To My Surprise
to my surprise you have found my place
a house in the middle of two mountains
a green valley with ricefields and a line
of mahogany trees covering a pathway
towards the sea where the sand is as
white as your thighs and porcelain back
why are you here for? need i ask? i must
be foolish not to know. You look for the room
where you think i write my poetry, dimly lit,
warm and scented with musk and orange.
i have tequila, your favorite. I have this
candle shaped like a heart, i light it up.
I keep a jar of peanut butter, and some
marmalades from fresh guavas.
I have green tea if you like, but you
take a glass, put some ice and poured
your vodka. You like tonight to be chili hot.
It is dark, and you say you are not leaving.
I am cornered, and I still know what to do.
This not the place of a love disappointed.
This is your place now and you shall not regret it.
I am stacking all my clothes and underwears
along the stairs. You know that i am hot and naked.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
This Early Morning With You Talking And Talking
regret, it is with deep regret that i tell you
that i regret sitting on this
computer chair
and facing the screen
and i am here writing for you
as you talk and talk
and talk and talk
like a quacking duck
oh Adam did not lay eggs,
or have the temerity to hatch them and so the chickens came first
how nice of you
regret that is all i feel now
i could have gone
out and take my walk
i could have read
the most wonderful poetry
of the trail
the line of green mahogany trees
blooming with their summer leaves
the sun finally coming out
with an array of clouds
and white herons
gliding and landing
on ricefields
and grasses creeping
and covering
the mud and the stones
indeed, it would have
been lovelier that way
and i should have
been happier
than simply sitting
and writing
and feeling
what poetry should
not be
this early morning
with you
what a hell!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Ricefields
green ricefields spreading to a distance
some white herons circling and landing finding a hiding place
for a while gone and then the wind comes from the trees swaying
the white herons in a flock of fives fly away again
to another rectangular spread of a green ricefield
a scarecrow stands in the middle of the place
the clouds arrive turning from pale to grey to blue
the sun has come in full grandeur
i am just amazed, sitting on a bench praying
simply watching and wondering
they all say that i am lazy and doing nothing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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Through the Green Valley
Through the green valley and past the crooked tree
there lies a place of love and tranquility
where food and water are in abundancy
and children play happy free from tyranny.
Through the green valley and past the golden tree
there is a place of art and wonder and glee
where people sing and dance in jeu d' esprit
and families are happy not refugees.
Through the green valley and past the diamond tree
there a place of beauty a land of the free
where people live in a state of ecstasy
and pain is vanquished there is no misery.
Through the green valley and past the godly tree
There the kingdom of heaven 'grandiosity'
poem by Wade Harlaine
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My Home Is Where My Heart Is
my home is where my heart is.
the white furniture are the veranda
the black umbrella at the side of the door
the green grass the lush trees
the pathway filled with pebbles
the ceiling with a fan
the stairs without dust
the railings with shellac
mahogany smell of walls
the well at the backyard
the smell of bacon at the kitchen
scrambled eggs and fresh milk
every morning
the smoke rising to the roof
of white steam rice
mother calling us all
and father waiting
praying for grace
and then this hearty meal
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I eat peanut butter
I eat peanut butter from a jar
Sitting quitly naked at the bar
Wired in frankincense and cheap olive oil
You can never spot where Ive hidden my old boil
I eat peanut butter with a spoon
Hanging on a telophone from the moon
Looking everywhere for the third rock in my drawer
cause I'm followed by the elaphant whose getting rather cold
I taste peanut butter with marmalade
Its sutured with nectrines with astringent taste
Surrounded by a gang of malefactent tea cups
Coming from Buenos Aries on the back of maple syrup
want to ride the posse of little bitty irishmen?
I lick peanut butter from outerspace
I was born southside so it goes to my waist
I lick peanut butter from a dress
Its my wifes who i never met
I take peanut butter to a zoo
Watching the contortions of the Gaia philharmonic
Exasperating riddles which their tvs cant decode
While swimming in the puzzles of a Lincoln camry ford
Bet you wished their was some Peanut butter
to explain this ghastly poem?
