Those Rumors....
the talk of the town is like a river
it runs to the banks of the rivers of other towns
and fills in every openings along the way
it floods and does not ebb away
until it finds the sea with a very big mouth
and swallows everything
like a whale to all the
species of plankton
along the shores of time
there lies peace and cool sea breeze
and varieties of lovers once again
make their usual forbidden trysts
under those tall coconut trees.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Choked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstructing her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is any more than she can tell what time it is
Which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog swallows it
She has been misled again
...and again
......and again
She screams, she’s tired; she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like she’s been here forever
Trees that don’t talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
Mocking her, humiliating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
Water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Joyce Forbus
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When We Meet Again Sometime This Summer
i tell you, i do not like winters, and i do not wish
to go where winter lies. I am intolerant of anything
that freezes me, that thaws, that gives me frost,
that bites like an ant, that solidifies me like
refrigerator ice.
i like summers. Flowers blooming. Green grass
spreading. Butterflies in different colors in the garden.
Bees just enough for the buzz. I love trees. I love
rivers, and springs and creeks.
Bamboo trees beside the rocks beside the pebbles
beside the river. I like the songs of the rivers. Lots of rivers.
Gentle rains. Hush winds. Cool shades. Shadows of mountains.
When we meet again, i like it to be this summer.
Lots of sun. Warmth., Sweat. Perspirations. Palpitations
of the hearts of the young on summer time.
Under the cool shades of the trees on summer nights.
I always remember summer nights.Strong summer winds.
Flown hair. Drying pants and underwears. My legs exposed
Beside the brook. I like being naked. I like being on top of
everything.
With you, on you, by you, within you, in your mouth all over your face.
Oh summer breeze. See you. Feel you. Love you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chocked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstracting her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is anymore than she can tell what time it is
which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog shollows it
She has been mislead again
...and again
......and again
She screams, shes tired, she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like shes been here forever
Trees that dont talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
mocking her, humilating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Dowdy
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A Night In Paris
Sailing down the river Seine
the breeze of the cool Paris air runs through my skin.
In the city of lights, love is in the air.
Kissing couples awash in that lovers glow
as the calm waters flow,
sounds of laughter fills the air.
On this starry night of unbridled bliss
there is nothing that’s amiss
in this ambience of serenity and happiness.
poem by Lyndon Murray
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Flowing Red River
I dive head first into the flowing red river.
It's acrid taste fills my mouth.
I drown in it's putrid depths.
My heart pounds and excitement grips.
As the flowing red river drips.
I cannot contain my growing glee.
I cannot wait to feed on it's bounty.
From down below I stand up straight.
I rise to greet this wonderful fate.
The flowing red river fills me up.
I bend right down from it to suck.
In and out I feel such love.
It cleans my soul flowing red river runs.
I feel it right now it's almost gone.
The pinnacle of joy hits like a bomb.
Yet I'm sad when the flowing red rivers gone.
Fear not though we'll always meet.
When the flowing red river comes to greet.
poem by Michael McParland
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The Barrio In The South
the green waters rise
to rinse the roots of the coconut trees
the lilies float
the ripples carry them to a joyful journey
to the banks of the river
where the children play
this is the place that you miss
an island a hut a river
the peace and quiet
of the ipil-ipil leaves
showering when the wind passes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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4a
tongue-tied winds
on sturdy trees
sea weaving waves
log-rolling on the shores
moon floating weakly
on the murky river
nights without neon lights
brokenhearted
rivers on their usual journeys
towards the sea of options
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death Of The Trees
My town is a place where
The rich tourists come,
With mountains and rivers
That glint in the sun!
Luxuriant beaches
Of ivory sand,
But all the jade forests
Now no longer stand!
There once were lush jungles
That grew dense and tall,
But woodcutters came when
The town was still small...
They hacked all the trees down
And shipped them away,
In huge merchant vessels
That sailed to the bay!
They went back to Europe
With precious hard woods,
Sold it as furniture
And other fine goods...
I wish I could travel
In time to the day
Before people cleared all
The forests away!
I wish I had seen them
Before settlers came,
The mountains and rivers
May still be the same...
Iron, Yellow, Black Wood
And most of all trees,
Don't sway any more in
The fresh coastal breeze...
This poetry is an adapted poem for
Lisa La Grange, her copyright,2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Calbiga Caves
the caves of calbiga
hide the roots of trees
those that seem
to be growing strong
from above them
the summit of green leaves
and cool summer breeze
from the samar sea
the same roots
that you talk about
somewhere in vietnam
age and ages
they never tell us
the truth about themselves
we see them now
still strongly attached
living and breathing
but as usual mute
about the horrors of war
the killing of tribes
the annihilation of brothers
who came here before us?
what have they done
that you fear talking?
i know there used
to be blood running
along the rivers and
the tributaries
i know there are still
other stories to be told
but the water is now colder
and the night is near
we pack up again
and then go........
