The Humility And Truth Of The Non-rhymer
i could have chosen
the rhyme
so there will be a song
singing its own
song
i could have taken
the tapping measure
of the mathematical
meter
of the feet and toes
like a dancer
but it simply runs against
the spontaneity of
my sighs
the everyday touch of the
hands loving the
uneven fingers
caressing to the beat of
my hair splitting and
spreading away to the
gentle blow of the breeze
from the
raging sea
the truth of the matter is
there is reality to the lines of
wanton wilderness
the random specks of sands
blown away
by the sandstorm in the desert
every hour of
my day
on a safari
the deer running away from
the lion
the fledgling swallow flapping its wings
jumping from its nest
in constant fear of falling
the leaf flip flopping its way
down to the sandy earth
the grass spreading without
the desire measure of
the numbers
i like to rhyme but my life
doesn't
it isn't and it can't
and so here i am on the freedom of my verses
a fish swimming where it will to escape the teeth of the shark
a bird soaring up the skies
its eyes closed
to the beauty of speed unseen
even for the time being un-felt
by the intentional rhyming of the words
the craft of man
wanting fidelity to the English language
now open ended
to the present questions: quo vadis?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Look For A Rhyme, So Sorry I Don't Have It
i don't jam and i don't rhyme
my life does not rhyme
and some parts simply
do not fit
until now
like a dovetail
of wooden pieces
to make
your chair
so sorry but i don't have
rhyme
it is the truth
it is the truth of this world
some things do not fit
some people do not just fit
square pegs in a round hole
square lives in a round dimension
it is the truth of this world
fingers in the hands
toes in your feet
look at them as a family of your
unique body
i like to rhyme i like to jibe with you
and sing the harmony of
our song
the truth is
there isn't
and so my dear, let us look at each other's eyes
again
can you do it without blinking?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song Of A Rhyming Man
I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
This modern verse too much for me it's way above my head
Though modern poets are now the rage and Rhyme is with the dead.
I love the sound of rhyming words, I love the verse that rhyme
To blank or free or non rhyme verse prefer it every time
And there's many who will disagree and most will say I'm wrong
But give me ballad or rhyme verse or good old rhyming song.
You may say I am limited and with you most will agree
That I'm not into modern verse of twenty first century
But I've been an old style rhyming man since nineteen seventy three
And I am in my sixties now and there's no changing me.
I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
And I am guilty of no sin and I can't see no crime
In liking sound of rhyming verse and loving words that rhyme
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Afternoon While Relaxing At The Porch
i see a little bird
coming out
from its nest
a fledgling
wanting to fly
testing the power
of its young wings
flapping
and flapping
feeling
the wind
keeping
it does not manage
after a brief stint
it falls on the ground
now limping &
limping
mother-bird tries
to rescue
diving
wanting to save
the
fledgling
but to no avail
she cannot carry
it back
high on that tree
it is heavy
a cat
comes along the way
and swallows
little birdie
for dinner
predator-prey -world
this is
nothing sentimental
nothing personal
just a matter of survival
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Rhyming Flu
It’s 1: 15 A.M.
I’m sitting here in bed;
I want to go to sleep,
But rhymes are in my head.
I just came upstairs;
I was just on the com,
Working out a poem;
For Ainaa to recite in the morn.
The problem with rhyme and I;
Is that it starts and never stops,
Remember it’s one o’clock;
But rhymes still pulse my thoughts.
So I’m writing this very rhyme;
Hoping my rhyme runs out,
But such a hope’s impossible;
When my rhymes are as abundant as trout.
I know what you all are thinking:
“This rhyme is simply a gimmick;
This boy’s not really sleepy,
He’s wide awake with this limerick.”
“This story of sleep is really;
Just some tricky plot,
To make you think he flows out rhyme;
Like water from a cracked pot.”
But, nay, it is true;
I’ve got the rhyming flu,
I’m hoping that by writing this rhyme;
All my rhymes shall be through.
