The Fall of The Honest Man
THIS IS for you
an honest
dignified man
whose word
is steel
whose fire is pure
you shall fall
as God allows it
but it shall
be as gentle as
a yellow leaf
and the breast of the river
receives you
well
for there
dead must you
be
but full of
sweet dreams
on sleep
as tender as
the shower of rain
on the green grass
early
morning
so quiet...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Quiet in the Fire
Quiet in the Fire
Tender are the grey skies among these walls
As they blush before me, waiting for her sweet return
I pray for rain, I pray that we may share a cup of coffee
I watch her sleep most nights, and listen to her dreams
My love for her grows and grows, yet it's buried deep
I watch my tongue glaze over with ice as I look into her eyes
I am quiet in the fire, I am full of desire, I am quiet in the fire.
poem by Matthew Puttroff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fall Into Sleep
Dreams of earthquakes
Dreams of hurricanes
Dreams of pouring rain
Dreams of tidal waves (wash us all away)
Dreams of guns blaze
Dreams of fire rage
Dreams of swollen graves
Dreams of hollow pain
All gone
No more fallen
No more enemy
No more casualty
No more dream
Fall into sleep
Fall into me
I have a dream
But nobody cares, nobody wants to listen
Fall into sleep
Fall into me
Hang on to a dream
That nobody wants, nobody cares anymore
Dreams of morning grief
Dreams of disbelief
Dreams of tragedy
Dreams of old disease (to take us all away)
Dreams of fideltiy
Dreams of enemies
Dreams of loyalty
Dreams of new disease
All gone, All gone
Fall into sleep
Fall into me
I have a dream
But nobody cares, nobody wants to listen
Fall into sleep
Fall into me
Hang on to a dream
That nobody wants, nobody cares anymore
The angels are richer
Fall with broken burning wings
Are we dead inside
Are we blind
The dead keep moving forward
Backwards with those dies
We're losing sight
We're lost inside
No more fallen
No more enemy
Fall into sleep
Fall into me
I have a dream
But nobody cares, nobody wants to listen
Fall into sleep
Fall into me
Hang on to a dream
That nobody wants, nobody cares
Nobody wants, nobody cares anymore
All gone
All gone
All gone
All gone
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain, rain, rain
Rain, rain, rain
Why it cannot be another rain
The one that comes down
Whirling and smashing under a gust
With force with joy and with thrust
Bouncing from leaf to leaf
From earlobe to earlobe
Shines like a pearl
In the vermilion lap of a rose
And in the morning sun
A playful rabbit will chase
The vapor of its breath
On a lush green turf
Rain, rain, rain
Exits and ends are not joyful trend
Mortality, a monster ambushing life
Lurks our essential being
Craves its victims young and fresh
Devour like fire any piece of beauty to ash
Prey on any joy of ever
This horror of feeling, this dreadful sadness descended on me
Like a night on an owl
To rough and to shake me with dreadful foul
All things are hushed with the falling rain, nature’s self lay dead
The mountains seem to nod their dawn drowsy head
The little birds in dreams their songs not repeat
And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat
Even lust, Envy and hate sleep, yet loves denies
Rest to my soul and slumber to my eyes
Oh Dear, lay your trouble head to rest
Calm the palpitations in the breast
God renders our fortune sweet
If we aid him with our bravery and wits
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Italian Myrtles
By many a soft Ligurian bay
The myrtles glisten green and bright,
Gleam with their flowers of snow by day,
And glow with fire-flies through the night,
And yet, despite the cold and heat,
Are ever fresh, and pure, and sweet.
There is an island in the West,
Where living myrtles bloom and blow,
Hearts where the fire-fly Love my rest
Within a paradise of snow-
Which yet, despite the cold and heat,
Are ever fresh, and pure, and sweet.
Deep in that gentle breast of thine-
Like fire and snow within the pearl-
Let purity and love combine,
O warm, pure-hearted Irish girl!
And in the cold and in the heat
Be ever fresh, and pure, and sweet.
Thy bosom bears as pure a snow
As e'er Italia's bowers can boast,
And though no fire-fly lends its glow-
As on the soft Ligurian coast-
'Tis warmed by an internal heat
Which ever keeps it pure and sweet.