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Place Of Romantic Mood!
Romantic mood comes whenever we see a park!
One such park is a centre of attraction in our town;
Green lawn all around the park with open space wide
And trees with wide branches giving shade make it
A romantic place for lovers and tourists to enjoy here!
The parks of this kind I have seen in hill stations where
The climate is a plus point for tourists’ attraction there!
Varieties of flowers of different colours and fragrance
And fountains ejecting high up water give thrilling joy!
Blue sky, green grass lawn, fountain waters cooling all
And tall trees of big branches giving shade all over there
Make the park a small paradise for lovers and tourists!
For regaining joyful mood and relaxing in romantic mood
Where can we go for except the park of paradise here?
poem by Ramesh T A
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Matamoras Banks
(Each year many die crossing the deserts,
mountains and rivers of our southern border
in search of a better life. Here I follow the
journey backwards, from the body at the
river bottom, to the man walking across
the desert towards the banks of the Rio Grande.)
For two days the river keeps you down
Then you rise to the light without a sound
Past the playgrounds and empty switching yards
The turtles eat the skin from your eyes, so they lay open to the stars
Your clothes give way to the current and river stone
'Till every trace of who you ever were is gone
And the things of the earth they make their claim
That the things of heaven may do the same
Goodbye, my darling, for your love I give God thanks,
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
Over rivers of stone and ancient ocean beds
I walk on sandals of twine and tire tread
My pockets full of dust, my mouth filled with cool stone
The pale moon opens the earth to its bones
I long, my darling, for your kiss, for your sweet love I give God thanks
The touch of your loving fingertips
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
Your sweet memory comes on the evenin' wind
I sleep and dream of holding you in my arms again
The lights of Brownsville, across the river shine
A shout rings out and into the silty red river I dive
I long, my darling, for your kiss, for your sweet love I give God thanks
A touch of your loving fingertips
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is It...
This is the life that you dream of
Every night. This is it, this is the love
That took you a long time to aspire.
This is the spring that you desire.
Make the best of it, take a long walk,
Along the river banks to chat, talk,
And discuss what troubles you.
This is the winter that few
Have a chance to enjoy; it is fun
To play in the snow. The sun
Is not too hot; inarguably perfect.
This is the autumnal season,
Where sheets of leaves protect
The green grass; the gazon
Will be well manicured this summer.
This is it; the tulips are breathtakingly
Beautiful. Not too distant from the river,
Great number of first time lovers
Are entertained by the cacophonic breeze;
They are also blessed by the intermittent rain showers.
This is it, this is no joke.
This is the life that the scribes spoke
About the other night;
As always, they were right.
Make the best of today's life,
Because tomorrow has its rife.
This is it; this is the life that you dreamt of.
Live as if this were the first time that you fall in love.
poem by Hebert Logerie (March 2012)
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Sun Will Hide
Thirsty I endure a wicked desert.
Scorching wind plucks the eyes.
Legs ache. Ankles swell. Drag we must in fever.
To forbidden land.
Tell me how far we have to go?
There is only the defiant spirit
which is burning incessantly.
The secret flight of a river took place
at night,
leaving the banks dry as bone.
On the shores the guns are positioned.
Green parrots have suddenly departed
from the tall branches.
Any time the explosions will start
with deafening row.
This very day the sun will hide
when the ravens will start descending
and eagles swoop for the knocking death.
poem by Satish Verma
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Please Do Not Ask Me How A River Feels
children bathe in the river.
we were children once, we bathe in the river
we float and go with the flow of the river
we lied to mother we were afraid of father
but we were children once and we bathed in the river
we all know how a river felt
throughout our bodies
time runs like a river how many times shall i tell you that
we had mud all over
we were once children we grow to be men
strong arms and swift feet
we caught fish
we claim to be men with responsibilities
we are still children at heart we still feel the rivers running on our skins
i know, i still know how a river feels
time does not know how to kill the feel of rivers
do not ask me then if i have forgotten the river
we are men with responsibilities we have gone away
far from what we are
the river still flows and it will never stop
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Trees, The River, The Skies And The Sea
the trees that we cut, the rivers that we pollute,
the sea that we abuse, the skies that we cut from our sights,
the explosions, the wars, the blunders
that man inflicted on his world
this is felt and everything destroyed once wriggled in pain
on this misery. what have we done? what have all these creatures
and landscapes done to deserve our cruelty
and insensitivity?
we may be gone at the end, when they take the vengeance
the sea opens up and swallows everything
the skies spit fire and thunder
the trees all die and the land fumes all the lava hidden underneath
we will lose every breath
and they may rejoice about our deaths and dissolution
there will be peace
but there will be no more meaning
for in truth, whatever we do, on these miserable events
they all exist and have meaning
because it is still we who give them, their meanings too.
why can't we live in harmony? the sea, the trees, the land, the clouds,
the skies, the rivers, they all want to embrace us
we belong to them
and they to us.
let us stop this cruelty, they are all our allies, our lovers.
as they worship us, we too must worship them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Choices...
