the fireflies of Puerto P.
we take the boat at night
the sea is having its low tide
we are going to the place where the fireflies are mating
we trace the rivers like blood to our veins
the moon has not come at that hour
the trees along the banks are mere shadows
the fireflies are all there
glistening like stars in the heavens
there is so much silence
what we can hear is only the sound of the boat sliding on the river
i've seen for once the magic of their lights
and there i am but a mere shadow against the trees
the journey towards my childhood begins
where Papa trapped all of them inside a jar for us to marvel
how life gives light and how quick shall death take it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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River’s Utterance
River’s utterance
Known to both the banks;
Inform you river
Tell him that I am
Sitting on side of bank-
When boat anchor
Swimming is unknown
I am totally helpless;
How to cross river
All time day-night
High or low tide boat flows-
Crosses the river
O! Why the boat
You took him dropping me;
No life except her.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Hope For The Trees....
every color has its destiny of
fading, like the sound of ducks at night getting fainter
until what we hear is the perfection of sound
its reigning silence
and so do all the colors
dying,
either surrendering to total darkness
or
too much light
the same things amount to
and end
that afternoon what burns into red
in a rejoicing
comes into the perfection
of utter
darkness
the lights of the small houses
redeem what was lost
in the same manner that the fireflies
arrive
assuring hope for the trees
that the stars
are coming....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The River of Rivers in Connecticut
There is a great river this side of Stygia
Before one comes to the first black cataracts
And trees that lack the intelligence of trees.
In that river, far this side of Stygia,
The mere flowing of the water is a gayety,
Flashing and flashing in the sun. On its banks,
No shadow walks. The river is fateful,
Like the last one. But there is no ferryman.
He could not bend against its propelling force.
It is not to be seen beneath the appearances
That tell of it. The steeple at Farmington
Stands glistening and Haddam shines and sways.
It is the third commonness with light and air,
A curriculum, a vigor, a local abstraction . . .
Call it, one more, a river, an unnamed flowing,
Space-filled, reflecting the seasons, the folk-lore
Of each of the senses; call it, again and again,
The river that flows nowhere, like a sea.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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Blackout
no tv
no pc
life ceases
we think
life begins
anew
gazing at the stars
looking at the shadows of the trees
listening to the drizzle of the rain
figuring out the songs of the wind
feeling the silence of the night
deep inside our bones
we hear the collision of blood
the cry of the intestines
the pumping of the heart
we seek the arms of another
feeling one once again together
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer At Night
We dance under the nascent moon
delicate twirls, eye twinkles
and tree shadows
far away horns blowing
and I
take your hand;
delicately
placed lips
linger there
as soft
soft breaths
straddle index
and ring fingers
and you quiver quietly.
I hear the night owl hoot
musical strains
from the dance
sail out to us
offering a caress
to eager ears
buffeted by Jasmine perfumes
intoxicating
recklessly
heart fibers
which only come out
for brilliant moon-stars
under magnolia trees
where fireflies
in the Carolina night
dance to light heavens lights
and I
allow my soul to
brush across
your summer nape
like a softly shooting star
descending into your hair's drape
where I breathe deeply
of its fragrances
and those of the fire-fly night
as you shudder into
me
breasts erect
offering too
their loving caress
and I
smell you
like summer
at night.
You whisper to me that you want to have a baby, my baby.
To be continued.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Diary
today, i commune with nature.
the trees are talking and the grasses
are not sleepy, and the sun shines like it
is its last day
and the moon comes and shines too
like it is the last night of its life.
the silvery river flowed like a big worm
and the stars played fireflies
i heave a sigh and then release it like a bird
from a cage.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Spiders And Fireflies
It is July,
Where have all the fireflies gone?
The fireflies from my childhood,
The ones that used to amuse me,
The ones I used to chase,
and capture,
and make my own.
I guess they symbolize the
Innocence from my Childhood,
and I guess,
They have ran off with the
Innocence from my Childhood.
Now I'm overwhelmed with spiders.
Everywhere I turn,
There's another spider at my back.
Where did they come from?
Where did the fields go,
that I once captured fireflies in?
poem by Carey Noelle
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Green River Valley
Your face 'tis mirrored in the river-
Along its banks where moss and algae grow-
Shadows of the dark forests unfold slowly-
'Neath the lemon moon- your reflection- simply glows;
Evening has locked its ebony blanket in-
'Cross the rivers green-gardened theme-
Fireflies flutter their brillance and gossemer wings-
While the river unfolds unfathomnable things;
In the valley under the mountains spires-
The zenith touches the skies broken white clouds-
And the fireflies- now even in daylight-
Mirror your reflection- in the river so proud;
Oh such divine whispers you share with me-
Cupping my chin in your most loving of hands-
Moving one in a caressed sweep 'cross my cheek-
Oh 'tis magical-this green gardened river land;
Where love n'er can e'er perish...
