The Grandeur And The Majesties Of Nature
the sea will always be there
always surfaces moving and sometimes
i ask if it is just the wind that
creates in it
that baby's curly hair
between the sea and this mountain
is the neutral shore
white thighs of a woman spreading her legs
to every manly wave
even to the feminine winds from
far amorous skies
love and lust with always be here
these players of the games that nature
plays upon us
when we watch a mountain come out
from the fog
wearing the white hair of snow caps
when we see heights
that move us into an awe
and then we begin to mentions so many names
of God.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
That girl
That girl
with bangs on her hair
a pink headband, thick lips pure red,
curly hair, mini skirt, and bleached legs
as white as may sky,
the way she sits tells me
that she is a woman now
beautiful to be with
because of her
bad habits.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Erotic Hair
when my hair
gets long enough
after a month
uncut by
my gay barber
they become
so curly
like my pubic
hair
and women
and even gays
love all the curls
of my hair
erotic hair
and i am wearing it
as a crown
understand
i am coping up
with mid-crisis
and i like to
say
i got hair
and they are too curly
like my
(messy) sex life
listen, my life
begins at 69.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seductive
My hair reaches the end of my back
I smell like cinnamon
I have curves and thighs
My skin isn't dark, it's actually white
I've got a million dollar smile that wil make you melt
My eyes show emotion and are the color of the sea
My hair is raven and wildly curly
Be proud to be a woman, feel beautiful
poem by Christian Sims
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Mountain
Nothing's moving I don't see anybody
And I know that it's not a trick
There really is nothing moving there
And there aren't any people. It is the very utmost top
Where, as is not unusual,
There is snow, lying like the hair on a white-haired person's head
Combed sideways and backward and forward to cover as much of the top
As possible, for the snow is thinning, it's September
Although a few months from now there will be a new crop
Probably, though this no one KNOWS (so neither do we)
But every other year it has happened by November
Except for one year that's known about, nineteen twenty-three
When the top was more and more uncovered until December fifteenth
When finally it snowed and snowed
I love seeing this mountain like a mouse
Attached to the tail of another mouse, and to another and to another
In total mountain silence
There is no way to get up there, and no means to stay.
It is uninhabitable. No roads and no possibility
Of roads. You don't have a history
Do you, mountain top? This doesn't make you either a mystery
Or a dull person and you're certainly not a truck stop.
No industry can exploit you
No developer can divide you into estates or lots
No dazzling disquieting woman can tie your heart in knots.
I could never lead my life on one of those spots
You leave uncovered up there. No way to be there
But I'm moved.
poem by Kenneth Koch
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A Wind From... Elsewhere
The wind blows here... the wind blows there
The wind seems to blow from... everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair...
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! Can you see its graceful fingers... playing in your hair?
Nay! You cannot see the wind... e'en though you know it's there.
It's flitting... it's flirting... it's prancing everywhere
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! It blows unexpectedly... with a gentle breeze... it blows...
The Great Hand of Miracles... brings it... then it goes
To greet the early morning sun... to dance to and fro
From the highest, loftiest mountain heights... to valleys... far below. 'Who is He that sitteth upon the circle of the earth...
Who gathereth the winds in his fists—Who maketh a wind to pass over...
Thou hearest the sound thereof...
But canst not tell whence it cometh... and wither it goeth.' The wind blows here... the wind blows there...
The wind seems to blow... from everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair—
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE!
poem by Elga Haymon White
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Koorime
A woman of the snow.
Yuki, her name, brings snow to the mountain peaks.
She sits in the snow filled glade, her icy colored hair
fell around her in ribbons.
Her eyes as white as clouds,
A navy yukata littered with the fallen flakes.
There she sat frozen, her body preserved for eternity.
The now blank eyes show all an inner peace.
Her statue had stayed there for many years
never disturbed.
'She is the woman we have trusted since the dawn of time
for yule, and for the snow that has fallen.' The woman said
'Why, ' the children asked.
'She is the ice maiden of snow, Yuki the Koorime.'
poem by Regan Meade
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Soon after that, the Queen gives birth to a baby girl who is as white as snow, has lips red as blood and has hair as black as ebony. They name her 'Snow White'.
