There Will Be No More Flowers
you finally decide to leave the garden
the grass are taller now
and the little flowers are drowned
there is nothing worth the keeping and the cultivating
the rains have becomes useless seasons
like the sun and its sunny days
now is the season of departure
the packing and letting things go
the trees wildly growing
the mud sticking and the stones silent
living with the moss and the rotten leaves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is Spring Time
It is Spring Time
It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.
It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.
It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.
It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.
It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.
It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.
It is spring time.
poem by Crystal Chown
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When You Finally Reveal What You Feel
the time has come
to tell her
that she is hurting me
she didn't know
and when she knows finally
she offers her hands of silence
she wants to go for a while
and know some more what has been wrong
with her
when she comes back i am ready for
all the consequences of my
words
the doors are open and so are the windows
the world is too beautiful to welcome me again
to her place
i do not care anymore if it rains
when the right time also for her to decide
my shoes are ready and it is rocking itself to
a new beat
i like to dance but i still
have a little restraint
respect is still there sticking like a moss
which will still miss the wetness of the stones
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Song of Her Garden
She builds her pleasant garden
Where the winds are not so strong
The sun sometimes relenting
Becomes her companion
The garden spreads its arms to her
Thick shoulders, fragile hands
The creepers and the vines that bear
Her flowers from many lands
There is shade upon her shadow
And a path of leaves and stones
That were inlaid imperceptibly
Through years of life alone
There's a trickle of river water
Breaking on a precipice
An ornately painted corner
Where she sees the light of bliss
Papaya trees and lemon trees
That the hurricanes forgot
The garden is her mirror
It reflects her, then does not
Wind chimes in the moonlight
Songbirds awake till dawn
She cultivates the seasons,
Leaves the garden to be born.
poem by Frank Bana
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If There Are The Thigns
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why dont I dream
Anymore
Ive tried to tell myself
Nothings changed my dear
But I look around me
And think maybe thats not so
I only have nightmares
And wake up with cold sweat
Coming through my pores
Why dont I dream anymore
Im in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them before they fall
I finally grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
Its rotten to the core
Why dont I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why dont I dream
Anymore
We lose our patience
Lose our trust
Yes we lose our innocence
To forget our sorrow and hide our pain
We lose old memories
But dreams are what lifes worth living for
I wish I could dream
Once more
Im in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them before they fall
I finally grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
Its rotten to the core
Why dont I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why dont I dream anymore
Ive tried to tell myself
Its all for the best my dear
But I look around me and think
Maybe thats not so
I only have nightmares
Wake up in a cold sweat
Have I become as corrupt
As all I abhor
Im in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them before they fall
I finally grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
Its rotten to the core
Why dont I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
I dont want anymore
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Longİ Ng Through The Seasons
ARE WE CHANGİ NG...or the seasons...the last leaves of the trees...tend no to fall from the trees...the last flowers of fall tend not to bloom again.....are we changing or the seasons...are we changing or the seasons...happy tiny fingers caress the whiteness of the falling snow near the window pane...at the other side...bare feet are shivering in the snow...as though match seller girl of andersen has revived again..some people are begging in the wilderness for piece of bread..are we cahanging or the seasons..an old woman her hair bleached by snow opening her hand..for a stand...are we chaNGİ NG OR THE SEASONS....the last flowers of the seasons of the seasons tend not to bloom again...I envy the struggle between the seasons for being and overwhelming....and when every season changes...I long for a new fresh life and world towards goodnes...beauty...peace and brother hood.............
poem by Metin Sahin
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Rain
Thoughts of rain at sunset
Clouds of rainbow blue
Thoughts of sun on sand-dunes
Where the seabirds flew
This was our season, and we said it couldnt end
But my love left with the rain.
Thoughts of leaves in autumn
Falling from the trees
Thoughts of hoaring tree tops
Leading to the sea
This was our season, no lies and no pretend
But my love left with the rain.
