The Injustice
power occupies your place
puts up its throne
with glistening stones as crown
and the tail of the man ray
as scepter
you worship it
as it hits you not just once
but for as long as you live
until you die and then it leaves
everyone
as empty as the ground where
all the trees are uprooted
the soil all bald
the grasses all taken
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Back To An Old Place
it is summer
scorching summer
season creeping,
grasses are wilting
trees are shedding of
their last leaves,
what i see are bones
of trees,
skeletons of
branches,
the dry wind keeps
blowing the leaves
away,
what i have is this
bald surrounding
emptied of their
essence
beyond me are
brown mountains
vultures are
in the skies
eying for
death as prey
i sit upon a rock
the only rock
left here
i have no cover on
my head
i am half naked
i have no one to talk
to,
they have left this
arid place
a long time ago
i am back
i am telling the
sand soil,
i have something
to write and
tell the world
about it
it is summer
in this vast desert
a long time ago
this was ours
and the trees are green
grasses verdant
butterflies flutter
and innocently
land on our
hands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Don't be a tree!
Not a planted tree to stay at a place,
Spreading the roots in underground space,
Looking for the sun to beg for the light,
Photosynthesis, reproduce and rot.
When the wind blows, to shake our heads,
We are not the trees that have no leads,
During the storm, to get uprooted and fall,
We are the trees that are too rigid, not flexible.
For the fallen leaves, the trees never cry,
For the fallen human, we have to voice and try,
We are the human, the rulers of the earth,
Not the trees of the soil that has no mirth.
Let us not lick the feet of anyone for our survival,
Let us not get tickled with someone's failure,
Let us not be the fools to get hoodwinked and cheated,
Let us be the survivors conquering the thoughts.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Back To The Usual Walk In The Rice Fields
i am back to this place
and i am feeling strange
there are changes
and some i can tell have been missing
a few meters from where i stand
under this mahogany tree
where the wind is cold and fresh
flavored by the newly cut rice stalks
over this spread of golden fields
the well is still there
but the brown woman with earth skin is gone
an island of coconut trees
(and some mango trees
and banana shrubs)
has turned bald
and the grasses claim another territory to its grassland
the sparrows must have migrated to the nearby forest
the cable lines run an empty length of a sigh
from one pole to another
endlessly clinging is this anonymous electricity
the twenty or so white herons are here again
pecking on some little frogs in small ponds
i walk under the sun
revisiting reevaluating rekindling perhaps
the reasons why i must go on living
a life unlived for quite a time
why are the fields empty? why are the blackbirds circling the tree?
why do people pass by this path unable to know the significance
of this human journey?
the sun is up like an absurdity triumphant
a dog comes near me
it is waggling its tail and i am calling him another name.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Those With Fruits And Leaves
what then is the purpose
about those who have no leaves
or fruits
those bald ones
those dried twigs
brown leaves
and broken stones?
they are part of the choirs
of nature
each has a gap to fill
a place to rot
to shine
to hit and awaken.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stones
Stones of the future are like diamonds,
Glistening in the moonlight of our wishes;
Youth will be harder still until the world has ended,
My hard stones are like a conquest of a kingdom,
They manage to occupy the place of worship
Once considered to be the only serious spot.
Rubies are red due to certain lights
We require.
The colour of red is beautiful as blood,
Its redness is tailing, frowning, giving.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Clearing of the Land: An Epitaph
The trees went up the hill
And over it.
Then the dry grasses of the pasture were
Only a kind of blonde light
Settling everywhere
And framing the randomly strewn
Outcropping of gray stone
That anchored them to soil.
Who were they?
One in the picture, & one not, & both
Scotch-Irish drifters,
With nothing in common but a perfect contempt
for a past;
Ancestors of stumps & fallen trees & . . . .
One sits on a sorrel mare,
Idly tossing small stones at the rump
of a steer
That goes on grazing at tough rosettes
of pasture grass & switching its tail
In what is not yet irritation.
What I like, what I
Have always liked, is the way he tosses each small
Stone without thinking, without
A thought for anything, not aiming at all,
The easy, arcing forearm nonchalance
Like someone fly casting,
For this is what
He wanted:
To be among the stones, the grasses,
Savoring a stony self
That reminded him of no one else,
And on land where that poacher, Law,
Had not yet stolen through his fences,
The horse beneath him tensing
Its withers lightly to keep
The summer flies away,
And the woman in the flower-print dress hemmed
With stains
A half mile off
Is the authoress of no more than smoke rising,
Her sole diary & only publication,
From a distant chimney.
