The Sound Images Of Innocence
bathing bare on the river
the kids of the neighborhood
they have never seen
the crocodile
and then the go home
together
spreading laughter
along the path of mud
beside the
wild flowers
they pass upon a forest
and climbs some trees
tease the monkeys
and gather the ripe berries
and imitate the wings
of black birds
the chase each other
without the numbers
never mind their shadows
until it gets dark
and then they are home again
their mothers singing songs
their fathers telling stories
about how the tigers roar
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My little playful monkeys
My little monkeys in the forest are all funny
As usual they jump from vine to vine
And fall and rise, and fall from river to river,
My little monkeys with little tails with little
Mouths and tiny baby-like hands, they wink
And play and chase and run and almost like bats
Flying from top to top of treetops from branch
To branch to twigs to twigs, all these cute
Little monkeys so playfully playful in the forest,
In my mind, I play with all of them throughout
The day, till noon, till afternoon, till nights even,
But no, when darkness comes, these cute little
Monkeys all return to bigger higher trees where
Their big monkey-mothers and big-monkey-fathers
Wait and care for them and all hide them in their arms.
And I am all left alone, like little Tarzan boy in an empty cave
feeling so deserted and betrayed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The City
the city was once
a forest of trees
when the pioneers
arrive with their axes
and each tree fell
and the river swollen
mothers had to have
more children
and fathers had to
plow more fields
and plant the rows and
rows of corn
as monkeys on top
of the remaining trees
tease
the grasshoppers
find enough sleep
and the ants keep
on building their
empire on mounds
and mounds of
dry land
that was how
a city was formed
my father said
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Secret of the Sun
Raised by the bare bones of nature’s grace,
my home held hands with the feral forest,
where nature hid her gold.
I have heard palm trees whisper their stories
I have listened to the silent full moon quietly teach
lessons of those who had lived.
I know of the green secrets of the earth
Soft voices of searching roots that sprout forth, cluster
around my hut to tell.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I understand the tongue of the wild.
I have swayed to the blue songs of humming birds that fill the
tree branches with their nests.
I have had breakfast plucked ripe off the tree
and lunch caught right from the river.
I have aimed a stick in the forest and secured supper.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
where nature’s breast milk flows from palm trees
and every suckle leaves a smile on wrinkled ebony faces.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I have seen rains held up at the summons of wooden carved gods.
women foretell events of the next day, and men
hear voices of elders long dead.
I am from the bowels of Africa
I am carolled to dreamland by
crickets, frogs and fireflies
that mime nature’s song at night fall
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I am the dark secret held by the sun
To Distinguish A Farm From A Forest
the child in her cannot yet
distinguish a farm from a forest
that having seen for the first time
a bunkhouse beneath those coconut trees
she told her mommy that
they are now in the forest and that
she plans to write about
tarzan and jane,
and the monkeys and tigers,
sometimes i miss kids and sometimes
i think i could have been a better teacher
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wild Kangaroo
The rain-clouds have gone to the deep -
The East like a furnace doth glow;
And the day-spring is flooding the steep,
And sheening the landscape below.
Oh, ye who are gifted with souls
That delight in the music of birds,
Come forth where the scattered mist rolls,
And listen to eloquent words!
Oh, ye who are fond of the sport,
And would travel yon wilderness through,
Gather - each to his place - for a life-stirring chase,
In the wake of the wild Kangaroo!
Gather - each to his place -
For a life-stirring chase
In the wake of the wild Kangaroo!
Beyond the wide rents of the fog,
The trees are illumined with gold;
And the bark of the shepherd's brave dog
Shoots away from the sheltering fold.
Down the depths of yon rock-border'd glade,
A torrent goes foaming along;
And the blind-owls retire into shade,
And the bell-bird beginneth its song.
By the side of that yawning abyss,
Where the vapours are hurrying to,
We will merrily pass, looking down to the grass
For the tracks of the wild Kangaroo!
We will merrily pass,
Looking down to the grass
For the tracks of the wild Kangaroo.
Ho, brothers, away to the woods;
Euroka hath clambered the hill;
But the morning there seldom intrudes,
Where the night-shadows slumber on still.
We will roam o'er these forest-lands wild,
And thread the dark masses of vines,
Where the winds, like the voice of a child,
Are singing aloft in the pines.
We must keep down the glee of our hounds;
We must ~steal~ through the glittering dew;
And the breezes shall sleep as we cautiously creep
To the haunts of the wild Kangaroo.
And the breezes shall sleep,
As we cautiously creep
To the haunts of the wild Kangaroo.
When we pass through a stillness like death
The swamp fowl and timorous quail,
Like the leaves in a hurricane's breath,
Will start from their nests in the vale;
And the forester,* snuffing the air,
Will bound from his covert so dark,
While we follow along in the rear,
As arrows speed on to their mark!
Then the swift hounds shall bring him to bay,
And we'll send forth a hearty halloo,
As we gather them all to be in at the fall -
At the death of the wild Kangaroo!