The fire-flies fade on misty eves-
The inner fires alone endure;
Like rain that wets the leaves,
Thy very sorrows keep thee pure-
They temper a too ardent heat-
And keep thee ever pure and sweet.
poem by Denis Florence MacCarthy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leaves (thread)
under the dogwood
leaves cover
a cat’s grave
early spring
one leaf still dangles
from the tree
palmistry
dew drops on a leaf
pick a vein
widow’s diary
pressed rose petal
the last leaf
with the rain drops
leaves flutter to the ground
fall showers
fallen leaves
circusing in the grass
merry-go-wind
October shower
leaves in the gutter
disembark
leaves changing colors
across the landscape
season's chameleons
morning rain
under maple leaves
tap my shoulder
leaves ripple
with melodies
cicadas song
These were published online by Sketchbook. See September/October “leaves” Haiku thread:
poem by Ben Gieske
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The Promise of Sleep
Put the sweet thoughts from out thy mind,
The dreams from out thy breast;
No joy for thee--but thou shalt find
Thy rest
All day I could not work for woe,
I could not work nor rest;
The trouble drove me to and fro,
Like a leaf on the storm's breast.
Night came and saw my sorrow cease;
Sleep in the chamber stole;
Peace crept about my limbs, and peace
Fell on my stormy soul.
And now I think of only this,--
How I again may woo
The gentle sleep-- who promises
That death is gentle too.
A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A rose-bud, by my early walk
Adown a corn-enclosèd bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest;
The dew sat chilly on her breast,
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awauk the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning!
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Early Morning Rain
In the early morning rain with a dollar in my hand
With an aching in my heart and my pockets full of sand
I'm a long way from home and I miss my loved one so
In the early morning rain with no place to go
Out on runway number nine big 707 set to go
But I'm stuck here on the grass where the cold winds they do blow
And where whiskey was and bars and the women they were fine
There she goes my friend, she rolling down at last
Here the mighty engines roar, see the silver bird on high
She's away and westward bound, far above the clouds she'll fly
There the morning rain don't fall and the sun always shines
She'll be flying over my home in about three hours time
This old airport's got me down it ain't no earthy good to me
Because I'm stuck here on the ground, cold and drunk as I can be
You can't hop a jet plane like you can a railroad train
So I'd best be on my way in the early morning rain
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye Spring Friend
When the morning squeaks of spring fall
Was tearing down my windows ears
That the rituals of the early morning water fall
At my soul's feet appease
For all that is wonder,
Hath wonder lost
I remember when on the fields that orbs we picked
The green leafs to feed the stocks
In the dusk of the day
By the fire place
When beneath the fluffy sheet we cuddled
In the warmth of your gentle breath
In the mildness of your sweet caress
Under the whimper of the sky
To watch your lids dance to my serenades and endearments
This moment were like torture to the soul
For i was enfeebled by the potency of your wholesomeness
To think my ennui was not forever gone
O sweet friend
You should be a gentle man's lover
The memories of your silky red lips hunts me still
Indeed I have been kissed by the best
Now never to settle for the less
The green fields were this much fresh as your radiant face
Upon the linger of the morning hue
And when the day was grown
That the early morning sunlight against your ritzy skin aglow
When with the gypsies we embarked down the river
To sail away our dismays
By the transluscent arno
To survey fishes of every hue
And the wenches upon our glee gaze
Looking earnestly when themselves they termed damsels
As we watch the jelly wend bye beneath the crystal water
Your modesty is the comely ornament that defines best your beauty
Season is never a friend to own
And so are you
The reserves will miss you
As might I
And I shall groan upon your absence
Till we meet again, spring friend.
poem by Folayemi Akande
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To A Teacher/Poet Named Fred
i know Fred
and i remember him
he always wrote
about the rain
there was no flood in
his rain
i mean
there is no rage or anger
in him
just the gentle
shower of rain
a soft spoken kind
of rain
a patient shower
caressing fine sands
on many dark nights
when he was always alone
watching those stars
those silent stars
he loved loneliness
and loneliness loved him
he did not live
that long
he died
at forty
the rain remembered him
and in his grave
that day when he was buried
the rain, as gentle as
the early morning wind
fine feathers cotton soft
sings the last
hymn for him
it was sad & it was lonely
the flowers and
the butterflies all sighed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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First rain
The past winter had come
with black ripe
and had turned the green grass,
even the flowers into dead,
yellow withered things
but now in this early spring,
rain was showering the earth
with thousands of kisses,
bringing back life
and the sweet smell
drifted up from the wet sand
as if something great
had come forth
out of the creator’s hand
and later a rainbow
with brilliant colours
stretched from horizon to horizon
against the dark black clouds
while in the distance
lightning bolts were crashing down
one after another
and in my imagination
I could already see
tender shoots sprouting.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Dear women!
Autumn Leaf!
I couldn’t love you as I did when you were green.
Summer Leaf!
I don’t shunt you as I would when you turn yellow.
Tender Leaf!
Reap while being green and stop expecting later.
