The Riddles
stay:
some words still dance inside your ear
they like it there
departure:
some fruits are ripe for the picking
but you are not there
they are falling even without the wind
go:
how do you interpret my silence?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Im Falling
Im falling...
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Among the things that you left behind
A picture painted by our dreams
So now Im none, I become unreal
The world is closing in on me
Ga ga ga ga
Gotta learn, gotta learn to live
Without your love in my life (dont want me)
Gotta learn, gotta learn to live
Without your love in my life
Gotta learn, gotta learn to live
Without your love in my life (dont want me)
Gotta learn how to survive
We just got to learn how to forgive
You decide if I will die or live
cause I am falling
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Im falling
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Those days and nights, they went flying by
And still my love is wider than the sky
Picking em, picking em, picking em, pickin em
Picking up, picking up the bits
And the pieces of our love (dont want me)
Picking up, picking up the bits
And the pieces of our love
Picking up, picking up the bits
And the pieces of our love (dont want me)
Picking up bits of our love
We just got to learn how to survive
You decide if I will live or die
cause I am falling
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Im falling
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Falling...
Falling
song performed by by E-type
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fruits Of The Tree
What fruits we have!
Glittering with evil,
To shed innocent blood,
Shining with greed,
And we end in comfort that lasts only a moment
What fruits we bare!
Lost in ambition and passion
That we preach prosperity and success
As if they last an eternity
Swelling with pride that lasts a stint
Fruits of the tree
That the master has planted.
They can choose to ripen, or to stay raw!
They can choose to rot, or to stay ripe!
But, every fruit stands the test of time.
In the end, Ripe with truth and love,
Victory is imminent.
Rotten with deception and hatred,
Destruction waits:
The fruits from the tree of life
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Following No Rules
...is like going towards a house
on a mountaintop
the trees there have
ripe fruits for the picking
lots of jack
fruits spreading a map
of smell
and you focus your gaze
and you do not know
which way
you follow a scent
a view
and you bow down
to a thick grass
finding your way in there
you are not lost
you are tired
the house is still there
the fruits are about to fall
no one has gone there yet
in your wild
imagination
a native tells you frankly
sir, it is only the top of the mountain
nothing more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Good Tree
the good tree
bears a lot of fruits
and when it is time
for the picking
of the ripe ones
there are no questions
of who you are
and what do you deserve
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In This Bin
in this bin
i put
everything
pains, sorrows,
&
joys, happiness
my bin
and my own alone
like some mailbox
of my
emotions
this is a world
where
i am: open, close
mystery,
double talk
whisper
shout
angry, scream, howl,
wail,
this is where
i can be everything: a mocking bird, a werewolf, an angel,
devil,
crocodile, merman, worm, fish, butterfly
eagle
monkey, ghost, soul,
passionate body
fingers, hands, feet
lips
all the feelings and colors
of my mind
feel me, as i too feel you
what have i to gain
what have i to lose
you say, you think, words, words, and nothing but words,
no,
no,
do not reduce everything to simple terms of words
and letters
and syllables,
this is a field where i have sown the seeds of my self
and some flowers
begin to bloom here, and some fruits are ripe for the picking
i like you being the child who climbs
the tree where my fruits are sweet and ripe
i like you being the lady who comes along
and picks my flowers
i like you being the wind that helps my clouds
drift only to be alive
crossing the boundaries of space between
peaks of mountains
this is not a dustbin anymore, this is my house
this is my dwelling
there is a soft easy chair in my mind
a glass vase with a red rose
glazed with dew
like my tears, like my eyes that i am hiding
for you not to clearly see
this is not just a dustbin, this is now my home
come
come
come
make this your home, enter my door, follow me
in the labyrinths of my feelings
my hopes and dreams
come
come
come
take a seat, and have breakfast with
me
see the glass window opening to a view
of the pines and the green mountains
a little frost may blind us
but here we are, i have prepared you tea
and
sympathy and some stories about myself
listen, and be free, to tell your stories too,
the sun has just shone
and indeed, it is a very new day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Many Still Question...
many still question
loneliness,
tracing the roots
and thinking about possible cures
i have aged
my hair has turned grey
58%
and i don't ask anymore
it is a tree
and there are so many fruits
to gather
and satisfy our
hunger and thirst
with them
ripe for the picking
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Living And Reliving An Experience....
it is nothing but experience
it shows, it is felt, and then
you draw it back again nearer
your face, take a closer look,
analyze, and feel and
reflect, many times, digest,
expand, do not decorate,
take it as it is,
freeze it, ...stay still,
be a sculpture, or a ladder,
a pillar, or even be a bowl
of water,
do not titillate
visualize, taper, sharpen,
no rattling please, just
the closer look at the closing of
the day....