As 'tis strong water-'tis strong as death-
Reflections carry on our love song-
That seeps from your fervant and longing breath;
143
poem by Theodora Onken
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Papa, Can You Hear Me
papa, can you hear me?
papa, can you see me?
papa, can you find me in the night?
papa, are you near me?
papa, can you hear me?
papa, can you help me not be frightened?
looking at the skies i see a million eyes
which ones are yours?
where are you now
that yesterday has waved goodbye
and closed it's doors
the night is so much darker
the wind is so much colder
the world is so much bigger
now that i am alone
papa, please forgive me
i know you understand me
papa, don't you know i had no chose?
oh, can you hear me prayin'?
anything i'm sayin'?
even though the night is filled with voices
i remember everything you ever
taught me
evey book i've ever read
can all the words,
all the music help me face what's ahead?
the trees are so much taller
i feel so much smaller
the moon is twice as lonely
and the stars are half as bright
daddy, how i love you
daddy, how i need you
daddy, how i miss you
kissing me goodnight
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is A Boat
this is a boat and it is in my hand
the hand is the sea
and my fingers keep it wavy
this is the boat and it is wooden
and it is loaded unevenly on its left side
and so it leans on the heavy
edge like it is a man
with a shorter left foot
and walks like the
floor is uneven
and imperfect
this is my body and it has become an ocean
and the boat sails on without the sun
my eyes the moon and stars
and they are closed
this is the darkness where the boat sails
and this is the silence
of its journey
this is my mind
and everything: the boat, the sea, the ocean
the tilting, the weight of the load,
things exist because i let them so
this is my hand and this is the sea of waves
these emotions
this is the mouth speaking
without any sense at all like a woman nude
running for life away from the atomic bomb
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Nude Woman In The Room Alone
her body against the dim light
of the lampshade
shaped by the rays of
the dimming light of the room
she is tired and sleeps her face down
the red linen
her spine is a boat in the sea
her buttocks the round hills ashore
her hair is the bouquet of flowers
her legs are paths
and rivers
her silence is the loveliness of the night
unequaled by the sweetness of the sound
of desire meeting love
the suspense is on the waiting of the knock
tonight love like a river seeks the sea of
fulfillment
soon, the male moon
soon the stars and the masculine winds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Worries
my wife worries
about the dream that
i told her about
this early morning while
we are taking breakfast
it is all about a boat
alone
waiting on the bank
of the river
under a shade of trees
on filtered light
through the leaves
it worries her to know
that somehow soon
we shall be that boat's
passengers
that accommodate only
one of us
and not both
the other side has no name
but it is a place so certain
and acceptable
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When The Darkest Darkness Fall Over Me
When the darkest darkness fall over me,
let me still look at the lights around me
and when the night full of darkness comes, let me remember You
let my eyes go to Your beacons, Your stars, see how Your miracles look
and when painful moments feel as if they can last forever,
let me then think about how You sweated blood,
about that dark and painful hour
when in Gethsemane You had to suffer for me, let me then think of it.
When this life of mine comes to an end,
when I stand a as a mere man before Your countenance,
then make me free for everything iniquity in me,
place my life in balance with your blood
and when death comes to take me,
then decide over my lot as Your darling child.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When There Are No More Stars At Night
your routine
catches up with you
you sit on a chair
one night
you stare at the
black skies
and there are
no stars
you imagine
that fireflies
may soon
come to please
your dream
of lights
you imagine
that a moon
shall soon float
on the river
there is none
nothing happens
with your dream
for light
and then you dream
of another
drowsy you dream
you are asleep
you dream you
are dead
and true enough
you never thought
of waking up
because there is
so much
there to be
explored
to be understood
why some people
dream of sleep
dream of dying
why some people
do not talk anymore
and inside that dream
you dream you are
a poet and you see
yourself: writing
simply because
there are no more
stars giving light
to your dark nights
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Memories
I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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I See A Boat On A River
He left on a boat
Just to follow a dream
He had to find.
You can't hold a man
When he follows a dream
That's on his mind.
I see a boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
I waited for him
Such a very long time,
Don't know what for
'cause i should have known
When he left on the boat
We'll meet no more.
I see a boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
Boat on the river.
You're bound for the sea,
If you should find him
Please greet him from me.
There were people who came
And said it's really a shame,
Why did he take off
To follow just a dream.
But i guess they were wrong,
In life you're sailing along
And things don't turn out
As simple as they seem.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
I see a boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
I see a boat on the river.
You're bound for the sea,
If you should find him
Please greet him from me.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Until The Night
Over the ocean of life’s commotion
We sail till the night comes on.
Sail and sail in a tiny boat,
Drifting wherever the billows go.
Out on the treacherous sea afloat,
Beat by the cruel winds that blow,
Hither and thither our boat is drawn,
Till the day dies out and the night comes on.
Over a meadow of light and shadow
We wander with weary feet,
Seeking a bauble men call “Fame, ”
Grasping the dead-sea fruit named “wealth, ”
Finding each but an empty name,
And the night – the night steals on by stealth,
And we count the season of slumber sweet,
When hope lies dead in the arms of defeat.
Over the river a great Forever
Stretches beyond our sight.
But I know by the glistening pearly gates
Afar from the region of strife and sin,
A beautiful angel always waits
To welcome the sheep of the shepherd in.
And out of the shadows of gloom and night,
They enter the mansion of peace and light.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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While Someone Telephones
Wasted, wasted minutes that couldn't be worse,
minutes of a barbaric condescension.
--Stare out the bathroom window at the fir-trees,
at their dark needles, accretions to no purpose
woodenly crystallized, and where two fireflies
are only lost.
Hear nothing but a train that goes by, must go by, like tension;
nothing. And wait:
maybe even now these minutes' host
emerges, some relaxed uncondescending stranger,
the heart's release.
And while the fireflies
are failing to illuminate these nightmare trees
might they not be his green gay eyes.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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