Thoughts of springtime rainfall
Touching flowers that bend
Thoughts of wind in willows
Days that never end
This was our season, but sorrow waited round the bend
For my love left with the rain.
Rains the way you move now
Sun the way you seem
Leaves the way you wonder
Flowers the way you dream
This was our season, and we said it couldnt end
But my love left with the rain
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Political Theory
the way you manage things
pertains to an ordinary garden
weeding out the bad ones
cultivating the ideals
the snakes are caught and
cut to pieces
and the rats poisoned
and the trees pruned
the paths cleaned of rocks
and pebbles
you level mountains
desiring the plains
and the neighborhood claps
their hand and shall make
new monuments for you
there are words of praises
but not from me
for in my garden
the snakes thrive with the rats
the moss grows well with the stone
the grasses and the buffaloes
the rivers and the reeds
the fish and crocodiles
the bees and the flowers
the mountains stay as is
and the plains spread as they wish
i just let themselves be
and they are all very happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My autumn [2]
Around me trees are stripped
rigid, bare and totally naked
and heaps of leaves lie fallen
already colouring
from yellow to red and into brown.
Everything is lifeless,
like my life in pieces
and still there are thunderstorms
that repeatedly falls in this winter
out of season
and I am almost blinded by the thunder
as if it wants to devour everything about me
and still there’s new life
that this rain brings
and it’s clear
that my autumn is coming too early
and although my body still feels young
the greyness are creeping in
and you write words
of keeping yourself in vain,
of a child
that never will be born
and about everything becoming rotten
like a compos heap
and that love has also receded
as if everything this autumn
has elapsed for once and all.
Yet the grass is still green,
some trees are covered with leaves
and I wonder where you and I stand
when this season disappears
and the coming winter ends?
Still you are in my heart,
as if you are part of me
and I know that life without you
is totally meaningless.
poem by Gert Strydom
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x19-What is Right Then?
-Jane Spencers-
The leaves are greener, taller are the grass.
Birds do often come and go
as seasons never last.
Would someone tell me
the way of life?
Coz i see it cruel-
in my own perfect sight.
What is right then?
Prolonging the pain...
or ending it?
Hurting so completely...
or feeling ease inside?
Fighting for a love that's dying...
or surrendering to the fight?
The water is cooler as it ever was...
Trees do wither, petals die
as this cruel life never lasts.
Would someone tell me
the truth of life?
Coz i see its own lies-
in my own way of mind.
What is right then?
Living a life of misery...
or choosing peace in death?
Holding on to a knife
on the cliff of a hill
in the cold of the night,
waiting for miracles
that would never come to you...
or just giving up by letting go?
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Women trees
The hidden flowers of the trees
In their bud breasts
Waiting their colored blooming
In cups
On their old branches
The moss growing on the trunk
Like green thighs
On their very thin old cracked crust
With swelling whitish scattered areolae,
Buzzing bee in their tree honeycomb
Like a voice of the heart letting out its sorrow
Aerating their roots with softer mysteries
Growing up above the ground
Their knee roots allowing the inflow of life
To the fibres
Those trees
Like wooden women statues.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Useless
the scissor trims
taking only what is necessary
for the design
the excess becomes
useless, thrown
away
and those which
are meant to stay
stay, and become
a part of
a new landscape
flowers
and leaves
and stones
in her own kind
of tapestry
and those who
are thrown away
shall keep the
faith of
next time
nothing diminishes
the importance later
of what she deems
as useless
that night
she thinks that something
is missing
yes, the grass.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You ask me if I am sad…
I know why you are asking me if I am sad
Like Pablo Neruda I have written most of the sad lines
The saddest even if you paid
The closest attention
Sunset, dimming nature’s lights
Departure of my dearly beloved
Drying riverbeds, wilting vines on the fence
The well of the house that finally ran dry
The grass that promised to grow some flowers
The sadness of the eyes trying to hide in the curves of the smile
The breakfast on that lonely table
The river flowing all alone towards the sea
The birds stopping on this silent tunnel and then flying away
All these you have been reading
Every word seeping without a quiver in the bottom of your heart
They fall like dead leaves from trees without buds
The silent sands covering the shores of your memories
All these you have been seeing, figuring out
My sadness and perhaps from your sadness too you begin to ask
Why? What could be the reason for all these?
