The Peverty of The Masses
i have already stopped wondering
why the rivers always leave the forest
proceeding to the sea
emptying all its contents
as the sea bloats itself with all the silt
salt and brownish water
it will always be
and you know that fully well
the sea is, and will always be rich
and yet
it is giving nothing back
to the river to the forest
to the village on top
of the mountain
the people there only dream of fish
and boats
what they eat are their own bare hands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Take The Water To The Mountain
Take the water to the mountain;
Take the river to the sea.
Let the forest be salvation
Long before it needs to be.
Take the water to the mountain;
Let your body flow upstream.
Let it cascade off your shoulders;
Be the body of your dreams.
Take the water to the mountain;
Let the sun shine on your ground.
You decide your every movement;
Let the water to the land.
Take the water to the mountain;
Cross the great divide of love.
Give to nature all you can give;
Let the mother know your heart.
Take the water to the mountain;
Lets become alive again.
Holy water, holy mountain,
Holy river, holy tree.
Pica!
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Take The Water To The Mountain
Take the water to the mountain;
Take the river to the sea.
Let the forest be salvation
Long before it needs to be.
Take the water to the mountain;
Let your body flow upstream.
Let it cascade off your shoulders;
Be the body of your dreams.
Take the water to the mountain;
Let the sun shine on your ground.
You decide your every movement;
Let the water to the land.
Take the water to the mountain;
Cross the great divide of love.
Give to nature all you can give;
Let the mother know your heart.
Take the water to the mountain;
Lets become alive again.
Holy water, holy mountain,
Holy river, holy tree.
Pica!
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Juliana....
on early morning
she walks down the river
leaving all her
coverings on the grass
she wades in the water
naked
as the bamboo trees
bend with the wind
paying homage to her
raw beauty
she plunges into the
cool waters of the river
and the river
takes joy of her body
then she rises
as water drips on her breasts
giving way to her
nipples
as the water cascades down
her abdomen
to her legs
Juliana, the mountain beauty
once i have seen her
under the moon amidst
the trees in the forest
and the virgin hills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wild Forest Flower
Rough around the edges but a tender center
This is my wild forest flower
Short and slender with long flowing blonde hair
This is my wild forest flower
A loving heart that goes beyond what I can see
This is my wild forest flower
I want to hold my flower in my hands
Wondering why she holds back and refuses to stand
I water it every now and then to watch it grow
But it takes too long because it’s a little slow
So I wait patiently for the flower to begin to rise
Even though I can still hear the weeping willows cries
Firm and hard headed but with a loving touch
This is my wild forest flower
Always hiding and always scared like a little child
This is my wild forest flower
The only one im willing to be with anymore
This is my wild forest flower
A darkened hush rises in the sky above my flower
The roots slowly exposing themselves out of fear
A forest fire begins in the distance soon to consume it
The fire rages ready to consume the small thing in power
This little bitty flower that I love and hold so dear
but I laugh because I know how this fire got lit
poem by Branden Aeling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home From The Forest
Oh the neon lights were flashin
And the icy wind did blow
The water seeped into his shoes
And the drizzle turned to snow
His eyes were red, his hopes were dead
And the wine was runnin low
And the old man came home
From the forest
His tears fell on the sidewalk
As he stumbled in the street
A dozen faces stopped to stare
But no one stopped to speak
For his castle was a hallway
And the bottle was his friend
And the old man stumbled in
From the forest
Up a dark and dingy staircase
The old man made his way
His ragged coat around him
As upon his cot he lay
And he wondered how it happened
That he ended up this way
Getting lost like a fool
In the forest
And as he lay there sleeping
A vision did appear
Upon his mantle shining
A face of one so dear
Who had loved him in the springtime
Of a long-forgotten year
When the wildflowers did bloom
In the forest
She touched his grizzled fingers
And she called him by his name
And then he heard the joyful sound
Of children at their games
In an old house on a hillside
In some forgotten town
Where the river runs down
From the forest
With a mighty roar the big jets soar
Above the canyon streets
And the con men con but life goes on
For the city never sleeps
And to an old forgotten soldier
The dawn will come no more
For the old man has come home
From the forest
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Waterfountains of Repolished Hallways
In these days are bared their new songs,
Like waterfalls gushing over the open wounds of windmills
That epic heroes have become too lush to
Ever fully explore: all of the rich aphrodisiacs spread in unison
Across the forest floor,
And amongst the pallid feet of aspen: flickering like hot blooms,
Like house plants cared for too well to ever survive again
Back into the forest,
While butterflies are too quick, and they will soon be underneath
The leaves;
Just as her lips reinvigorate across the water fountains of a
Repolished hallways that doesn’t have to care to remember me.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everyday Way
I delight in the everyday Way,
Among the mist and fog, the plain;
Every rock and cave is joined,
Feeling is believing, loathing me.
