The Sonorous Sounds Of The Gentle Rains
the rains are not heavy
but gentle
like the soft hairs of
a two-year old
creature
it gives the sound of
the sonorous earth
there is no tapping on
the roof
there is only the dripping
of a water flowing
from the gutter
to the stinking canals
there is this weakness of
the paper getting
wet and then laying flat
on the cobbled street
the waters walk like an old
man without a hat
without a coat.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Giving Way To New Beginnings
when i arrive home
today
it rains heavily
there is no one home
i have my own key still
i open the door and close it
i hear quite clearly my
footsteps reverberating
in all the corners of the
wooden room
there is a sad music
attached to each footfall
i open the glass door
to hear once again the sonorous
sounds of the rain falling
on the tin roof
gushing and
flowing freely
upon the gutters
down in
the drain
it is like remembering
and then wanting to forget
but then forgetting
may sometimes mean
the pain of having
to throw off yourself
bits and pieces of you
like raindrops
from the roof
down to the gutters
till it is taken
by all that is drained
in the
canals
of your personal
history
well it can mean too much
like a heavy weight
upon your
breast compressing
your heart
then you justify
this is life,
no one lasts forever
relationships make
their own
natural endings
to give way to
new beginnings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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N2
listening to the softness of the rain
at dawn
opening the mind
for the seeping of understanding
how the rain falls on the roof
like a caress
how is the water redirected on the
gutter
towards the canals
of our limitations
canalized we survive the rigors
of what the laws expect
no overflowing
not a shortness of breath
at the middle of the hour of sorrow
we shall hear the festive
songs of the frogs in the rice-fields
the sun is up
but the rains do not stop
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Glory Be
Waters flowing though my veins
Nothing ever stays the same
Waters flowing down my side
Turn the water into wine
Wheres the courage I once had
Wheres the strength I once possessed
To stand up tall and face the music
Laughing in the face of death
Heres a boy whose hands are bleeding
Though hes never had a scratch
Glory come and glory be
Waters flowing now at last
Chorus
Like a bad dream I once had where
Everyone but me knew something
Walking blind through the burning fields
The dead brigade is on my heels
They follow me--they follow me
Waters flowing though my veins
Nothing ever stays the same
Flows outside for all to see
Water flows through you and me
Nothing ever stays the same
Water turns to wine again
Drink the wine & eat the wafer
Lash the skin & scream together
Chorus
Bridge
Waters flowing through me
Cut me open--let me bleed
Silence is golden
(but) shout it out--shout it out--shout
Waters flowing through my veins
Nothing ever stays the same
Through eyes that once were blind with passion
Everything looks soft and grey
Without color or rough edges
Without fire to burn the skin
Without pride and without reason
Water turns to wine again
Waters flowing through my veins
Tell me now its all the same
Tell me that it doesnt matter
Tell me everythings alright
Chorus
Waters flowing through my veins
Nothing ever stays the same
Glory come and glory be
Glory come to you and me
Waters flowing through my veins . . .
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dripping Water
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the horizon of heaven,
on the land, on the sand,
makes me happy, and so elated,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the dark black clouds,
on the leaves, on the tress,
gives them a slow quick bath,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the thunderstruck light,
on the eyes, on the cheeks,
makes everyone to turn the face up!
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the beauty of sky,
onthe mud, on the rivers,
makes musical splashes when gets strike,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the love of vast scream,
to the beautiful murmors of land,
makes me sing, and dance.
poem by Tayyeba Mustafa
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A Shower
Water flowing down his black-haired head like the Greeks'
Streaming past his dark eyebrows and his deep eyes
Down his sharp nose and past his smooth cheeks
Dripping down his lush lips, past the mouth's rise
Water flowing down his strong jaws and steady chin
Streaming past his thick neck into the collar bones it trips
Down his biceps and sculptured arms that cause a din
Dripping down his hands and delicate fingertips
Water flowing down his broad shoulders
Streaming past his chest and slender warm back
Down his muscled stomach and thighs, hard as boulders
Dripping down his knees to his calves, which can bare a whack
Water flowing down his ankles to his firm feet
Creating a pool of pure liquid on the ground
Down his hard body, the water so sweet
The liquid dripping around him, so profound!