Aha, I know the cure;
The medicine’s no longer obscure!
To end this awful rhyme;
I need a word that does NOT rhyme!
I’ve heard of the word before;
It’s like English’s Achilles heel,
No matter how hard you rhyme;
Its un-rhyming-ness is an iron veil.
Touché now rhyming flu;
This word I give to you!
Try rhyming the word ‘month’
…Ha-ha, you can’t now, can you! ?
The rhyming flu has left me…
I can feel it leaving my mind…
Ahhh… I am so relieved…
The clock says it’s now sleepy time...
…zZzZZZ
poem by Warren Chan
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Stealthily, free verse
You sit on my desk,
Your legs, a sonnet's couplet,
Perfect in meter and rhyme.
You look at me and smile;
Your dimples brighten my room
Lit only by glitched browser's light.
You puff your cigarette, blow
Smoke that wafts soothing incense
On my face, weary of weaving
Words into flawless lines.
From the other room, we hear
Carefree soles pounding on the floor
In perfect jibe with the sensual beat
Of percussion and drums.
For one brief moment we stare
Deep into each other's eyes... then
Stealthily, we exchange verses
From the depths of our own souls
Passionately free of meter and rhyme.
poem by Fidel Arcenas
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0007: 2007 - Year Of Revolting Poets
2007, he said, was a memorable year for poetry.
A world conference of poets held
somewhere NewMex way, came to the view
that the rhyming dictionary put altogether too
great a stricture on the structure
of verse, and worse;
it was time, for rhyme
(which came back into fashion
that year with a passion)
to be more relevant,
less of a white elephant;
so
all poets who
wrote in English
(including Strine)
were asked to define
what words should be allowed appropriately to rhyme.
It took a little time;
since they couldn’t agree about basic words
(some felt that ‘ words’ shouldn’t even rhyme with ‘turds’,
they thought that any such ditty
would be shitty;
some thought that such a possibility of rhyme was crap,
and would lead to poetic mishap)
So, first things first, what would be appropriate
to rhyme with love?
(which of course some pronounced luv,
others, lurve) :
some felt that rhyming it with ‘above’
had just a smidgen
of politically inappropriate reference to religion…
* * *
The whole idea was well meant
but you can see just how it went –
it took until 3006
even just to fix
after long debate upon it,
fourteen rhyming words to cover one suitable sonnet
by which time
those celebrated poets who did or didn’t rhyme,
while English tended to vanish,
were writing in Spanish
or Chinese;
bringing American-language poetry to its knees.
then vowelless txt
became the nxt
style
for a while
(which left poetry weakened,
bcs t cdnt b spknd) …
* * *
But I’ll have to cease this sorry tale;
I’ve a Hallmark card I need to mail.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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When I was a Bird
I climbed up the karaka tree
Into a nest all made of leaves
But soft as feathers.
I made up a song that went on singing all by itself
And hadn't any words, but got sad at the end.
There were daisies in the grass under the tree.
I said just to try them:
"I'll bite off your heads and give them to my little
children to eat."
But they didn't believe I was a bird;
They stayed quite open.
The sky was like a blue nest with white feathers
And the sun was the mother bird keeping it warm.
That's what my song said: though it hadn't any words.
Little Brother came up the patch, wheeling his barrow.
I made my dress into wings and kept very quiet.
Then when he was quite near I said: "Sweet, sweet!"
For a moment he looked quite startled;
Then he said: "Pooh, you're not a bird; I can see
your legs."