poem by Kevin Patrick
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take Me With You(wherever You Go)
take me to the place
where a waterfall
really is a waterfall
deep dark blue
take me with you
take me to a place
where a sunset
really is a sunset
bright orange and violet
i don't care what colour
just take me with you
take me to a place
where a rainbow
really is a rainbow
red, orange, green and blue
indigo, violet and yellow to
take me with you
take me to a place
where the snow
really is snow
take me to that place
i would love to go
to go with you
take me anywhere
where you go
where you really go
i will follow you
together we will go
take me with you
poem by Allen Steble
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Deep In The Heart
Angel, everythings gonna be alright
Angel, everythings gonna work out tonight
Thirteen years old, sweet as rose
Every petal of her wafer thin
Love will make you mine
Creep up from behind
Get you jumping out of your skin
Angel...its sink or swim
Deep in the heart
Deep in the heart of this place
Deep in the heart
Deep in the heart of this place
Door is closed behind me now
The window is sealed to shut out the light
Green as the leaves
And the cure of the meadow stain
Do your work, itll work out right
Deep in the heart
Deep in the heart of this place
Deep in the heart
Deep in the heart of this place
The scent of cedar, I can still see her
You cant return to the place you never left
Angel, well make it work out tonight
Angel, I wanna be home tonight
Door is closed behind me now
The window is sealed, they shut out the light
Green as the leaves
And the cure of the meadow stain
I do my work, and youll work out right
Deep in the heart
Deep in the heart of this place
Deep in the heart
Deep in the heart of this place...
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Grandpa Orange Garden
From my grandpa Orange Garden
You can saw green orange leaf
all over the place
it fruits had started ripening
He frequently late going home
My grandma hit “Kentongan ”)
For going home soonly
But my grandpa workinghard
Forgotten to eat and drink, and going home
When he going home he saw the roof falling down
And black cloud seen in the sky
Quickly my grandfather took the ladder
Up to the roof and care the roof
For bettering their room
The rain fall from the sky
My grandpa walking down from teh roof
sleppy, and never wake up again
my grandma cried till morning
forgotten the orange fruit harvest
she embrace her husband slept strectched on the ground
in the meeting room
where children and grandchildren are gathering
to day you couldn’t seen the green leaf orange
the fresh orange leave the smeel in my reminiscences
the garden leave high and dry
no grandpa touch down at
the leafs through,
it stalks to let dryness
dryness and to wither
the dush fly everywhere
the house and garden is empty
only ghosts dwell in that house
I still remember
I fomerly run there
Among the orange stem trees
Under the orange leaf shady
His Only one message:
Don’t pick those oranges before ripe
Jakarta,6/29/2005
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Ritual
Tonight at sunset
it feels as if you will be back
and I prepare a place
at the table for you,
as if you are going to be there
to eat with me.
I am silly,
as I know that you
are visiting your cousin tonight,
but the dogs are restless
and the black cat
climbs on my lap
and I put two plates in place.
l’Envoi
With an additional chair, glass and candle
I wait till dark
and the food is already cold
when I eat it later
and tomorrow when you are back
still feels far and distant.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When No One Really Cares
my role has
always been
to fix
broken stairs
to oil the
rusty hinges of
the door &
wipe those
misty
glass windows
of their
haze
to plant the
runners
along the stony
pavements
of the house
i like it when
it is green
and covered
as things appear
cool
and vibrant against
the walls
beneath the sun
i replace old
lamps
i like it when
the room is
bright with
light
at night
i like it when
everyone of you
in this house
is comfortable with
warm soup on the
table
when the cold nights
of November
begins to
shiver
when you look
for a candle
and a lighter
i always have
them with
me
what i think is
hurting is that
i am not fixed
myself
i am a broken rail
a malfunctioning lamp
a dark room
a cold soup a
rusty hinge
a missing stair
and yet
no one
no one really
cares.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What I love is a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. I'll just have peanut butter and bananas, then peanut butter and pickles. Peanut butter and chocolate I don't recommend.
quote by Dianne Wiest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Makarora
Rocky peaks of Makarora in the summer wear their snow
And down the lush green grassy valley the clear mountain river flow
Songbirds piping in the beechwoods songthrush, bellbird and
redpoll
This a place of peace and beauty Makarora has a soul.
These great mountains look no different than to when the first man came
They have a wild rugged beauty for want of a better name
To the coming generations these high peaks will look the same
Man will not build houses on them man such wildness could not tame.
Summer's come to Makarora and along with her brought her green
Beauty to compare with any with the finest I have seen
This place would inspire an artist peaks in summer white
with snow
Beechwoods and through lush green valley sparkling mountain river flow.