Brothers Grimm in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1812)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Snow White Transparent
“Mirror… Mirror…”
Snow White stops
Looks down at
Her hand
Perfectly pale
Unblemished
Young and
Innocent
But damned
So damned
The wicked
Woman knew
Smiled and knew
“This is what you want”
Hands her the
Apple, poisoned
And red
No one knew
That Snow White
Knew, knew
The Truth
No one
Suspects her
Not Snow White
Pure, perfect
Snow White
“Mirror… Mirror…”
A brush bristles
Through her hair
Snow White looks
At her reflection
In the Mirror
Her mirror
The Wicked
Woman’s mirror
Snow White’s
Image smiles
Sadly at her
No hope left
“On the wall…”
He comes in
Princely in
His ways
Snow White does
Not look at
Him, not at him
Oh no
She cannot
She resents him
It is not apples
That are poisoned
But lips
“Snow…? ”
Without words
She undresses
Revealing glorious
Pale body
His to touch
Snow White
Watches his hands
Lower and closes
Her eyes
This is not love
Love is not—
Love is
“Seven little men…”
She falls into the
Dark corners of
Her mind
Where poison
Still chokes her
And there is
Nothing but
Death and silence
Oh, for the silence
Snow White turns
To look at The Mirror
And asks:
“Who is fairest of them all? ”
poem by Elizabeth Rebel
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To My Mother
Chiming a dream by the way
With ocean’s rapture and roar,
I met a maiden to-day
Walking alone on the shore:
Walking in maiden wise,
Modest and kind and fair,
The freshness of spring in her eyes
And the fullness of spring in her hair.
Cloud-shadow and scudding sun-burst
Where swift on the floor of the sea,
And a mad wind was romping its worst,
But what was their magic to me?
Or the charm of the midsummer skies?
I only saw she was there,
A dream of the sea in her eyes
And the kiss of the sea in her hair.
I watch her vanish in space;
She came where I walked no more;
But something was passed from her grace
To the spell of the wave and the shore;
And now as the glad stars rise,
She comes to me, rosy and rare,
The delight of the wind in her eyes
And the hand of the wind in her hair.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Nature...
a beautiful day,
don't you think so my dear?
wake up
do not fret but be
be fit
take a walk and
meet the rising us
right between
the spreading legs of
the hills
imagine
nature's breasts
some baby clouds
still milking
the rivers have hands
caressing the banks
the mountain tips
have lips
french kissing the skies
every moment
from now
the sky comes down
making so much love
with the
horizon
day fuses with
night
always on a tight
embrace
kisses from the
stars
hugs from the moon
whispers of eternity
from
edgeless
space on an
always moving
universe
with magnificent
wings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beach At Sri Lanka
Once upon day with sun dawn foot step along on the white sand wave is come and tough foot
The shipping boat teaming one row till calm dawn sea wave s noon or at the night
Children playing more and more games with noise smile make themselves court
Dew mix wind blowing every time feels so much taste of lips like salt
Early with waking sea hawk flew far away across sun chariot and defeating blowing wind
Rough wave came and knocked against black stone spreading white foam it's never end
The train express going upon rail near of sea coast with emission black smoked
Enchant passenger looked outside about large sea and blowing wind
Coconut with trees moving by wind right to left the shadow had creative beautiful decoration
Aliens lay dawn the sea coast wearing sun glass smile with sun rays and apply with crème of sun
Pleasure and so close people enjoy themselves life the large sea wave smile with people soon
Beach hotels par lour decorated for enjoying people all though church spreading sweet hymn
One see weed trample by foot its move with sea waves and floating every where
Ornamental fish came to out side from water and take them food by floating weed some time
The booze people dance with club music the ladies clapping and gathering together all time
Although the god phrases the man who will build one house upon the rock called him man of the wise
poem by Inguruwatta Pushpadewa
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Dont Take Your Love Away From Me
(verlon thompson/mark d. sanders)
Well, I pray Im wrong
But I feel you stealin away from me
Your hearts a-beatin to a chain-gang song
Well, you just cant help it if you got be a thief
And steal the thunder from the sky
The water from the river
You can have the winter wind
It only makes me shiver
Take the snow off of the moutain
The wave off of the sea
Dont take your love away from me
Dont take your love away from me
Now tell the truth
I know you did, but do you love me now
One thing Ive learned from a woman like you
It aint safe if it aint nailed down
Steal the thunder from the sky
The water from the river
You can have the winter wind
It only makes me shiver
Take the snow off of the mountain
The wave off of the sea
Dont take your love away from me
Dont take your love away from me
So steal the thunder from the sky
The water from the river
You can have the winter wind
It only makes me shiver
Take the snow off of the mountain
The wave off of the sea
Dont take your love away from me
Dont take your love away from me
Dont take your love away from me
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Got Chocolate?
Snowflakes the size of marshmallows fall to the earth;
Frosty icy winds play havoc with her red curly hair.
She delights in frolicking in snow so deep;
Bundled up in bright green coat and leggings,
pink hat, scarf and gloves
she brightens up the gray day.
Grandpa dons his own snow gear, dark brown coat,
black ear muffs, gloves and red Santa hat;
shovel in hand he begins to clear the path
when 'she' playfully jumps into it re-snowing it
to Grandpa's chagrin as he grins
pretending to be annoyed.
but he re-shovels again with great patience.
The worst of the storm has passed. The white stuff
is the perfect setting this day, this Christmas Eve.
Cold, wet and tired Grandpa and granddaughter
come in to warm up to hot chocolate with marshmallows
and it reminds curly head of the snow fall today.