But the daisies didn't really matter,
And Little Brother didn't really matter;
I felt just like a bird.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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How Do We Write Happiness?
hair blown by the wind the two of us in the morning meadows
laughing and light as the air that carries us to the sea
you hold my hand you lead me you pull the kite with you
colors of blue and white spreading in the skies
you tie the kite on a tree and we lay ourselves on the grass
softness is you and my heart beats the notes of our love song
we sit side by side we feel we own this wide world
we hear the birds sing we listen to the flow of the river
we see how free are the fish riding on the currents
we look at each other's eyes, then we by instinct close
what was once open, we go inside us, gently our lips touch
there is so much color when our eyes closed
it tastes so sweet that our souls are like tongues licking
the sweetest honey on our skins on our whole bodies
we write happiness not in the usual words that they use
the ink is invisible the pen moves not with the hand but
with the heart with the soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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360
hair blown by the wind the two of us in the morning meadows
laughing and light as the air that carries us to the sea
you hold my hand you lead me you pull the kite with you
colors of blue and white spreading in the skies
you tie the kite on a tree and we lay ourselves on the grass
softness is you and my heart beats the notes of our love song
we sit side by side we feel we own this wide world
we hear the birds sing we listen to the flow of the river
we see how free are the fish riding on the currents
we look at each other's eyes, then we by instinct close
what was once open, we go inside us, gently our lips touch
there is so much color when our eyes closed
it tastes so sweet that our souls are like tongues licking
the sweetest honey on our skins on our whole bodies
we write happiness not in the usual words that they use
the ink is invisible the pen moves not with the hand but
with the heart with the soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song For You
Ive been so many places in my life and time
Sung a lot of songs Ive made some bad rhyme
I got out my life in stages
With ten thousand people watching
But were alone now Im singing this song
Singing this song for you
I know your image of me is what I hope to be
Ive treated you unkindly but darling cant you see
Theres no one more important to me
Darling can you please see through me
Cause were alone now
And Im singing this song for you
You taught me precious secrets of the truth
Were only nothing
You came out in front when I was hiding
But now Im so much better
And if my words can come together
Listen to the melody
Cause my love is in there hiding
I love you in a place where theres no space or time
I love you for my life you are a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song for you
Singing this song, singing this song for you
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Mr. Henry Lawes, Who Had Then Newly Set a Song of Mine
Verse makes heroic virtue live;
But you can life to verses give.
As, when in open air we blow,
The breath, though strained, sounds flat and low;
But if a trumpet take the blast,
It lifts it high, and makes it last:
So in your airs and our numbers dressed,
Make a shrill sally from the breast
Of nymphs, who, singing what we penned,
Our passions to themselves commend;
While love, victorious with thy art,
Governs at once their voice and heart.
You, by the help of tune and time,
Can make that song which was but rhyme.
Noy pleading, no man doubts the cause;
Or questions verses set by Lawes.
As a Church window, thick with paint,
Lets in a light but dim and faint,
So others, with division, hide
The light of sense, the poet's pride;
But you alone may truly boast
That not a syllable is lost:
The writer's and the setter's skill
At once the ravished ears do fill.
Let those which only warble long,
And gargle in their throats a song,
Content themselves with
ut, re, mi
:
Let words, and sense, be set by thee.
poem by Edmund Waller
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Sunshine And Flowers And Your Way Of Loving
susnhine, spreading sunshine, warming my face
spreading this warm caress to my body, my shoulders,
bathe
take the basins of sunshine in the cups of your hands
feel
close your eyes and feel the sunshine falling in your hair
running to your ears
then open your eyes
to the blooms of flowers, the roses and daffodils in the garden
where a chair is there
where you sit
looking at me, beside you, bathing to sunshine, closing my eyes
feeling the warmth of the gazes of your eyes, the pulse of your wrist
the palm
your hands running
slowly all over me,
sunshine and hands and eyes closing
opening to dazzling color and closing again
to the thoughts of love
of you always loving me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Home To You
Heart is feeling like a sunbeam
In a distant land
I am soaring cross the surface
Coming home to you
You are far away from me
I’m holding like a song
Love song in the tailing wind
Coming home to thee
Sunshine in the window glass
Face in golden light
Planet surface under me
Flying home to you
See the home in hearting sound
See you there for me
Feel the distant starry sky
Sailing home to you
Wind is tugging at the wings
Banking on the breeze
On the back of bird in sky
Soaring home to thee
Bird is flying to the place
Of planet earthing line
Moving to the grounding place
Moving home to you
Landing on the tar place run
Sinking on the land
I am here my beauty one
Coming home to you
Heart is pounding, you are there
On the surface place
Heart is soaring like a bird
Beating home to you
Hand is stretching out to you
You your gentle touch
Feel it burning on my skin
Holding home to you
Arms around me, round me here
Body holding firm
Spirit soaring like a sail
You are here with me
Walking to the home place laughter
Hands in moving rhyme
You are with me, you are here
I am home with you.
