En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Moon Over The Pond

the moon sits over the pond
her legs refracted
in shimmers

her gown spreading love
all over the grass

the grasses seep every delight
satisfy their blades
and then soundly sleep

the little blue bird high up
on the tree
looks with all wonder

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The bird sleeps in the bamboo grove

It is night.
The moon glows above the grove. There is another moon too in the pond.
The stars too glow, scattered all over the expansive sky.

It is a cool night.

The bird is asleep.

The bird rests on a bamboo branch with thick leaves.

And the night whispers to the bird:
'sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight;
sleep kind heart
that nature fashioned;
sleep while sister moon watches over you
sleep while the stars bless you
with starlight, starlight;
O sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight
sleep all night
in bamboo embrace'

poem by Raj Arumugam
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I'm Losing Sleep Again

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not dream
The nightmares I dream

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not cry
When you wake up to reality

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not believe
You have woken up already

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not stop sleepwalking
Take things slow and steady

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not pretend
I'm sleeping soundly, dear friend

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not lament over
Why I’m losing sleep myself

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not leave me
When you wake up to reality

poem by Dyhanara Rios
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Gently The Sun Oozes

Gently the sun oozes through the big old tree
where we both linger for moments in the shade,
around us the garden is bright like a painting,
blades of grass are knee high in the veldt
across the road where plovers are calling each other
and glowing white the moon hangs in the blue sky;
it's as if I am dreaming as you do really love me
and unexpectedly you squeeze my hand and I get a kiss.

poem by Gert Strydom
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My Drug Dealer

Today-
I asked myself.

Why are the oak tree’s purple?
And the grass blue?

Why is the sky green?
And the leaves hot pink?

Why is that gravel red?
And the rocks of that garden yellow?

Then I thought
and thought over again
a million times

and realized...

I’m high.

I’m up higher than the orange clouds in the green sky
My heart is as bright as the rocks of that garden

My thoughts are as eccentric as the hot pink color of the leaves
that fell from the purple tree

My eyelashes flutter flirtatiously like the way the wind
blows the blue blades of grass around.

Love is a drug,
and I’m high-

You happen to be my dealer.

poem by Breanna Schwartz
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How To Deal With A Very Beautiful Disciple

she comes like a princess from the
a castle high up there on those blue clouds
descending from the sun
down to the mountains
and the rivers
and to this
pond

i am the grass, and she wants to lie down with me
so i can teach her about what, i ask, about poetry she says,
no there is no poetry with me for

i am the grass, and you signal the wind so you may leave at once
and be back to the arms of the heavens
but i think a while and change my mind for i am the grass

and i am a teacher of all mankind, those who want to die and be
covered with my hands, and those who want to stay and be
with my greeness, my softness and i in humility whispers to her

my princess, stay with me for a while, lie with me, and sleep with me
under the moon, the darkness of the night shall be our blanket,
my thick leaves of grass, your pillow,

i am the grass, i may not teach you what poetry is,
what i have is to spread
love and togetherness, and intimacy that i have with the soil
my secrets with the worms, my eternity
with what death has concealed from the eyes of your world.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem Of Syntax

A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree

The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue

The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog

I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue

I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Love Spring

I love spring
Spring is new
It’s new blades of grass
It’s rain on a lass
It’s violets and rain
It’s a wood-scented lane
It’s a new bird song
It’s days growing long
It’s a tree in bud and puddles of mud
It’s birds in a tree and buzz from a bee
It’s kites in the sky
It’s spring. That’s why
I love spring.

poem by Mohammed Rashid
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Little Blue Bird And The Old Man Under The Tree

and the old man with a sigh murmurs upon himself

'little bird, little bird,
how sweet is your song
how i wish i can listen
some more time'

and the little blue bird high on the tree stops to sing
and looks at the old man with pity
tweeting

'my dear old man
would you like to be a little blue bird some other time? '

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To a Sleeping Child

Lips, lips, open!
Up comes a little bird that lives inside
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.

All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings.

Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world, while nobody can know.

Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away around the world, while nobody can see.

Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home;

Round the round world, and back through the air,
When the morning comes, the little bird is there.

Back comes the little bird and looks and in he flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.

Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird’s away,
Little bird will come again, by the peep of day;

Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound.

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bird's Wish

The bird asks me
What I’d do
If I am a bird.
I tell him
High and high I’d soar
So high that I’d see the earth no more
I’d be a bird on the tree
I’d be a bird that’s free!
What you’d do bird
If you’re a man?
To be fair
It’d be my only prayer to God
Don’t be so hard
Make me once again a bird!
Saying this the bird sings
And spreads its wings to a sky
I can never fly!

poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Pasturale Lullabies - Fragments Of Nocturnal Song From A Child's Abandoned Grave

Lullaby One

Remembered gait of young ponies toward
the spring's sweet water

Remembered laughter of the frail daughter there
beside the fields sweet grasses

The daughter, as the water, passes into silence

Lullaby Two

Distant crows sound the morning field beyond pasture

Dew murmurs names upon passing grasses

still, the woods echo

Below
a stream's gash extends

slowly suspires erasing dimensions
of width and depth

Lullaby Three

Blue the waters at a distance

Blue the tails of otters

Blue the eyelids of sleeping beasts
nested beneath the earth

Lamentation Song

Dear one

Dear one

They've mown the hill

The grass remains

The modern scythe and sickle
felled the frailer blades but stained
their metals green with your name