The plain speech of the Way
Excites me as I meander through the forest
Of the mountains in the angelic spirit,
Finding rocks and boulders rising.
Everyone who glimpses the mountain
Sees a man outside and indoors,
It climbed you as well in the forest,
You cannot fathom these words.
I delight in the ways of the Mountain,
How it climbed you so well and wet;
The water is like a river of beauty
From the excitement housed in the air.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pa Pass
At daybreak I head for Pa Pass.
Spring and I together leave Ch’ang-an.
A woman washes clothes in bright water.
The birds at dawn sing in the light.
River country. Boats here are markets.
Mountain bridges cling to treetops.
Climbing up, a hundred villages.
In the far sun the Two Rivers.
People here speak another language,
But the birdsong's just like my country's.
Understanding the depths of landscape,
Even here I am never lonely.
poem by Wang Wei
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The magic forest
At the Bois de Boulogne lies magic
Magic that cannot be evitable
Magic that lures people into the evergreen forest
In the forest, soft earth is like a comfy bed
Meadows of grass are green sheets for the bed
If you happen to lie down on the bed
The sunlight hugs your body gently like a mother
Your eyes are heavy weights, unable to keep your eyes open
You fall into the sweetest dream as time goes by…
Night walked into the forest as day walked out of the forest
The pale moon is like a glass eye of a witch staring at you
The dark magic falls into the forest
Lusty monsters fill the magic forest
And the magic forest falls asleep…
In Support Of Nature....
a monkey's wish
has always been
a forest, and given the
choices
it shall choose a banana
from a
basket of dollar bills
a monkey's dream is
a simple vine where it can
place its hands and
swing from one tree
to another
you claim to be a man,
and man
why have you become so
foolish?
you exchange a forest
for money
an expensive lifestyle
you have embraced
in exchange for the trees
and the rivers
and the mountains
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heavenly Mahanadee Vavroovahana Patra
She is the mother of Plants, animals and all creatures;
Providing cool water contents their desires.
Man produces electricity from water;
Creatures live peacefully deriving the love of Creator.
Through canals she provides water for cultivation;
Peasants smile with delight, enjoy the beauty of creation.
Producing paddy and vegetables live peacefully;
The family smile with prosperity, gaily.
The river is an Abode of Crematoriums;
People of all castes, creeds, colours burnt in the river bed of creation.
Flowers smile on the bank of river;
It contents all poets’ desire.
Shrines of Deities smile on both sides of rivers
The shrine attracts the devotees, contents their desire.
The river is a Paradise of Peace;
All people derive Deities’ Bliss.
Sun God blessth all devotees in morn;
Beauteous looks the Wintery dawn.
Devotees surrender on the feet of Mahadeva;
He is omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent, Sadasiva.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Magical River
At the break of dawn we took a stroll
along the river of tears
It was a wild river, with a glittering current
To take away your fears
The river seems such a magical thing
With the forest set in it's front
Silver streams painted with variable flowers
It was like finding the treasure in a treasure hunt
As we walked beside the flowing river
It's ripples beckoned to us
Sparkling and shining, calling our names
With the sound of lust
Every river has it's beginning
But this one had no end
Merging together like long lost loves
as you come around the rivers bend
We stopped and stood
and stared in awe
At the beauty of the merging rivers
And the love for which we saw
Dianna Nally
and Debbie Wagoner
7/14/09
poem by Dianna Nally
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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superciliousness in Norway
Superciliousness in Norway.
“They crap in our forest, ” an angry man yelled,
Roma people had pitched tents near the forest
where people of this tolerant nation go skiing
in winters. They came here to find work but
was meet with scorn and mistrust, they came
in hope of getting a part of our largesse; the rich
do not know this word. When people who used
to be poor suddenly see they are better off than
other countries, the first reaction is pride and
an unbecoming arrogance, like it was their
cleverness that brought oil up from the bottom
of the sea… Now instead of being humble having
had such luck they become reactionaries giving
advice to less fortunate countries.