Tonight, I am looking at the moon
I am not looking at my wound
I have no quibble I am simply seeing things the way they are
I have no beginning and I have no end
I do not die; I only live every moment of my life
I may be shattered but I make myself whole again
Tonight, let us not ask the questions
Let us not care about the answers….
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer's Wind
Be weary, Lord of the summer wind,
Lord of the heat that you blow in,
Away with flowers, land and trees,
To stay them not, least all the trees.
Listen to this, all that I say,
Our land does die, and drift away.
Our living born upon the wind,
All of ours, and those of friends.
So we called upon the leave-filled wind,
The autumn one, of which were friends.
This wind of cool and gentle hand,
Not like the wind that stole our land.
And the heat did melt into the leaves,
And turned them colors from the trees.
Then the leave-filled wind bore them away,
And upon the land, they came to stay.
And stayed them there, till land-hard cold,
And then the land, the leaves they stole.
And after the harsh cold wind had blown,
And living soil again was sown,
Summer's wind came again to prey,
Upon our lands, most every day.
But our living land, the leaves did save,
And the summer's wind did blow away,
Never to re-live, the seasons day.
The cool soft wind now blows so free,
Upon the land, and through the trees.
All through the people, and over me.
poem by Sandra Osborne
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There Are No Minutes Kept Backed Up
There are no minutes kept backed up,
To put aside to decide to live them.
There are no minutes that can be stored as such,
For one to decide life is worth living.
There are no minutes kept backed up.
None one can say they have wrapped up.
There is no one on Earth with that much luck...
To decide when their life is worth the living.
People think they should be shown some proof,
That a life they live is worth the living.
While they isolate themselves locked up in coops,
To decide that a life they live is worth the living.
While awaiting for someone to approve what they do,
That a life given to them is worth the living.
With a choosing of every move...
Excusing some choices while others are removed.
To clarify that a life they live is worth the living.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Irresistible
Seasons come, seasons go
But each season leaves a distinction
For which it is remembered
So once a season came
With a green environment
Rosy plants all around
And I enjoyed the period
Went to the orchard
And picked a flower
That I stayed with long after the season had vanished
But this same flower I had picked
Went with the season
I did not know I could not stay with it
Without its season
Despite all that
There is a wonderful flower I have seen
Which does not vary with seasons
But stays amidst all circumstances and seasons
It has a goon\d name
That every time I mention it
I find myself hungry
Dear sister
Pick the flower too
The all season flower of salvation!
poem by Brian Bwesigye
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Untitled pieces III
Untitled pieces III
My feet hanging from the roof,
I sit staring at the sky,
Some stars twinkling far away,
The moon drowned in the dark,
The trees so silent-leaves motionless,
Strike a chord-the music begins!
I see my shadow evolve in the field,
Much longer - much darker than me,
Reminding me of those golden days,
Much shorter-much happier than today,
A joy in my heart-a bunch of friends,
Sang songs of life-brought life in life!
The breeze brings in a scent of solitude,
The silent trees have lulled the birds asleep,
The motionless leaves have hidden the fruits,
The faint moon has emptied the sky,
There is a void in the air,
As I reflect on my toy of thoughts.
Will I be lost like those fruits in the dark?
Will I be drowned like the moon in solitude?
Will I be silent like those trees?
Will I be motionless like those leaves?
The night is devilish bringing thoughts of end,
Like those twinkling stars passing into nothingness.
poem by Saket Suman
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Once In A Lifetime
And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful
Wife
And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the moneys gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the moneys gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Water dissolving...and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Carry the water at the bottom of the ocean
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean!
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the moneys gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!...what have I done?
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the moneys gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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