Now the sun alone shines

burns that hewn spot where I first
learned to love your passing

where I watched your leaving
grow wild and lovely,
untamed beside the stream

learned to hear the quiet there
where now a cycle is begun

A new season of your death
is running rampant again to know
the blades of time and men

poem by Warren Falcon
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Jack-in-the-green

Have you seen jack-in-the-green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He sits quietly under every tree ---
In the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup
The dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground ---
Signals the snowdrops its time to grow.
Its no fun being jack-in-the-green ---
No place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier ---
Carries the green flag all the winter long.
Jack, do you never sleep ---
Does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times,
Motorways, powerlines,
Keep us apart?
Well, I dont think so ---
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.
The rowan, the oak and the holly tree
Are the charges left for you to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers jack-in-the-green.
Oh jack, please help me through my winters night.
And we are the berries on the holly tree.
Oh, the mistlethrush is coming.
Jack, put out the light.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Night Without The Wind And The Stars

just have the moon
at least

you have no choice
what are you?

a speck of dust
in the galaxy

envy the still pond
where the moon
sits

cope up
breathe and be
the wind
for a while

create the ripple
tell the
water lily

you are alive
and can
disturb

a little
and tell the night
you eat
fears

that you can sleep
with
or without its
dark covers

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Guess Who?

From billabong or pond
he serenades the moon
upon his small bassoon;
the moon does not respond
but in the hope she might
he keeps it up all night.

The meatworker in magpie suit
goes home and practices his flute
ten times on end he will begin
the Bridal March from Lohengrin,
or make the Kookaburra smile
by his attempts at Fairest Isle.

He needs both industry and skill
the satisfy his hunger
did he run up that monstrous bill
of his at the fishmonger?

In arrogance and outward show
but not in brains he's strong;
olive above and white below
with either eye a crimson glow
he's waiting here, for figs to grow
upon a currajong
in intellect no less than colour
the female bird is even duller.

1. Bull Frog
2. Butcher-Bird
3. Pelican
4. Fig Bird

poem by John Streeter Manifold
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The Olive Tree

Save for a lusterless honing-stone of moon
The sky stretches its flawless canopy
Blue as the blue silk of the Jewish flag
Over the valley and out to sea.
It is bluest just above the olive tree.
You cannot find in twisted Italy
So straight a one; it stands not on a crag,
Is not humpbacked with bearing in scored stone,
But perfectly erect in my front yard,
Oblivious of its fame. The fruit is hard,
Multitudinous, acid, tight on the stem;
The leaves ride boat-like in the brimming sun,
Going nowhere and scooping up the light.
It is the silver tree, the holy tree,
Tree of all attributes.

Now on the lawn
The olives fall by thousands, and I delight
To shed my tennis shoes and walk on them,
Pressing them coldly into the deep grass,
In love and reverence for the total loss.

Anonymous submission.

poem by Karl Shapiro
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Five Flights Up

Still dark.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires
once or twice, quavering.
Questions---if that is what they are---
answered directly, simply,
by day itself.

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.

The little black dog runs in his yard.
His owner's voice arises, stern,
"You ought to be ashamed!"
What has he done?
He bounces cheerfully up and down;
he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.

Obviously, he has no sense of shame.
He and the bird know everything is answered,
all taken care of,
no need to ask again.
---Yesterday brought to today so lightly!
(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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The innocence of a tree shaken into guilt

my legs, running but not touching the ground
my hands as if I was tying a very tight tie
thousands of blood vessels trapped
I used to love that tree

My legs helped me climb the tree
my hand helped me tie the knot
thousands of thoughts trying to escape at once
My cat used to love that tree

My friend helped me down from the tree
my friend also undid my tie
thousands of breaths all at once
no nobody likes that tree

I nearly died, the tree did.
The tree didn't do anything
but it got chopped down anyway
an eighty three kilogram burden within one high branch

poem by Geof Lusins
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Environments

innocence asks,
why is the sky blue
and the grass green,
guilt asks, of blue and green,
sky and grass,

redemption for sinning,
polluting skies and grasses
grey with smog,

why oh why,
is the sky not blue
nor the grass not green

poem by Shimon Weinroth
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Lips To Kiss

The moon feigns a sigh..
Moons high lights shine..
Rose..moon over pond..
Moon sleeps with moon...
Lips To Kiss..moon high..

poem by Is It Poetry
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What Are We?

1) Two legs sat upon three legs,
With one leg in his lap;
In comes four legs
And runs away with one leg;
Up jumps two legs,
Catches up three legs,
Throws it after four legs,
And makes him dropp one leg.
What are we?

2) Old Mother Twitchett had but one eye,
And a long tail which she let fly;
And every time she went over a gap,
She left a bit of her tail in a trap.
3) Thirty white horses upon a red hill,
Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still.
What are we?

We have nothing to say today
We are being asked
What are we
And we think we are bullied
Because
Because we think we know what we are
Because we think we are the obvious
Plain like blue clouds, blue seas, blue kingfishers
Blue, blues, blue bruises, blue flag,
Blue crayon, blue surplus cars
Electric blue, shades of blue

We are black and blue
We feel blue
We think blue
We are blue.

And the obvious is like the biggest mountain ahead of us
And they ask: what is that?
And they see us
And ask us what are we?

Aren’t they all crazy?

We respect them and tell them nothing.
we have nothing to say forevermore.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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