The moss that loves the stone
It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Gather Moss And More Of Moss
to gather moss
be a stone
to gather more moss
be a very still stone
be a stone still till the end
of time
you stand still and think
you want to be the moss
rather than a stone
to be all moss
you must betray the stillness
of stone
you must even forget
the importance of
what a moss can be
then you think some more
to be completely this moss
you need to be friendly
to the water and to the river
then you decide to be the water
instead of the moss
to be more than the water
you wish instead to become the river
and so you flow and learn the rush
and become the running river
until what you want really
is just to flow
to rush and run and then
you become nothing
but the motion itself
until you are lost
and then
you become what you are now
lost but real
always flowing, rushing, running
where nobody owns you
not even the river
or the stones or the moss
you have become
this running, this flowing, this being
so real so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Life And Death On The Stone In The Pond
on that rainy month
a stone was so kind
enough
to let the green moss
wrap its
solid body
there was
mutual bliss in
their
company
then the drought
comes in months
the river where the stone
lives
dried and
mud turned to
cracked
surfaces
the moss knows
that this happens
every year
dies peacefully
around the solid body
of the stone
like sleep waiting
for the next rain
the stone is
undisturbed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reflection 0.2
when you arrive here
there is no stone not a single stone
there is no moss not a single hair of a green moss
then there was the pain of waiting
time is always delaying its coming
trains stopped and cars are having flat tires
but you are faithful you keep on waiting you entertain promises
like dear memories or dreams or wishes that come true somehow
and you waited for so long
now this place is filled with stones and moss grow in each body of the stone
the waters spread their territories and land is emaciated
and the house is covered with water and the roof is gone
and there is nobody here anymore and it is only i who remember you and
i tell them about you and they do not believe me
and i feel like i am a ship that just sunk.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At 4: 25 In The Morning, About True Love
you are curious about true love
and let me tell you about my love for her
twas true, yes it was,
too much moss in the stone
the river wants to
remove all the green in there
sad to say
it failed.
the stone is still strong.
and the moss too green to die.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Travel and society polish one, but a rolling stone gathers no moss, and a little moss is a good thing on a man.
quote by John Burroughs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stone
how is it to be a stone?
how is it to be hard
and unfeeling?
how is it to be still
and immobile
rooted in
its place for years
and centuries
not growing
not speaking not listening
to the songs and sighs
of the river?
how is it to be completely
defenseless against
the moss
that invades and
covers
your body
of stone
the coldness
of the rain and
the boredom of the time
in years, in centuries?
how is it to be just being
inanimate
unmoved
untouched and
untouching?
you
you touch no one and nobody touches you
an island
of stone
you
are the stone
the rock
against
the middle
of the raging river
and i am asking all these questions to you.
oh! i am always the foolish one
petrified
facing you all day and getting
no answers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Here Comes Life
the rolling stone
sliding past
following us
the rolling stone
now ahead of us
here comes life
and there it is gone
we are still the moss
catching no stone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dissatisfied
Always dissatisfied with what one has,
The power of nothingness
Engulfs
Whatever you also engulf
Or take as a possession,
What comes into you
Goes out of you and everything
Goes in there only to
Go out later,
There is nothing you can hold,
It is simply meant that way,
The flow
Life, birth, life, death, rebirth,
And then back to Nothingness
Unless you believe
In something Else
To cling to
Like a moss to an old stone
Albeit,
The stone rolls just the same
In an ancient flowing river
Then while here
We do not really know
What happens
There are many stories
That the bird outside us
Cannot yet sing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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128
Always dissatisfied with what one has,
The power of nothingness
Engulfs
Whatever you also engulf
Or take as a possession,
What comes into you
Goes out of you and everything
Goes in there only to
Go out later,
There is nothing you can hold,
It is simply meant that way,
The flow
Life, birth, life, death, rebirth,
And then back to Nothingness
Unless you believe
In something Else
To cling to
Like a moss to an old stone
Albeit,
The stone rolls just the same
In an ancient flowing river
Then while here
We do not really know
What happens
There are many stories
That the bird outside us
Cannot yet sing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A stone that gathers no moss will be washed away by the river.
A rolling stone gathers no moss, but it gets a great shine.
The Caution From The Man Who Taught Evolution
he says that any creature which does not use a part of its body
soon will lose it.It is the use that makes it exist.
Thus, when a fish gets off the water because it likes to fly,
it becomes a bird in due time,
Thus, when that bird peroccupies itself with swimming
ultimately becomes the sting-ray.
Thus the moss on the stone which wants to roll
with the stone becomes the worms of earth.
Time makes them what they want to become.
Thus the jellyfish that crawls to the ground becomes
another blob. And so on and so forth.
It also happens to us humans.
When we start to be complacent and not use our minds to think,
we become brainless.We shrink into stone where the rivers
pass by us unrespecting of our dignities, where those who
walk upon us, simply consider as us nothing but foot stools.
We may think of the divine. Let us see what happens next.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Do Not Inhale Me
do not inhale me
for i am not a pure, clean air
filtered free
from viruses
instead just watch me
do not say any word
for i am just a blank wall
i would have like it more like a jar
emptied of its contents
but i was born a stone
and i dwell in my own silence
numb and always
unhurt as i have learned to
love it
you see there is no pain
but there is no happiness either.
and that is fair enough for me
now, look the moss is growing all around me
but i will not stop it
even with invaders i let them be
i am a stone and i am silent
i am hard and i do not move anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A rolling stone gathers no moss.
quote by Publilius Syrus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River Flows
The river flows and moss grows
And I dangle my feet in the water
The water is cold, but so is my heart
As I sit and just watch time goes by
No place I have to go, no place to be
Time has passed too fast, as fast as the river flows
Who else has sat here and felt this way
Felt pain in their heart and soul
They don't understand, did they ever?
All the hurt down deep in my soul
The leaves sway with the wind
And the chill sets in
I know I must leave, I don't know where
Guess I'll find my way down the road
With tears in my eyes and a broken heart
I'll find my way back to somewhere
The river flows on and the moss will keep growing
Till someone else sits here
And remembers things like I do
And wish I had them all back
I leave in the night, goodbye to the river and moss
May each persons who comes this way
Find a peace inside like I did but on the way
I'll always remember that the river flows on and the moss grows.
Written by Jo Carey
A rolling stone gathers no moss, but it gains a certain polish.
quote by Oliver Herford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Know Without Knowing
Red moss, crimson as blood of a slaughtered calf,
I knew I had seen it before but could not recall
where or when. Like seeing a landscape painting
knowing I had been there before, long time ago.
In the valley of cobblers children ran barefoot on
summer grass and they scented of wildflowers
unpasteurized milk and healthy, innocent laughter.
I know this to be true but don’t know why?
I think of reindeers would they eat red moss used
as they are to the grey variety? Sun keeps shining
like Spanish blood orange with a wicked cold.
The good earth is dry, waits for rain…plenty of it.
The red moss is a forgotten love story and perhaps
if I sit still long enough and wait I will remember it.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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