As we gather them all
To be in at the fall -
At the death of the wild Kangaroo!
poem by Henry Kendall
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I Weave My Cocoon, Only For Own Metamorphosis!
Strangely life looks like a web,
Knitted by Sunlight,
Light of distant stars,
And light Reflected by moon and planets..
I could have survived and cut the web,
but the web is strengthened by more layers,
May be light absorbed and reflected by me,
And bouncing back from my Kiths and kins,
Mosquitoes and bugs,
My own blood relatives,
Sharing my blood or may be I am sharing thiers!
Life is like ground under fruit bearing tree,
Full of smashed fruits by its own fall,
Half eaten, half ripe, may be fully ripen and may be rotten!
Delicious and sweet fruits it bear,
Sometimes by cosmic friends, parrots and bats,
May be monkeys and niebours,
Test me and tease me,
My ability to access the fruits,
They have better nose and eyes than me,
They observe changes faster than me,
They peck or take a bite,
before I can wake up and see,
Birds are better than bats and monkeys,
Birds just eat enough and fly,
Monkeys and bats are horrible,
They taste one, pluck many,
Take to their friends and relatives,
And throw on their path
as a route map to others,
Rotten fruits smell bad,
Flies and mosquitoes,
Flies spread disease, are better,
Mosquitoes spread disease
and feast on my blood too,
Just like juice after meal!
All these knit web around!
All I have that is my own nest,
My own shining shine,
Where I weep, laugh and workout my own plans,
Which becomes my shield,
And what look like shield is my own cocoon,
Where I sleep or meditate,
Only come out completely metamorphing myself,
cutting cocoon With flying colours!
I feelfree now with coloured wings,
Antennae and suckers,
I fly over flowers,
But gather nectar and I help flowers to live fruitful!
But I am innocent
I sing and dance in air,
With my coloured wings
I am a flying flower
Found in garden or in wild!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Moutain Cloud
Clouds gather, the monkeys gawk over the trees
With fright, cover their babies on bellies
A lone bird flaps its wings away to nest
The dark clouds gather over the mountain
People point with glee, the drought be would over
Trees sway and dance, the storm so strong
Lightening spits fire with golden streaks
Patter patter, patter patter, heaven gates open
Rivers flow with gusto, farmers sing with passion
As monkeys curse, the birds sleep with glee.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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When I Think Of Home
When I think of 'home' I think of cherry pies
When I think of 'home' I think of mulberry trees
When I think of 'home' I think of butterflies
When I think of 'home' I think of bumble bees
When I think of 'home' I think of hummingbirds
When I think of 'home' I think of sun brewed tea
When I think of 'home' I think of morning walks
When I think of 'home' I think of Grandma and me
When I think of 'home' I think of hidden trails
When I think of 'home' I think of lullabies
When I think of 'home' I think of signs of spring
When I think of 'home' I think of pumpkin pies
When I think of 'home' I think of bedtime stories
When I think of 'home' I think of I think of honeysuckle
When I think of 'home' I think of roses blooming
When I think of 'home' I can't help but chuckle
Because when I think of 'home' I think Heaven
When I think of 'home' I think of all thats kind
When I think of 'home' I think of dancing
When I think of 'home' Grandma comes to mind
poem by Catlin L. Crawford
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Home Sweet Home
sunday on a home sweet home
from the city
to this little nipa hut
on top of a hill
that father built
where the guava trees are filled
with ripe fruits
where i climb and gather and taste
the sweetness of its pink flesh
where the carabaos rest
in the coolness of mudholes
where i take my ride on them
in the river nearby
on crystal clear waters
where some fish swim on shallow waters
inviting me to fish and catch them
for lunch of pearl white glutenous rice
and with banana leaves as plates
and some wild chicken's barbecued breast
and with my bare hands and
some childhood friends
we shall take this simple feast
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Save Forests and Rare Species
The Franklin forests are extinct;
These trees of beauty are now rare;
No more are they found in the wild;
Their fragrant flowers tempt a child!
Last seen in 18 zero3,
By Altamaha river-side –
A deciduous tree or shrub,
It grows upto a twenty feet.
With leaves that change color by fall,
Its snow-white flowers are showy;
With golden yellow stamens free,
It is now grown in pots from seeds!
But nothing like the forests wild
Of Franklin trees that grew on own;
You could not find a path through them –
Home to wild animals many.
How Nature rears a forest dense!
–The secrets, no man deciphers;
The way they flourish in the wild,
No gardener can do like-wise!
As man destroys more forest trees,
For want of newer farming land,
Wild wondrous trees then cease to be,
And other species vanish too.
Deforestation is a crime
That has gone uncontrolled with time;
Rare species of trees, shrubs and beasts
Have been effaced from earth with ease.
The earth has lesser green cover!
’Tis growing bald, much more each day,
As forest trees are felled for wood,
At rates more than we ever should.
World’s rain-forests are turning scarce –
A cause of global-warming fast;
Landslides and floods are dangers new;
More species turn something of past!
Trees extract carbon-dioxide,
And make the air less polluted;
Wild beasts are on the rampage when
Their forest habitats are gone.