IF, only we are alone,
just you and me in this island,
IF, you only care for me
and I for you,
IF, there are no other
creatures, no other species,
no other person
distractions of this
love just between
us, pure bond, roots
and twigs, all of our
own leaves,
our skies and
shores,
our rivers and
mountains,
IF, and Only IF
this love could have been
but ours to share,
BUT my dear,
we live in this world of choices,
oceans of desires,
islands of partings,
we are crazy for change
and benefiting from
varieties,
AND so we decide,
which way to choose,
This of That
Do we drift away or
do we stick it out
like sugar solution?
sweet and sticky,
or charred and
bitter?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Norfolk Pine Of Port Fairy
'Tis said they grow more than a metre each year
And they do seem to have grown since I was last here
The Norfolk Island pine of Port fairy they tower over all
Beside them most other trees look rather small.
Though not quite as tall as the mountain ash tree
They seem to grow well in the Towns by the sea
On either side of the streets by Griffith Island tall and evergreen
These beautiful trees in their dozens are seen.
As a feature of the Town in the Coastal Countryside
The norfolk pine of Port Fairy have become known far and wide
They do look quite graceful for want of a better name
And without them Port Fairy would not look the same.
A feature of Port Fairy for visitors to recall
The evergreen norfolk pine trees stand graceful and tall
Nature's beauty at her finest for Nature lovers to see
On either side of the streets that lead down to the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Vistula
A cascade of ices, cold fury
gargling down the Beskids
waiting basket of Baltic,
great span of your lakes
infinite stretch of Mazury-
you, marshal land-giver-
to our lives along banks
into houses and history-
what do you make of us,
God of this river?
Those who would plumb
the crevice dry cracks
fetch in your mystery,
the deep green in you,
River whose currents still
shape us with influence,
run blood in our vein-sinew
wild into your wilderness,
What do you build in us
God of this river?
As we cross the ice packs
winter’s water hidden us
floods and droughts sung
to your rhythm- fit eyes
flicked at the universe,
town’s heart pumps a pulse
just a mere quiver, under
thick ice for so long, what
have you forbidden us.
God of this river?
For us the smart facts, snatch
a glimpse of you from high
bridges across in the rush
cars trams train and bus
fast metros under you
to nest in sky-scrapers
shrinking you down to
a summer’s small slither
our lives blunder through
your slow current’s residue
What thinking, wonder you
pagan God of this River?
poem by John a'Beckett
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Peace Frog
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
She came
Theres blood on the streets, its up to my knee
She came
Blood on the streets in the town of chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, its following me
Think about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets its up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs down the legs of the city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin
She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood streams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, its up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of chicago
Blood on the rise, its following me
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down Stream
BETWEEN Holmscote and Hurstcote
The river-reaches wind,
The whispering trees accept the breeze,
The ripple's cool and kind;
With love low-whispered 'twixt the shores,
With rippling laughters gay,
With white arms bared to ply the oars,
On last year's first of May.
Between Holmscote and Hurstcote
The river's brimmed with rain,
Through close-met banks and parted banks
Now near, now far again:
With parting tears caressed to smiles,
With meeting promised soon,
With every sweet vow that beguiles,
On last year's first of June.
Between Holmscote and Hurstcote
The river's flecked with foam,
'Neath shuddering clouds that hang in shrouds
And lost winds wild for home:
With infant wailings at the breast,
With homeless steps astray,
With wanderings shuddering tow'rds one rest
On this year's first of May.
Between Holmscote and Hurstcote
The summer river flows
With doubled flight of moons by night
And lilies' deep repose:
With lo! beneath the moon's white stare
A white face not the moon,
With lilies meshed in tangled hair,
On this year's first of June.
Between Holmscote and Hurstcote
A troth was given and riven,
From heart's trust grew one life to two,
Two lost lives cry to Heaven:
With banks spread calm to meet the sky,
With meadows newly mowed,
The harvest-paths of glad July,
The sweet school-children's road.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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