poem by Monalno Kim
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What A Beautiful Sound
beautiful sounds
that stir the heart
free awakening soul
lift flight sky spirit
sound of river running wide unified flowing
sound of creek running downhill leaping splashing
sound of stillness crisp haunting in still mountain morning
sound of wind timeless moving over through forest trees growing
sound of whispers retracting as first soft snow flutters falling
sound of soft rain tender kissing warm earth embraces water waiting
sound of rain heavy droplets embracing dancing love symphony greeting
sound of storm clouds fast running painting sky black spiraling
sound of thunder freedom singing vibrating through poet laughing
sound of morning awaking to gentle joy of my young daughters laughing
a beautiful sound is bliss joy of young daughters happiness laughing
a beautiful sound is healthy children fed soul wonder bliss laughing
a beautiful sound is our well fed children in joy mind song laughing
a beautiful sound is God smiling with me in child mind song laughing
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Decision To Be Happy
I am watching water
dripping from the gutter
the rain has just stopped
falling
the sun begins its part
spreading soft light on the window panes
my wife has finished taking her bath
and kisses me on my cheeks
breakfast is ready on the table
and the smell of rice and pork grill spreads in the house
the water that drips from the gutter
to the leaves of the fortune plant appears
like diamonds bringing all that gladness
to the younger hours of the day
well, ask me what is this all about
oh yeah, this is all about this decision to be just
simply happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Like The Sound Of The Rain Pouring
today i listen to the rain pouring
from the roof to the gutter to the polyvinyl pipe
down to the ground which i filled with pebbles
the water drains to the garden where the roots
take all the joyous time of seeping and drinking
the pure taste of life's waters
it is music to my ears, these slow dripping
much like the rhythm of your classical poetry
Catullus and Sappho and Emily and Pablo.
i realize then that my poems are too inferior
than those unwritten by the grace of nature.
I will not be at a loss, for soon, i shall imitate them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Soft Rain Today....
how i love
the rain today
ain't heavy
soft and gentle
falling on the grass
and on the side of the hill
this hair of nature
babe's soft whisper
hushing and dashing
like the sound of a young river
how i love the first rain
of the year today
comforting, indifferent
a sound of its own
whispering tears
allying fears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soft Rains Of April
(mags/pal waaktaar)
The soft rains of april are over
The soft rains of april are over, over
Anybody home now
I am on the phone now, please...
The soft rains of april are over
The ferry across the water to dover, over
Anybody home now
I am on the phone, oh Id like to go back
Is it raining back home
Im so alone
Just got up today
And my thoughts are miles away
With you
Well, they gave me four years
Three more to go
Keep writing letters
Times passing so slow
The soft rains of april are over
The soft rains of april are over
Over....
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Walk Naked In The Rain
we walk in the rain, we walk naked in the rain
we like the shower in nude, we like the droppings of rain in our nudity
dripping in our curving naked bodies, in eroticism
to all the waters slowly crawling around us to all the dainty showers from above us
the droplets the heavy rain, the coldness dripping in our chins, our lips, pelvis, legs and
toes
and the warmth now enclosed between us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dedication: To M. C. M. C.
THE well-
They come to it and take
Their cupful or their palmful out of it.
The well-
Stones are around it, and an elder bush
Is there; a high rowan tree; and so
The well is marked.
Who knows
Whence come the waters? Through what passages
Beneath? From what high tors
Where forests are? Forests dripping rain!
Branches pouring to the ground; trunks, barks, roots,
Letting the streamlets down: through the dark earth
The water flows, and in that secret flood
That's called a spring, that finds this little hollow.
Who knows
Whence come the waters that fill cup and palm?
Sweetheart and comrade, I give you
The waters' marches and the forest's bound,
The valley-filling cloud, the trees that set
The rains beneath their roots, out of this well.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Winter
The sun with all its beauty and glory has gone.
Where has it gone? Nowhere.
But again I ask: Why do I not see it?
It has given way to Winter.
But why?
Is it because that everything in nature comes and goes
or is it because that it had no choice but to go and give way
to a sombre and disheartening state of affairs just for the sake of it? Hmm.....
I have often wondered.
Gloomy days and frosty nights are its constituent.
Water trickling down from overhead and onto the ground,
moistening the earth after the earth baking I found
Oh! a water dropp fell down the back of my neck
- how cold yet how soothing.
All cuddled up in a big fur coat seeking to find some shelter
I was where from a front yard porch could look at the water
washing away all the ash of yesterday.
How pleasant it is to see such a sight
as a river of water making its way
down the gutter of man made carrying with it
all the dirt and scum that was and will be there another day.
Having found my shelter and home I was dripping and shaking from a winter day looking out there and thinking I dare not be in it again.
It can be good and it can be bad, knowing this now after years gone by
when I was a child in dismay wondering why I felt so sad. A child in dismay. A child in dismay.......
Ah! another cold dropp fell down the back of my neck,
through a hole in the porch roof which awakened me from days gone by.
Oh how cruel winter is in a way stirring me to think of memories from pleasanter days.
The days are short, the nights are long and both are cold.
I must adapt myself as others do to escape the danger
and cost of paying the bill when all is needed for winter.
How I wish I was in summer dreaming about winter,
but then why should I when both are hard times.
poem by George Krokos
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Alone On A Stormy Night
flashes of lightning
roaring thunder
heavy rains and
flooded highways
the street lights are off.
there is total darkness
the strong straight light of the car
guides me towards home.
i park the car beside the
the house. I get out and
open the front door.
winds blowing stronger
the veranda is drenched
the gutter with leaves
overflows with water.
i open the door of my room.
undress myself and wipe my body.
i am dry. Silent. Uncomplaining.
i am finally alone.