it dances before you,
shows its best, becomes a tree with
so many ripe fruits for your
picking
really, this is what experience is all
about.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autumn Ill
Autumn ill and adored
You die when the hurricane blows in the roseries
When it has snowed
In the orchard trees
Poor autumn
Dead in whiteness and riches
Of snow and ripe fruits
Deep in the sky
The sparrow hawks cry
Over the sprites with green hair the dwarfs
Who’ve never been loved
In the far tree-lines
the stags are groaning
And how I love O season how I love your rumbling
The falling fruits that no one gathers
The wind the forest that are tumbling
All their tears in autumn leaf by leaf
The leaves
You press
A crowd
That flows
The life
That goes
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Memoirs
Wind blows through my face
They told me there was a falling star
I wait on the silence
To make my wish came true
To erase my illusion
I wait on silence
Silence
………...
Star never falling
Wind still blows, they laugh
Star never fall for me
I kept my illusion on my mind
Just on my deeper mind
Just can miss it but can hold it
Let it be a beautiful memoirs
I don’t know… I still missed but can reach it
Why…
Silence………
Just silence…….
Wind just blows…just blows and laugh
Dance, Dance
She says she's no good with words but I'm worse
Barely stuttered out
A joke of a romantic stuck to my tongue
And weighed down with words too overdramatic
Tonight it's "it cant get much worse"
Vs. "no one should ever feel like.."
I'm two quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I write them
I need them just to get by
We will own your thoughts
We'll own the songs stuck in your head
We'll leave you kicking and screaming so you can thank us in the end
Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
Dance this is the way they'd look
If they knew how misery loved me
into bed with me)
You always fold just before you're found out
Drink up its last call
Last resort
But only the first mistake and I...
I'm two quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I write them
I need them just to get by
Why don't you show me a little bit of spine
You've been saving for his mattress (with love)
Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
Dance this is the way they'd look
If they knew how misery loved me
Why don't you show me a little bit of spine
You've been saving for his mattress (with love)
I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me
Dance, Dance
Dance, Dance
Dance, Dance
Dance, Dance
song performed by by Fall Out Boy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Writing to the Wind
I'm writing to the wind
The words drift from my mouth
They dance and mix about
Then lose what they're about
I'm writing to the wind
To say I stand alone
To let the people know
I came and then went home
I'm writing to the wind
Because no one seems to know
We're nearly almost at the door
Where no one want to go
And if the wind says no
I think I'll understand
The wind just comes and goes
And seldom makes a stand
The wind can pass me buy
Or stay awhile to linger
The wind can never die
Or rise to point it's finger
The wind goes on and on
Around the world forever
Unless it comes to find
It's a sad and poor endeavor
For after we are gone
The wind will just be flying
'Ore empty barren plain
We made as we lay dieing
poem by S. Michael Downs
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Picking Teachers For Their Leader
Strangers!
Come before the darkness of night,
Crawls.
As twilight escorts the rising moon!
Strangers...
Known in dreams.
Whisper of their presence unseen.
But felt...
By a familiar comfort embraced.
My steps cease to seek a quickened pace.
There is no wish for leaving.
I am told in my mind I should stay.
Soft voices dance within rainbowed light!
Sparkling to convince...
I should pray with faith.
And they would make my life right!
Picking teachers for their Leader.
For the One never shown.
The One who through scriptures...
Repeated to make appear,
But left still for them to go unknown.
Picking teachers for their Leader.
How they do it like it's done...
When they come,
Nobody knows.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
They say He's number One.
Like none other like He,
Upon me with gifts bestowed!
Strangers!
Come before the darkness of night,
Crawls.
As twilight escorts the rising moon!
Strangers...
Known in dreams.
Whisper of their presence unseen.
But felt...
By a familiar comfort embraced.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
As God demands.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
As God Commands.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
And I understand...
Something that I give,
Must be done with giving hands.
And instantly I'm comprehending...
My relationship with my fellowman.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader
Picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader!
Strangers!
Come before the darkness of night,
Crawls.
As twilight escorts the rising moon!
Strangers...
Known in dreams.
Whisper of their presence unseen.
But felt...
By a familiar comfort embraced.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader
Picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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God cares for all Creatures
The guava sapling planted has grown big;
The tree is laden with ripe fruits many;
How many can I pluck or eat each day?
Lie fruits unseen at heights, I cannot reach.
I see the parrots enjoy tasty fruits;
I see the squirrels gnaw the fine ripe ones;
I see bats with voracious appetites;
And many more fall down by force of winds.