poem by Jonathan Drane
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Mine Doesn't
as i once told you
it is easy to rhyme like
roses are red
violets are blue
flush the toilet
when you are through
or try
this one
eine meine meine moo
catch the monkey by the
tor
but i do not like
rhyming
it is simply
not enduring
it is a matter of
style
and anyone can
be a poet
if he simply
devotes time
to the bursting of emotions
like sun, like
the first day
when rays spread like
hands on the
breasts of the
mountains
most poems rhyme
mine doesn't.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Miracle
When the sky turns deep purple in color and the mountains appear
An unfathomable shade of magenta-
I see the sunlight sparkling upon the shadows in the creek below.
Sunlight would reflect against crystalline stones and the
Grass is greener than the eyes of a goddess-
There is not a sound to be heard in this moment except for a
Gentle breeze singing a tunefully angelic aria-
When there is not a single person within miles of
This magical place where I have found my spirit dancing-
I know I have nothing to fear.
Looking up into this lavender-hued sky I can see a bird
Soaring above the mountains- its wings shaded a mesmerizing essence of blue and
The feathers on its tail, yellow as sunlight upon a sandy beach-
My utmost and only desire is to be that bird,
Flapping my wings in a gentle gust of wind and looking down upon
This magical world below- I have always been a dreamer.
I hear voices singing songs of freedom and of the mysticism of nature-
I see blossoming flowers of a variety of colors and
I hear voices whispering to me of the miracles of this moment-
I know within my heart and my mind that I am alone and
These voices that I hear are emanating from the depths of my own mind, when
Solitude has never appeared so amazingly striking.
I see that bird flying high up in the sky above and within moments
I have become that bird- flapping my own wings and
Gazing at this vibrant world below me,
For a moment I am the queen of the world and in the next moment,
A deity of the entire universe- Veracity is seemingly thousands of miles away.
I have heard voices of my past telling me I am none but a pauper in a wretched state or
None but a fool who has lost her sanity-in these words I have never believed.
As I continue this tour of this phantasmal space about me,
I know I have found myself a home and the world beyond can attempt to
Tear my soul apart but I know deep inside that this is my reality-
Perhaps others do not hear and see the sounds and the sights that I envision-
However as long as I believe in all that I hear and see within my own thoughts,
What even millions of other people believe does not matter- for it is these people
Whom I believe are in a wretched state, and are still trying to find themselves-
I am queen of my world and have locked the gate to that world's threatening dismay-
I follow my shadow into that deep purple sky and I know that
The shadow of my spirit shall live on forever. I shall keep on moving
Further into the land of my dreams, only to look forward and never turning back.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Weather Reporst Suite Part I
Winter rain, now tell me why, Summers fade, and roses die.
The answer came; the wind and rain.
Golden hills, now veiled in grey, Summer leaves have blown away
Now what remains? The wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings, Knowing,
Like a song that's born to soar the sky, Flowing,
Flowing 'til the waters all are dry, Growing, the loving in her eyes.
Circle songs and sands of time, and seasons will end in tumbled rhyme,
and little change, the wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings,
Knowing, Like a song that's born to soar the sky,
Flowing, Flowing 'til the rivers all are dry, Growing, the loving in her eyes.