I decided not to argue. Not to think.
Relax. Sleep. Dream.
Too much reason, too many arguments
When what i need is only this pillow
This blanket,
A window closed. A safe house.
A glass of water perhaps. But later.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where The Waters Meet
today i feel good
i walked in the water
loved how it felt under my feet
i look out in the oceans
and wonder
where the waters meet
so i walk i untill the water meets my breast
i look around and see more water
am i in the middle
where the waters meet
do it feel me
where the water meets my skin
so warm and soft
but yet so i wonder
where the waters meet
i give in to the waves
and lean till i float
close my eyes and i feel my self drift away
where the water meet i will never know
where the waves take me is where ill go
where the water meets my soul
poem by Raesheka Antwine
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The Daly River
By those northern river banks,
There in days gone by I wandered,
By clear streaming waters pondered,
Youthful hours were never squandered,
By those sandy verdant flanks.
Saw the rain in torrents falling,
Heard the native dogs there calling,
Saw from sea the rain clouds squalling,
By the Daly river banks.
Born upon a distant range,
All the streams that feed the Daly,
Flowing slow or tumbling gaily,
Come the rains it rises daily,
In a flash the seasons change.
Down the stony gullies creeping,
From the fissured hillside seeping,
Rolling clouds their tears are weeping,
Over all the monsoon's range.
Sheeting over flats and plains,
By the creeks clear waters flowing,
To the raging river going,
As the land the heavens sowing,
Ever heavy fall the rains.
Then at last the gloom is breaking,
Sun asleep in cloud is waking,
Mud upon the flood plains baking,
So at length the wet it wanes.
In its middle reaches flows
Beautiful and clear and gleaming,
By treed sandy banks it's streaming,
With life in its waters teeming,
So it ever onward goes.
Over rocky bar it crashes,
Past the jutting sandbar dashes,
Dancing light in flowing flashes,
Cool but molten - bright it glows.
As the season turns to dry
Slowly flows the Daly river,
Piercing snags in currents quiver,
Sunken trees whose branches shiver,
Where at rest their bodies lie.
There a crocodile is sliding,
Close by muddy bank is hiding,
As the river calmly gliding,
Soft the passing waters sigh.
Soon the river widens more,
There a rolling wave is crashing,
White with foam and spray there splashing,
Sodden banks the torrent lashing,
Upstream runs the tidal bore.
Waters fresh and brackish blending,
Eddies, swirls, and whirlpools rending,
Still the winding river wending,
To the distant ocean shore.
Now the waters grey and wide,
As her heavy heart is flagging,
Wearily her burden dragging,
In her race to broad sea lagging,
Battling the surging tide.
But there spreads the great wide water,
And from there to every quarter,
There's no force on Earth will thwart her,
‘Till whatever fates decide.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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It Rains
it rains
it is far from what i guess
the road has become
one empty
platform
people run away
and then it makes me
really happy
it rains
and those who are afraid of the water
are separated from those
who have no fears
of getting wet and of being alone
of filling an empty street and be counted as
an ostrich
it rains
and the room shall be filled with people
of runaways
who want shelter
it rains and people get divided
and people know each other
and people make decisions
and the rain makes the sound
there is sorrow
but no one cares to listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Write Truthfully About The Rain
i must be here when the rain falls
heavily and when the waters rise
above canals and manholes
where what i see is water everywhere
when the rain does not stop
i must cross this street to another
street taking the middle of this flooded ways
without an umbrella
without my clothes on
the rain falls in all freedom
to the pores of my body
penetrating the thickness of my hair
my mouth drinks its drops
my ears take some more
i may be blinded and even be deaf
let the rain fall freely & heavily on my body
only then can i truthfully write about this rain
this walk this wetness this freedom this oneness
on the world that cries on these drops these tears
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Th
there are times when we fell like
waste paper, that uselessness,
when we seem to be not connected at all
even to our very own self
when we are scattering sheets of paper
in the air
falling like confetti to the ground
and then it rains
and everything is wet
drained
to the dirty canals of our cities
down, down to the
worst of our histories
i let go off these all,
i simply wait for another sun
and rainbow after the rain
things do not last anyway
the good and the bad end themselves
beauty and ugliness
sadness and happiness
then every hump levels up
there is the plain, and then the grass and then the gaze.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Last Gaze....
there are times when we fell like
waste paper, that uselessness,
when we seem to be not connected at all
even to our very own self
when we are scattering sheets of paper
in the air
falling like confetti to the ground
and then it rains
and everything is wet
drained
to the dirty canals of our cities
down, down to the
worst of our histories
i let go off these all,
i simply wait for another sun
and rainbow after the rain
things do not last anyway
the good and the bad end themselves
beauty and ugliness
sadness and happiness
then every hump levels up
there is the plain, and then the grass and then the gaze.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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