30.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Each Word Each Existence
to an honest man
each word
has an existence
a name of a friend
is golden
a word has weight
like stone
even air has a weight
of its own
no word is empty
and there is no emptiness within
on the power of our
imaginations
green to leaf
leaf to freedom
air, and sighs
glances and love
death and dust
oblivion to light fading
darkness as blanket
covering us to sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Right Across The River Bend
Right across the river bend there’s a warm gentle breeze.
Right across the river-bend are trees with yellow leaves.
Right across the river bend the water reflects the sun.
Right across the river bend is a smell of innocence.
Right across the river bend a robin’s egg is broken.
Right across the river-bend are peaceful mountain valleys.
Right across the river bend a dandelion is carried.
Right across the river bend are fields of shiny green grass.
Right across the riverbend are memories made to last.
poem by Alicia Page
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Early Mornin Rain
In the early morning rain
With a dollar in my hand
With an achin in my heart
And my pockets full of sand
Im a long way from home
And I miss my loved ones so
In the early morning rain
With no place to go
Out on runway number nine
Big seven-o-seven set to go
But Im stuck here in the grass
Where the cold wind blows
Now the liquor tasted good
And the women all were fast
Well there she goes my friend
Well shes rollin down at last
Hear the mighty engines roar
See the silver bird on high
Shes away and westward bound
Far above the clouds shell fly
Where the mornin rain dont fall
And the sun always shines
Shell be flyin oer my home
In about three hours time
This old airports got me down
Its no earthly good to me
cause Im stuck here on the ground
As cold and drunk as I can be
You cant jump a jet plane
Like you can a freight train
So Id best be on my way
In the early morning rain
You cant jump a jet plane
Like you can a freight train
So Id best be on my way
In the early morning rain
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Thing With You
one thing with you
is this belief that i am nothing but just the idea
that i have been feeding you.
is it really only about sex?
i like it to be that way, but it is not really
i am a leaf feeling my way all through the air
floating like a feather from a restless bird high on air
scratching its side and then
letting go
i am a leaf falling
enjoying my trip down to the bottom of the earth
looking for a landing field,
a green green patch of grass
i like the dews early morning
i like the trees where the fingers of the morning sun are piercing
like a miracle
there is one thing with you
you do not believe in what i believe in
what is it? let things be themselves as they open.
do not think. just watch.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Child Asleep. (From The French)
Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's face,
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.
Upon that tender eye, my little friend,
Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me!
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend;
'Tis sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee!
His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;
His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm.
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,
Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm?
Awake, my boy! I tremble with affright!
Awake, and chase this fatal thought! Unclose
Thine eye but for one moment on the light!
Even at the price of thine, give me repose!
Sweet error! he but slept! -- I breathe again;
Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile!
Oh, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Do Not Sleep Yet...
do not sleep yet
for i am sad and like all the sad people of this world
i need a little time
to keep me company
talk
talk to me
whatever that be
i may listen and look at every word that you utter
as some butterflies or bees
or flowers on the foot of those green hills
breasts of some mountains
thighs of some river banks
soft hands of the creeks
bellies of the valleys
i want to imagine the anatomy of nature
like they are all naked women
and you shall think of me as the lusting sun
licking all those
tasting everyone
do not sleep yet
i need to look at your words as flowers
for now my intentions are honest
pure as gold without the bones
of adulteration
soft and yellow
shaped by the gentleness of your hands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Homebody
There still are kindly things for me to know,
Who am afraid to dream, afraid to feel-
This little chair of scrubbed and sturdy deal,
This easy book, this fire, sedate and slow.
And I shall stay with them, nor cry the woe
Of wounds across my breast that do not heal;
Nor wish that Beauty drew a duller steel,
Since I am sworn to meet her as a foe.
It may be, when the devil's own time is done,
That I shall hear the dropping of the rain
At midnight, and lie quiet in my bed;
Or stretch and straighten to the yellow sun;
Or face the turning tree, and have no pain;
So shall I learn at last my heart is dead.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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In The Early Morning [2]
In the early morning
dew covers every piece of grass and flower
and I see green sprouts in the soft ground
that appears after the first rain,
some grow luxuriant and others are slender and fine.
Some dew covers every piece of grass and flower,
and new buds appear
on long green stems,
some grow luxuriant and others are slender and fine.
in an aromatic existence.
At dark red roses and pink hollyhocks
on long green stems,
butterflies appear new from there metamorphoses
while the sun spreads its yellow-golden rays,
at dark red roses and pink hollyhocks
bees and butterflies fly to and thro
in the early morning
while the sun spreads its yellow-golden rays
and I see green sprouts in the soft ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
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