“They crap in our forest”, nourishing an imbecilic
nation that due to undeserved richness has lost
contact with reality and human kindheartedness.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Those bare forests
When I was young, I had gone to this forest,
It was dark, deep and wild,
Like my youth it was full of resources,
I had spent few days there and had learned how the forest life is?
Forest life means survival of the fittest,
I could not find difference between city and forest,
In city too only the fittest can survive else the human who have wore the leather of lethal animal will not let the herbivore animal like us to live.
After twenty years struggling in the city and being tortured by children,
I returned back to the same forest to see its growth,
I could see it was bare, cut by poacher, deforesters,
It had not followed its own rule and the trees which it holds were all ageing like me,
We both were thrown out of the society it was thrown by cutting and I by my own sons.
I and it had the same fate bare with few more ageing hair and trees to be removed.
poem by Sambidhan Acharya
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At The Balcony
from here
i see the blue sea and the old bamboo raft floating in the water
over there is a mountain of stone
with patches of green resistant grass
the coconut trees are tall and thin
and the wooden boats are docked
the men are drinking their tequilas
away from their masters and the owners of their fates
the women are doing their laundry on the river
and the children are splashing in the shallow water
some dogs waggle their tails afraid of the water
i am alone here with a camera on hand
my cell phone is turned off
i am out of reach, i am not lost, i am trying to find a way
back into my heart
feeling what my soul wants to say
i feast on the view that this balcony is giving me
i savor what God is giving freely.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Interlude
The air was still and trees in the forest stood in frozen silence.
A rare day, animals listened to the echo of last summer.
Hare trails in the snow made without haste, the persecuted
had nothing to fear on a day when mountain lions dream.
The bear in its den deep under an oak tree, dreamless sleep
whether still or storm, but do not wake him up before spring.
Tranquillity of peace is only a brief interlude, kill or be killed,
eat or starve are wild life’s merciless destiny. Calm cracks as
the cold intensifies; there will be a toll to pay if spring is too
late with its promise of continuity. Behind the forest, where
the blue mountain begins, a pack of wolves howl to the moon,
the soul of hunters lied bare in an endless nocturnal dream.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Forgotten River
The forgotten river,
Lonely in the thick forest waitinf for your love;
The forgotten river,
Lovely and nicely prepared for your muse in the thick forest;
But, the big ship has now collided on the high seas! !
Maturiy of character,
Along the coast of Italy! !
But, it is an extraordinary thing that someone recommended for you;
For, i am the forgotten river in the thick forest.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forest of Wonders
In this forest of wonders
There is a girl walking alone
Walking straight with no direct destination
Questioning herself
Is there anyone out there
Is there anyone that would help her
She keeps on walking in this dark forest
There is no one
No one to call her back
No one want to remind her
No one would dare to speak with her
There, she keeps on walking
Wondering again
Is she alone
In this big forest
Is she alone
Finally she realize
There is no one
No one nearby to help her
No one dare to comfort her
To share her problems
She continue on walking until that FINAL DAY arrive.
poem by Hidayah Yusuf
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Kemberly
Her body, already rotting, was found dumped, along with seven other guerrillas, deep in the forest of Concepcion, days after the Dec.15 encounter. (Inquirer, April 8,2010)
at first they were surprised about the changes.
there were no more cocktails
parties are shunned
and you stopped reaping honors
for yourself in the state university
in a wink of an eye you were gone.
where?
you assumed new names.
you've been living with the poor peasants
in nameless places.
you are Adriane, Ms. Nurse,
or God knows who
they know later through the papers.
i am shocked too about your untimely death
your rotten body
beside the new people's army guerrillas
deep in the forest of the mountain in Bukidnon
beauty and brain and idealism all
gone.
at the end of all these
sufferings
on the temple of giving all that you have
what they give you is a poem
the one that does not make any dead man rise
the one that never heals
the sufferings of those
who love you more than them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Embroidery
Embroidery of the forest
On to the fields of time
The wings of gray achiest
All in their grayness prime
Of dreams that once were
In the moments like drift
When summertime was near
In ways of its open whiffed
Foliage of winter falling
Thru steps of time’s thread
When gloom shades are calling
In tints of their brownish red
And day is shorter becoming
In each their light of rise
On earth open blossoming
That to the winter cold dies
Draperies of their burgeon lay
That fetches old rustic bled
When the forest murky play
Its wilderness meadows bed
Oh forest my old trail forest
In all the traditions you hold
Once proud habits of the florist
Now‘s in ashen winter’s cold
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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