God fills the tree with fruits for each season;
Man cannot eat all fruits the tree can bear;
God feeds each bird of the air with care;
He made them all and that’s the chief reason.
When God can feed His other creatures well,
So many human beings starve to death;
Oh, what a man-made tragedy, we see,
As tons of food goes rotten every day!
God loves all human beings even more
Than all His other creatures whom He made;
Both food and drink turn scarce by acts of men;
Why blame God for our misdemeanor, then?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-3-2008
poem by John Celes
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The Pursuit Of Happiness
the irony of this pursuit is this:
the more you pursue it
the more it escapes
away from your grasp
you think your hands
finally catch
happiness, and you
hold on to it
tightly like you
are a bird with claws
like an eagle holding
on to the monkey
then blood drifts
on the holy mountains
the paradox lies
not in the taking of happiness
but in giving it away
and then the magic happens
the mountains dance
the caves open
and the rivers sing
it is clear, when you take it
you simply release it
then you are happy
and the pursuit is nothing
but
in simply the giving
the patience of waiting
like a tree whose fruits
are ripe where children
climb
gather the fruits
and chew and swallow
every sweetness of
the pulp,
the fiber
juice sliding smoothly
inside innocent their throats
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Chill Wind
It's 5 O'Clock on a December morn
From out of the east the wind is borne
Dropping temperatures by 20 degrees
Bundle up or you will freeze
To some the cold's a thrill
Strapping on skis to race downhill
Myself, I'd rather be warm
Stay inside to weather the storm
Down streets and alleys it blows
The chill wind which never slows
Picking up debris along it's way
To leave blocks or miles away
But to work I have to go
Clad in layers from head to toe
Walk to the subway in this gale
Watching leaves and paper taking sail
Undergound, the wind's abated
But this line is an elevated
At stops the doors open wide
And the chill wind rushes inside
Back on the street, with my head bowed
'Damn it's cold' I say out loud
Wishing that I was thicker skinned
The better to stand this chill wind
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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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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Transmission
Radio, live transmission.
Radio, live transmission.
Listen to the silence, let it ring on.
Eyes, dark grey lenses frightened of the sun.
We would have a fine time living in the night,
Left to blind destruction,
Waiting for our sight.
And we would go on as though nothing was wrong.
And hide from these days we remained all alone.
Staying in the same place, just staying out the time.
Touching from a distance,
Further all the time.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Well I could call out when the going gets tough.
The things that we've learnt are no longer enough.
of the show
And we could dance.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To My Love...
love
a luscious
strawberry
freshly picked
from the
farm in
Benguet
inside my mouth
in those
long hours
while you were
picking some more
of those ripe
ones
as i wait under
the shade of
the palm tree
waiting
for you....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dance, Dance
Dance, Dance
To the music
Dance, Dance
To the beat
Dance, Dance
To the rhythm
Stomp your feet
Dance, Dance
Even though
Your tune they don't hear
Dance, Dance
For yourself
Have no fear
Dance, Dance
If you're alive
You're doing well
Dance, Dance
And grin
So the world can tell
You know you've got
A life to live
You're looking at the joy
This world can give
And you're dancing and laughing,
Won't be dragged down
You'd rather keep moving
Than stay with a frown
Dance, Dance
'Til it's played to the end
Dance, Dance
With a smile
My truly brave friend
poem by Atara Gedalowitz
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On Promising Fruitfulness of a Tree
A comely sight indeed it is to see
A world of blossoms on an apple-tree:
Yet far more comely would this tree appear,
If all its dainty blooms young apples were.
But how much more might one upon it see,
If all would hang there till they ripe should be.
But most of all in beauty 'twould abound,
If then none worm-eaten should there be found.
But we, alas! do commonly behold
Blooms fall apace, if mornings be but cold.
They too, which hang till they young apples are,
By blasting winds and vermin take despair,
Store that do hang, while almost ripe, we see
By blust'ring winds are shaken from the tree,
So that of many, only some there be,
That grow till they come to maturity.
Comparison.
This tree a perfect emblem is of those
Which God doth plant, which in his garden grows,
Its blasted blooms are motions unto good,
Which chill affections do nip in the bud.
Those little apples which yet blasted are,
Show some good purposes, no good fruits bear.
Those spoiled by vermin are to let us see,
How good attempts by bad thoughts ruin'd be.
Those which the wind blows down, while they are green,
Show good works have by trials spoiled been.
Those that abide, while ripe upon the tree,
Show, in a good man, some ripe fruit will be.
Behold then how abortive some fruits are,
Which at the first most promising appear.
The frost, the wind, the worm, with time doth show,
There flows, from much appearance, works but few.
poem by John Bunyan
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