They have perhaps a year or two
Left of this
Before history begins to edit them into
Something without smoke or flies, something
Beyond all recognition.
poem by Larry Levis
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Don’t be an uprooted Tree
Seed is sown and the embryo is formed
Legitimate or not, radicle develops into root
Root penetrates into the surface of the soil
Absorbs water and food, turns seed into plant
Inherits the culture of the earth beneath.
It’s in root science that, it moves in
Right direction to fetch the exact need.
Stem gives the support and balance to stand
Branches form the vitality of the plant
Leaves prepare the food to survive
Bearing even odds the plant grows into tree.
As long as deep roots embraces mother earth
The tree shows confidence and attracts.
Location and depth are the might of the tree
Flower, fruit, shade, firm soil, H2O and CO2
Vary from tree to tree, but all owe to root
Never there is an existence beyond this means.
Still human trees surrender under the pressures
Try to get uprooted from the surface and means
Hoping for better flower, fruit, soil and breeze
Truth is, an uprooted tree, a timber, put to ablaze.
-vidi-
22-04-08
poem by Vidi Writes
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What I Need
a rising sun between two breasts
of mountains green and lushing
trees and a blanket of daisies on
grasses soft and rivers with waters
flowing on a bed of rocks and stones
and sand, a hushing sound of a song
a maiden young and wondering if i
this man shall kiss her lips tonight
when the moon is full when the stars
are glistening like diamonds in the skies.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Destroyed Niche
what we have here
are trees without leaves
upon these bald mountains
lay those fingers stretching
trying to hold the softness
of blue clouds
the rivers gone
what gazes us is this pool of stones
it is a scene of either
or,
we pack too
looking for another
more, wanting to escape
what we have destroyed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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x15-I Saw My Death
-Jane Spencers-
My grave has kept away my secrets.
The leaves are greener, the grasses-taller.
I heard you talking to me
with your solemn tears...
you didn't have to say you're sorry
for taking away my cheers;
for taking away my lover...
for making it all over.
Coz it's not the reason why i died...
as this empty earth has always denied.
The petals had fallen, the waters had flowed...
leaves are greener, grasses standing on the ground.
I saw my death when I saw his face-
how it glowed when he looked at you deeply;
he looked at you the way he never did to me.
I saw my death when I saw his smile-
he smiled beyond his heart when
he smiled at you sweetly...
He smiled at you the way he never did to me.
I saw my death when he looked into my eyes,
and all i can see is my empty grave,
and all others are lies.
When he looked at me, but it's you he sees...
I never want to breath.
The day he said he loves you
was the day I saw my death.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Psalm 150
Praise the Lord of the morning
When the sun rises from its sleep
Praise the Lord for His excellent greatness
For His beauty makes me weep
Praise the Lord when the darkness falls
And the moon rises high above
Praise the Lord for His majestic glory
And His everlasting love
Praise the Lord in the winter
When the snow falls on the ground
Praise the Lord for His glorious presence
When we stand upon holy ground
Praise the Lord of the summer
When the days are warm and long
Praise the Lord for His magnificent splendor
And the saints shall sing a new song
Praise the Lord of the springtime
When the blossoms on the tree
Praise the Lord for His holiness
And for the Blood that set us free
Praise the Lord of the Autumn
When the leaves fall to the ground
Praise the Lord for His faithfulness
And that His grace abounds
Praise the Lord when your happy
And there's a smile upon your face
Praise the Lord for His mercy
And for His saving grace
Praise the Lord when you're in despair
And your pierced by a fiery dart
Praise the Lord for HIs loving kindness
That restores your broken heart
Praise the Lord with your last breath
As you lie upon your bed
Praise the Lord for His promises
To raise you from the dead
Praise the Lord for all eternity
As you gather around His throne
Praise the Lord for His incredible beauty
As you worship Him alone
Let trumpet, harp and timbrel praise
And dance before the King
Let all with breath praise the Lord
And with their voices sing
Hallelujah to the King of Kings
We worship and bow down
We sing to you forever more
And we will crown Him with many crowns
poem by Frank McEleny
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Soils
The soil was baked very hard and the seed bounced off
I would not listen to God and would only scoff
It was unreceptive and unrepentant ground
And no time or place for God's Word was to be found
Littered with many stones and exposing no ground
Full of crevasses but little soil was to be found
The seed fell into a crack germinating there
It grew quickly but shrivelled under the suns glare
Covered with weeds and leaving so very little soil
My life all mixed up and full of care and turmoil
The Word of God tried hard to germinate and grow
But the cares and worries of this world choked it so
The soil was prepared and I readily received
God's Word was spoken and as I heard and believed
It sprang up in my heart over many a year
And blossomed and bloomed as I saw the fruit appear
Based on the parable of the Sower (Matthew 13: 1-23)
A measured beauty: the Japanese mind
Between the high grey residential block
and the busy, noisy Japanese street
there’s a small park: three tall trees
in a broad bed of grey slate chips;
this autumn afternoon, the trees
have shed their golden-yellow leaves
over the grey ground; the gardener
has carefully brushed them with his wooden broom
off the chips, and into tidy golden rings
around the bases of the trees;
as if the leaves were gathered in some joyful ceremony
of gratitude, respect, and friendship; not farewell,
but time dissolved into a circled beauty;
the passers-by note this timeless act of worship;
share this with the others as they pass,
politely glancing towards strangers;
meeting, respectfully, not their eyes,
but, as leaves to trees, their heart.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Nothin' Shakin'
I tried to find out
What love is all about,
And every day
It sure lets out.