Winter grey and falling rain, we'll see summer come again,
Darkness falls and seasons change (gonna happen every time).
Same old friends the wind and rain, Summers fade and roses die,
You'll see summer come again, Like a song that's born to soar the sky
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weather Report Suite Part 1
Winter rain, now tell me why, Summers fade, and roses die.
The answer came; the wind and rain.
Golden hills, now veiled in grey, Summer leaves have blown away
Now what remains? The wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings, Knowing,
Like a song that's born to soar the sky, Flowing,
Flowing 'til the waters all are dry, Growing, the loving in her eyes.
Circle songs and sands of time, and seasons will end in tumbled rhyme,
and little change, the wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings,
Knowing, Like a song that's born to soar the sky,
Flowing, Flowing 'til the rivers all are dry, Growing, the loving in her eyes.
Winter grey and falling rain, we'll see summer come again,
Darkness falls and seasons change (gonna happen every time).
Same old friends the wind and rain, Summers fade and roses die,
You'll see summer come again, Like a song that's born to soar the sky.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weather Report Suite
Winter rain, now tell me why, summers fade, and roses die.
The answer came; the wind and rain.
Golden hills, now veiled in gray, summer leaves have blown away
Now what remains? the wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings, knowing,
Like a song thats born to soar the sky, flowing,
Flowing til the waters all are dry, growing, the loving in her eyes.
Circle songs and sands of time, and seasons will end in tumbled rhyme,
And little change, the wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings,
Knowing, like a song thats born to soar the sky,
Flowing, flowing til the rivers all are dry, growing, the loving in her eyes.
Winter gray and falling rain, well see summer come again,
Darkness falls and seasons change (gonna happen every time).
Same old friends the wind and rain, summers fade and roses die,
Youll see summer come again, like a song thats born to soar the sky.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song For The Journey
A SONG FOR THE JOURNEY
Sometimes you may sing in your heart
or have song running through your head
but there’s always singing’s in your soul
and it’s on this song’s journey you’ll be led.
Towards a distant point, as yet unclear
your singing soul will lead you on
to find that place of understanding
with all your preconceptions gone.
Yet we sometimes meet more questions
Hard, hash decisions we must make
So the Soul song leads you onwards
along the pathway you must take.
The road can be both rough and smooth
its horizon hidden from your view
But the power within the singing
gives you strength to see it through.
With every step upon the road
the soul song keeps its tune and beat
and from its verses courage comes
to face the challenges you meet.
For some the song is understood
they come to recognise the voice
and in the facets of their lives
they use the song to make their choice
Some feel of the sound of singing
but don’t care, or know, where from
The song it doesn’t differentiate
into each soul it still sings on.
If we can listen to the message
and the true meaning in the song
Our footfall becomes much gentler
down the paths we walk along.
It’s the soundtrack of the life we lead
of the choices in life we make
The pragmatic or compassionate
a search for beauty, greed, or hate
Somewhere wthin the soul song
are great sacrifice and pain
and a promise ever present
of eternal peace and life again.
In the silence and the stillness
between all the bustle and the strife
listen carefully and you’ll recognise
the first and last love song of your life.
poem by Bill Mitton
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Hidden Sighs
The gentle breeze as messenger
whispered the words on thy beloved's ears
And make that soulful dream, not fancy
Into the heart of reality..............
On my window the half sung lyric
In shyness when the beloved hid
I take the song from your lips
To the heart a song of love
When I read your eyes speak
A blush on the cheek as I touch
The hands for the ways open
The messenger the breeze giggling
Like lark sing again the broken song
O gentle breeze for the sick of love
Bring a message to rise again
When door I have not neither a drape
How thou say thou shy to enter
Nothing shalt thou find but a rug
On earth when in my arms I hold
To the heaven not nor a fancy
Hidden sighs but behold my love
In lovers paradise I live but a candle
In slow demise while I lit the darkness
13/2/2009
PS. The first stanza is written by Catrina Heart
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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