Grandpa's white mustache is chocolate dyed.
Curly Head's mouth says: 'Got chocolate? '
Bedtime has evolved, Santa's on his way.
Curly head has left him a treat in a cup.
Santa arrived;
he put Curly Head's presents under the tree
Santa's white mustache gave him away;
he looked at himself in the mantle mirror
and laughed a hearty, 'HO, HO, HO'
His white mustache was chocolate dyed
and he cried aloud:
'GOT CHOCOLATE?
'HO, HO, HO! '
© Mel Patterson,11-2011
poem by Mel Patterson
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Ghost Eagle Still Flies Ghost Skies
beauty solemnly slips from grief dark shadows
her eyes were soulful as dark as her hair shines
dance with life smile at his funeral an angel divine
his spirit flew in bright white blue mountain thermals
morning burn golden light upon life sacred mountain
eagle flies no more these spectral blue white skies
hunters came creeping shot free eagle as he soars flies
feelings ghost haunting hunt skies where eagle flies no more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Color Of Snow
For David Karetsky (April 14, 1940-March 12, 1991) , killed in an avalanche
Putting the skis down
in the white snow,
the wind singing,
the blizzard of time
going past your eyes,
it is a little
like being snowed in
in the Connecticut house
on a day when the world
goes away
and only the white dog
follows you out
to make fresh tracks
in the long blue shadow
of the mountain.
We are all halfway there,
preferring not
to think about it.
You went down the mountain
first,
in a blaze of light,
reminding us
to seize our lives,
to live with the wind
whistling in our ears,
and the light bedazzling
the tips of our skis
and the people we love
waiting in the lodge below
scribbling lines
on paper the color
of snow,
knowing there is no
holding on
but only the wind singing
and these lines of light
shining
in the fresh snow.
poem by Erica Jong
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My Snow White
There once was a girl and if I remember right,
She went by the name of Snow White,
Skin white as the snow, hair black as the night,
She lived with seven men of very short height.
She washed their clothes and prepared their food,
And that’s not all, I’m afraid it gets rude,
Each one she loved and each one she screwed,
Snow white kept the dwarfs in a very good mood.
One day an old hag jealous of what she had,
Fed her an apple which had gone bad,
Then out popped a maggot, Snow White was mad,
Another little man all shrivelled and sad.
All this for a roof above her head,
Now another man to please and take to bed,
She looked at the dwarfs and angrily said,
“I’m moving to the house made of gingerbread.”
Off she went following a path of crumbs,
Sniffing the air and licking her gums,
Pushing Hansel and Grettle into the slums,
Deep into the forest with their two gay mums.
She ran to the house made of biscuit and vanilla,
Excited to see her gorgeous dream fella,
Who she found on the floor with Cinderella,
What the hell was she doing out of the cellar?
Snow White shouted and screamed at the pair,
How could he be shagging her,
She stinks of shit and is covered in hair,
Snow White felt sick just standing there.
Too sad and weak to put up a fight,
She cried herself to sleep that night,
From then on she stayed low and out of sight,
That’s the last I heard of good old Snow White.
poem by Lindsey Ashton
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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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Wearing White
Phones were ringing, tongues were wagging
Hot gossip was flying
All around town
She heard the talk, the lowdown was
The shameless color of
Her wedding gown
It's white
I mean really who's she trying to kid
Everybody knows the things she did
It just isn't right
Won't that be a sight
To see her wearing white
She was wild, a wayward child
To put it mildly
She made her life a mess
But she was young, the past is done
Now she's in love
And putting on a new dress
It's white
And it's nobody's business what she wears
Anyway the truth is she don't care
Baby it's her life
She'll do what she likes
And she likes wearing white
He's all nerves when he sees her
As far as he's concerned
She's an angel
In white
He just can't believe that she is his
What a crazy miracle this is
Who she was he don't mind
'Cause on their wedding night
She'll be wearing white
She'll be wearing white
She'll be wearing white
song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Want More Hair?
I'd love
I think
more hair
more hair
like a big
old grizzly bear
more hair makes
you manly
more hair
makes you tough
more hair feels
like carpet
more hair keeps
you rough
more hair
for pretty ladies
to rub their faces on
more hair for
guys to jealous of
and more locks that can
be flung
I think more hair would be awesome
but I wouldn't wanna overdo it
because too much hair would make
me like a little furry blanket
and I couldn't cover both of us
just you and that ain't fair
more hair!
poem by John W. McEwers
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How Do You Separate The Woman From The Poetess?
she is mad at me
and i wonder
how was i not able to separate
her being a woman from being a poetess?
is it her lust or her love?
she says 13 inches is smaller
and i just can't get why should she not make
me comment on her creations anymore?
why i have become so indelicate?
is it because my hair is curly?
or my pubic hair too thick?
does she dare touch the most delicate part
of my body?
we are far and she is too sensitive
we have not seen each other and yet she is filled with anger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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