
And holy joy about the earth is shed;
And holiness upon the deep.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1909)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Charm, The
In darkness the loud sea makes moan;
And earth is shaken, and all evils creep
About her ways.
Oh, now to know you sleep!
Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone,
Out of the slow grim fight,
One thought to wing -- to you, asleep,
In some cool room that's open to the night
Lying half-forward, breathing quietly,
One white hand on the white
Unrumpled sheet, and the ever-moving hair
Quiet and still at length! . . .
Your magic and your beauty and your strength,
Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree,
Sleeping prevail in earth and air.
In the sweet gloom above the brown and white
Night benedictions hover; and the winds of night
Move gently round the room, and watch you there.
And through the dreadful hours
The trees and waters and the hills have kept
The sacred vigil while you slept,
And lay a way of dew and flowers
Where your feet, your morning feet, shall tread.
And still the darkness ebbs about your bed.
Quiet, and strange, and loving-kind, you sleep.
And holy joy about the earth is shed;
And holiness upon the deep.
poem by Rupert Brooke
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Good-Night
THE lark is silent in his nest,
The breeze is sighing in its flight,
Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
Sweet dreams' attend thee in thy sleep,
To soothe thy rest till morning's light,
And angels round thee vigil keep.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
Sleep well, my love, on night's dark breast,
And ease thy soul with slumber bright;
Be joy but thine and I am blest.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Tease
shall i fly with you on a first class suite
to the blue skies
the soft cottony clouds our mattresses
the moon our bed
the stars our glittering lights and the wind
of the night
our air conditioning delights
how the grass shall envy us
how the earth shall look at us with suspense
as we make love till dusk and as tired as lovers are
we sleep like two white feathers left inside the nest
we like to think that way
but how can this ever be?
night and day, that is what we are, how can we ever be together?
earth and sky, floor and ceiling
two parallel lines running in opposite directions
we shall never ever meet
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Life of a Flower
As the snow melts with upmost intensity
Out of the white field under the blues sky a green spot rises
The rise of a legacy of a summer, a legacy of blooms
The sun rises and white is no more
White once now is green, green signs of life
Life that will live for a summer time, summer that never ends
From green to yellow, yellow that perfects the view
View out of sight, so far away you can see the Earth curves
From yellow that blinds the eyes to cloudy skies
Now is time again, say good bye till summer comes back
From brown, the name of a legacy that lasted a life time
Brown surrenders to white, so smooth takes it by force
And Earth sleeps again under the white blanket
Forever and ever life lives and dies
Perfection is all.
Dreams and Dreamers
No one exists
With out experience
Of the dream.
Nature also has the experience
Of dreams.
The rainbow is
Dream of clouds,
Twinkling stars are
Dreams of the night,
Flowers are
Dreams of the earth,
Moon is
Dream of the sun,
Woman is
Dream of a man,
Smile is
Dream of the tears,
Poetry is
Dream of the words,
False is
Dream of the truth,
Human is
Dream of the God,
Dream of human is
Dream of the dreams!
Dream,
It is a display of sight (view)
In closed eyes,
Action of the sleep
And riddle of the slumber, (deep sleep)
Solitude of the seclusion,
Mirror of the wounds,
Mumble of the mind,
Windows of the paradise,
Language of an individual
Les’ understood by himself,
Dream is a
Modern poetry
Has no syllable and meter,
Dream is a
Divine power of human, (desolation, super natural, forlorn)
Dream is not a myth
But it is a naked truth,
Dream is a secret room
Of an individual
He rest there
With his genuine face,
Dream is
Incubator of a man,
Dream is wings
Of an individual,
Dream is
A lighthouse of man
Dreams are
Colors of a man
To glorify his
Black and white life;
Let all of us praise for men
Who love the dreams,
And we express
Our sympathy to all men
who live in dreams too….
(Aalaabanai by Kaviko-In Tamizh)
poem by anushmadhu P.Bharathi
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Cupid And Swallows Flying From Winter. By Dagley
'We fly from the cold.'
AWAY , away, o'er land and sea,
This is now no home for me;
My light wings may never bear
Northern cloud or winter air.
Murky shades are gathering fast,
Sleet and snow are on the blast,
Trees from which the leaves are fled,
Flowers whose very roots are dead,
Grass of its green blade bereft,
These are all that now are left.
--Linger here another day,
I shall be as sad as they;
My companions fly with spring,
I too must be on the wing.
Where are the sweet gales whose song
Wont to waft my darts along?
Scented airs! oh, not like these,
Rough as they which sweep the seas;
But those sighs of rose which bring
Incense from their wandering.
Where are the bright flowers that kept
Guard around me while I slept?
Where the sunny eyes whose beams
Waken'd me from my soft dreams?--
These are with the swallows gone,--
Beauty's heart is chill'd to stone.
Oh! for some sweet southern clime,
Where 'tis ever summer time,--
Where, if blossoms fall, their tomb
Is amid new birth of bloom,--
Where green leaves are ever springing,
Where the lark is always singing,--
One of those bright isles which lie
Fair beneath an azure sky,
Isles of cinnamon and spice,
Shadow each of Paradise,--
Where the flowers shine with dyes,
Tinted bright from the sun-rise,--
Where the birds which drink their dew,
Wave wings of yet brighter hue,
And each river's course is roll'd
Over bed of pearl and gold!
Oh! for those lime-scented groves
Where the Spanish lover roves,
Tuning to the western star,
His soft song and light guitar,--
Where the dark hair'd girls are dancing,
Fairies in the moonlight glancing,
With pencill'd brows, and radiant eyes,
Like their planet-lighted skies!
Or those clear Italian lakes
Where the silver cygnet makes
Its soft nest of leaf and flower,
A white lily for its bower!
Each of these a home would be,
Fit for beauty and for me:
I must seek their happier sphere
While the Winter lords it here.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Arriving At The Island... Alone
the boat takes you to the island
the only person there
is you,
the coconut trees rise to the sky
and the white sand spreads
there is a bed
and blanket
and pillow and the glass of wind
and you embrace the body of the sea
and they
who think that you better be left alone
as you like it
have long left everything there
and you put your body down
clothes on the white sands
skin on the tree
and bones under the rocky shorelines
you close your eyes
and begin to fly away
into the abyss of
solitude.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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