Those high peaks of makarora will not change as years go by
Out there on those rugged mountains bones of Maori hunter lie
Still these mountains keep their secrets monarchs of the higher ground
Overlooking Makarora and the woodlands all around
Snow clad peaks of Makarora reaching upwards towards the sky
I am just a passing stranger and I'll be bidding you goodbye
But I will take with me the memories of beauty I have seen
today
Woodlands in a lush green valley by those mountains far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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You Put Your Chocolate In My Peanut Butter!
Hey you, you have too much hair and we dont like what you wear
And you have really bad breath so were gonna beat you to death
Because there is plenty of us and only one of you weve got plenty
Of reasons and heres just a few you put your chocolate in my
Peanut butter I was walking and you were in my way you looked
At me without my permission you never even apologized you put
Your chocolate in my peanut butter thats good enough reason for
Me to bash you put your chocolate in my peanut butter thats good
Enough reason for me to smash no justice / theres just us / so trust us
You put your chocolate in my peanut butter you put your chocolate in
My peanut butter you put your chocolate in my peanut butter you put
Your chocolate in my peanut butter
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Valley Of Red
The Valley of red
Was once my Valley of green
Before, the killings took place,
No longer do birds fly overhead
For they can’t, rest their heads.
The trees are all gone
And so are all the hills
They are now, barren fields,
So now the Valley of red
Is my Valley of green
And that, now is my dream.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Paradise Valley
can't think straight my mind is covered with clouds
no doubt what I'm talking about;
I've never seen a place like this I miss no bliss
how could I ever forget how it feels, how it heals,
my wound, my blood, whatever pain my soul has got
these waters so clear
near and far all I can hear
rustle of leaves and insects hummin on trees
no place like this - no place like this
paradise valley
the sun reflects some billion glitters of water
direct in my face but I can't take my eyes of this place
so peaceful, beautiful, it flows all into one
meadows, mountains, I, the sky
so close I can never feel to gods own miracle
and then I see, I see that eagle fly
no place like this - no place like this
paradise valley
song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out Of This Place
Get out of this place because,
This is not your own house;
For the people here are all naked,
And you need your clothes back to get to your home.
Prepare the table of love and let us eat together,
And the morning comes and i will watch over your love;
Because i have a surprise for you!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Pour Me Another Tequila Sheila
(Chorus)
Pour me another tequila, Sheila.
Take off that red satin dress.
'Cause I crossed the border,
And I beat the dealer for all of that gold in Juarez.
I feel like ol' Pancho Villa, Sheila,
And I've got the pesos to spend,
So pour me another tequila, Sheila.
And lay down and love me again.
No I can't tell you about it.
Don't mind the gun by my bed,
But I feel kind'a naked without it,
And it eases the fears in my head.
I never trusted in woman,
But Sheila I trust you tonight.
So pass me the salt and a lemon,
Bend down and blow out the light.
(Chorus)
Sheila I'm hearin' your heartbeat,
But I'm hearing footsteps outside.
The courtyard is crawlin' with them Federales
And Sheila, there's no place to hide,
but I don't know who could have tipped 'em,
nobody knew it but you,
but I never have trusted in woman,
Sheila, here's what I'm going to do.
(Chorus)
Yeah! Pour me another tequila,
I'm gonna put on your red satin Dress.
You put on my clothes, and you go face the dealer.
Sheila I wish you the best.
I never trusted in woman,
Sheila I trusted you tonight.
So pour me another tequila Sheila,
And I'll run for the border again.
Yeah! Pour me another tequila,
Sheila, as I ride for the border again.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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When It Comes
when it comes
it comes
and i am ready
to go
what place is that
i do not really know
but it is definite
there is no coming back
when will i see you again?
i will never know
you see, i realize
everything has always been
uncertain
what they give us was
exactly the opposite
of what is here with us
everything has always been
an image of what is
and what ought to be
was not what was ever done
you see i am leaving this place
without regret
you see this is not my place
that is not really my house
that is not my garden
and that tree had never been mine
even from the moment
when i planted it as a seed
that flower that i love
i only touch for a while
its petals fall from my fingers
and then what i have is nothing
but a stem and a leaf
and this old ruined self
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Long Dress
That is the current that makes machinery,
that makes it crackle,
what is the current that presents a long line and a necessary waist.
What is this current.
What is the wind, what is it.
Where is the serene length,
it is there and a dark place is not a dark place,
only a white and red are black, only a yellow and green are blue,
a pink is scarlet, a bow is every color. A line distinguishes it.
A line just distinguishes it.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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