I see my baby
I get week in my knees.
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees.
My pappie told me
There'd be times like these.
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees.
We meet the gang
And go to rocking joes.
The cats are something
On the heels and toes.
I grab my baby,
Tried to give her a squeeze.
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees.
Why must she be
Such a doggone tease?
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees.
She's got a way
That makes me act like a fool.
Spent my money,
Then she plays me cool.
I beg her for kisses
On my bended knees.
Oh won't you give me
Some loving, baby,
Please please please.
Though i keep trying hard
To make her mine,
One day the wind will blow
And the sun will shine.
Till that time
She puts my heart at ease.
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees
She locked my heart
And threw away the keys.
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees, yeah.
She's got a way
That makes me act like a fool.
Spent my money,
Then she plays me cool.
I'm begging her for kisses
On my bended knees.
Oh won't you give me
Some of your loving, baby,
Please please please.
Though i keep trying hard
To make her mine,
One day the wind will blow
And the sun will shine.
Till that time
She puts my heart at ease.
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees
She locked my heart
And threw away the keys.
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees
There's nothing shaking
But the leaves on the trees
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Complacency
the road to understanding
appears to us
fenced and paved
the way all cleared
and the grasses on the side
well trimmed
the trees grown on a line
and flowers are grouped
according to their kind
complacent we think that this is all
that there is nothing to be figured out anymore
there is nothing to be scrutinized
nothing to question
you sit inside the hut on the side of a hill
and rest and breathe the air from there
there is nothing to be done
everything is handed
and what we do is only to receive
and behave
no one jumps over the fence
no one puts another kind of flower anymore
what grass you know
is the grass that is well trimmed
nature manicured
i have long gone away from that place
i live in the forest
and struggle to communicate with the monkeys
i am clearing my own way
and building my own house on top of a tree
i am well, and i guess happier.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Touch of Autumn
It is blowing, it is getting cold
Birds are chirping, birds are resting!
The long sunny day is gone
replaced by the sudden onset of night!
Leaves from trees, fruits like apples,
peaches, berries and grapes fall down.
My beans and squash seem ready
to sleep and abort the budding of flowers.
The green colours turn golden and
cover the living soil and ground.
September, October and November,
the golden long autumn months
of fallen leaves from windy heights.
___________
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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My lonely Palm tree
A leaf of the palm, borne as a symbol of victory
But you are isolated like me,
Though we are tall like a Watchtower yet cannot touch the pallid sky.
You have a simple stem and terminal crown of large leaves.
But I am uprooted in the saga and and my broken crown pawned for a song.
Dedication to the deceased Marxist Sri Lankan celebrated singer *Gunadasa.Kapuge
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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You Are Worthy Of My Praise
I will worship with all of my heart
And I will praise you with all of my strength
And I will seek you all of my days
And I will follow, follow all of your ways.
I will give you all my worship
I will give you all my praise
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise
I will bow down, and hail you as King
And I will serve you, I'll give you everything
And I will lift up my eyes to your throne
And I will trust you, I will trust you alone.
I will give you all my worship
I will give you all my praise
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise.
--- Instrumental ---
I will bow down and hail you as King
And I will serve you, I'll give you everything
And I will lift up my eyes to your throne
And I will trust you, I will trust you alone.
I will give you all my worship
I will give you all my praise
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise.
I will give you all my worship
I will give you all my praise
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise...
--- Instrumental to fade ---
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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