Save forests and afforest, man;
The clouds bring rain when trees ask for;
Wild beasts need forests for their homes;
Preserve forests in ways you can.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-23-2008
poem by John Celes
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My Frost-King - Song II
Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.
Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.
Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And on the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The 'Power of Love,' by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Brighter Shone The Golden Shadows
Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.
Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.
Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And o'er the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The 'Power of Love,' by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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The Further Bank
I long to go over there to the further bank of the river.
Where those boats are tied to the bamboo poles in a line;
Where men cross over in their boats in the morning with
ploughs on their shoulders to till their far-away fields;
Where the cowherds make their lowing cattle swim across to the
riverside pasture;
Whence they all come back home in the evening, leaving the
jackals to howl in the island overgrown with weeds.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferry when I am grown up.
They say there are strange pools hidden behind that high bank.
Where flocks of wild ducks come when the rains are over, and
thick reeds grow round the margins where water-birds lay their
eggs;
Where snipes with their dancing tails stamp their tiny
footprints upon the clean soft mud;
Where in the evening the tall grasses crested with while
flowers invite the moonbeam to float upon their waves.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
I shall cross and cross back from bank to bank, and all the
boys and girls of the village will wonder at me while they are
bathing.
When the sun climbs the mid sky and morning wears on to noon,
I shall come running to you, saying, "Mother, I am hungry."
When the day is done and the shadows cower under the trees,
I shall come back in the dust.
I shall never go away from you into the town to work like
father.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Home, Sweet Home.....
There is no place like home in this world
Home sweet home where I always live so happily
A light from the sky seems to bless us there
and God's love is spread all over there
How happy when you sit with loved ones
and to see their faces full of love smile
How nice to sit near our parents and great parents
and listen to their old stories that bring us lessons too
Our garden full of greenery and the flowers are
bloomed to give us pleasure
All those birds on the trees singing gaily
to give us a peace of mind
Our pets run freely in and out of the house
and keep us busy to watch their naughtiness
When I look at the mountains in their great splendor
that blows with cool breeze that give us healthy life
Our neighbors are dear and so helpful without fear
An exile from home, bring nothing but sadness
Because home is sweet home.
(Sri Lanka/2007)
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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The Frost-King' Song II
Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.
Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.
Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And on the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The "Power of Love," by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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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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Country Song
`Lily of the Valley (Convalaria Majalis, fam. Lilliaceae). Grows wild in N. England. Commonly cultivated. Flowers in May. Berries red when ripe. Leaves particularly poisonous because three constituents depress the heart, like Foxglove.'
What are the constituents that depress the heart?
the scent of lilies in dark green silences under trees
milkweed and ragwort and sunshine in hedges
small flowers picked amongst trees when it's raining
A year ago
You planted lilies in the valley of my mind
There were lilies at the bottom of my garden
And ferrys at the bottom of my street
Now
I sit here in sunlight with the smell of wild garlic
Trying to tape record the sound of windflowers and
celandines
Wondering What are the three constituents that depress the heart Without you here in the country?
poem by Adrian Henri
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A Happy Poem
a little boy free from mama's hold
to the backyard with his marbles
shooting them in the holes then
he calls his friends and hides
in the bushes where he cannot be found
to the hills he catches his dragonflies
he climbs and gathers ripe mangoes
he goes to the river with his peers
catches fish and jumps to swim
you hear him laugh and sing
till it is dark he thinks of home
his hot soup and dinner
then his mother kisses him
tells him stories and then he soundly sleeps
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mistrust
The mistrust spread over the world
Where does it first unfurl
From what cocoon does it uncurl
Do fathers mistrust mothers
Do mothers mistrust fathers
Do fathers mistrust sons
Do mothers mistrust daughters
Do we trust our own selves
If trust is not found at home
If mistrust is the legacy of home
Then what hope have we
That trust will be
Born into this place
Love of self and self alone
Brings to us this bone of mistrust
And enfleshes to its birth.
7/5/2009
poem by Claude H Oliver II
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I Will Take You Home
Little girl lost
In a forest of dreams.
Its a dark old wood
And its damp with dew.
Hoot owl hoots
For a moment it seems
Something big and cold
Got ahold of you.
Just when everything gets scary,
Daddys come round for his darlin again.
Hold my hand with your little fingers.
Daddys loving arms gonna gather you in.
Aint no way the bogeyman can get you,
You can close your eyes, the world is gonna let you,
Your daddys here and never will forget you,
I will take you home.
I will take you home.
Gonna carry you back home
In my arms.
I will take you home.
Long is the road
We must travel on down.
Short are the legs
That will struggle behind.
I wish I knew for sure
Just where were bound,
What we will be doin
And what were gonna find.
Wherever we go, there will be birds to cheer you
Flowers to color in the fields around.
Wherever we go, Ill be right here near you
You cant get lost when youre always found.
Aint no fog thats thick enough to hide you
Your daddys gonna be right here beside you
If your fears should start to get inside you.
I will take you home.
I will take you home.
Gonna carry you back home
In my arms.
I will take you home.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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