Vine
on a sunny day
the vine
on its tendrils carefully
cling
on the trellis
like some fingers
holding
a prisoner
in his jail
i look up
and i see some stars
i close my eyes
and you are always here
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Corona
the water on the pail
has overflowed
now you must feel
the coldness too
the rain will be heavy
and it will fall for nights and
days and the road will be
flooded again
this time no child will play
boat in the water
women with black umbrellas
will pass on the streets as
though nothing happened
life is like that
even the vine with nice flowers
are pruned
the trellis sometimes do not
want any tendrils
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Creep
the vine underneath a thick foliage
always has a way of making itself seen
so slowly it creeps and climbs
the fence
each brick, each grill, each wall
the tendrils climb
and then when it finally sees the sun
it lets go its happy smile
through its little honeysuckles
i watch and felt the art of the tendrils
curling and curling sprouting and then
blooming.
There is a purpose, there is this vision.
I am keeping it. This vine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I Close my Eyes
When I close my eyes,
I can see my country,
Shining in the light, bright.
When I close my eyes.
When I close my eyes,
I see the trees,
Green against the skyline.
When I close my eyes.
When I close my eyes,
I see stars shining cross,
The wide beyond.
When I close my eyes.
When I close my eyes,
I see the sunset behind your hair,
Halo shining in the air.
When I close my eyes.
When I close my eyes,
I hear the ocean waves,
Crashing on the shore.
When I close my eyes.
When I close my eyes,
I see the moon glistening,
Through your eyes.
When I close my eyes.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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Holding Out
Theres nothing outside my window
But the sound of the pouring rain
It oughta be breaking my heart
But I feel no pain
Trying to pick up the station
Thatll carry me through this night
Got a fire to keep me warm
til I got you in my arms
Holding out, dug in deep
I got an island that Im gonna keep
Close my eyes but I know I wont sleep
Holding out
Oh yeah
I know love wont forget me, I gotta keep holding out
Girl, Ive been dreaming about you
For the better part of my life
At least I can make it without you
One more night
Im not afraid of the thunder
I wont run away from the storm
Let the stars fall down and break
I dont care how long it takes
Holding out, dug in deep
I got an island that Im gonna keep
Close my eyes but I know I wont sleep
Holding out
Oh yeah
I know love wont forget me, I gotta keep holding out
Theres no other love in the world
I could want any more
Holding out, dug in deep
I got an island that Im gonna keep
Close my eyes but I know I wont sleep
Holding out
Oh yeah
I know love wont forget me, I gotta keep holding out
song performed by by Peter Cetera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prisoner
I'm not a prisoner
I just can't be
Waiting every Tuesday to tune into tv
Being hypnotized by the stars
while they take away our rights to put us right behind bars
I can't be a prisoner
there's no way
Hey did you know I'm on their prescription drugs so that way
I can be a Slave to their political ways and not notice
The subliminal waves to be controlled and locked up and put away
I'm also eating a lot isn't that weird
fat, lazy and have no drive to vote
But hey I'll take a douhble cheeseburgers without fear
No I'm not a prisoner I'm bright
But wait if my government does take away my rights
Will I fight?
Probably not cause I'm scarred, what if I get hauled off to jail
freedom of assemble Seems to fail
and what the hell
am I doing
I'm losing my train of thought is it the ADHD
Or is the man trying to control me.
I'm not prisoner
ok I admit it
I'm fat, stupid and addicted to these figments
On TV and oh I like the pills they gave me
I really don't care about anything
I'm finally a prisoner
I'm regretting never paying attention
These metal bars really put reality into perspective
Controlled by a system today
Learn your facts
or get picked up, cuffed and locked away
poem by Alex Guzman
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Dearth
I hold your trembling hand to-night-- and yet
I may not know what wealth of bliss is mine,
My heart is such a curious design
Of trust and jealousy! Your eyes are wet--
So must I think they jewel some regret--,
And lo, the loving arms that round me twine
Cling only as the tendrils of a vine
Whose fruit has long been gathered: I forget,
While crimson clusters of your kisses press
Their wine out on my lips, my royal fair
Of rapture, since blind fancy needs must guess
They once poured out their sweetness otherwhere,
With fuller flavoring of happiness
Than e'en your broken sobs may now declare.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Delicately Spun
One clematis ascending a trellis,
trying to find somewhere to cling.
Hoping to acquire a strong and firm hold,
ready for the entering spring.
Its thin searching tendrils, stretching up high,
grow vigorously with such speed.
How suddenly this regal sight appeared,
from one insignificant seed.
With large blooms all so beautiful to view,
petals so delicately spun.
A perfect plant graces the garden wall,
floral faces raised to the sun.
Although seeming so frail, it grips so tight,
adhering to whatever’s near.
With great determination it ascends,
a bold natural mountaineer.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Prisoner Of Love
Ive gotta run away from you
If I wanna save myself
And theres nothing I can do
To break your magic spell
You are evil and you show it
With your eyes
Oh, and the way your body moves
Just keeps me hipnotized
cos Im a prisoner of love
Someone rescue me
Release me from this state of mind
I was born to be free
Just a prisoner of love
Come on let me be cos if loving you is my crime
Go on and close the door on me
Oh, Ive been convicted for the crime
I have been done
But if losing you is my sentence
Id rather lose my life
Can someone help me
Help me keep my sanity
cos I love this evil force
Thats taking over me
cos Im a prisoner of love
Someone rescue me
Release me from this state of mind
I was born to be free
Just a prisoner of love
Come on let me be
cos if loving you is my crime
Go on and close the door on me
cos Im a prisoner of love
Someone rescue me
Release me from this state of mind
I was born to be free
Just a prisoner of love
Come on let me be
cos if loving you is my crime
Go on and close the door on me
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tree, the Vine and the Grass
The tree said to the grass, Is it your contentment
To be just at my foot, remain under my shade
Why don't you do as I, my aims are very high
I want to reach the moon and the stars in the sky
With far reaching vision, I stand in dignity
Stand out for the rest of the forest to see
Oh yes, oh yes, my friend, said the vine to the grass
Why do you not aim high, just like the two of us
My stance is upright, reaching high altitudes
I can stand side by side with any tree I choose
Unlike you who remain earthbound without a choice
To you my friend, a tree, I do not want to be
equal to you in height, low I would rather be
For the law of nature, I clearly remember
You stand the higher, you will fall the harder
I do not aim for things I know I would not reach
Earthbound I chose to be, than fail in my attempts
To you my friend, a vine, here's what I have to say
Stand I won't if on borrowed stability
On the arms of a friend you just cling and depend
You cannot stand alone, own strength you do not have
When I pause to reckon and try to look around
In the world of humans, the likes of you abound
They cling to anyone who has money and might
As you cling to the tiniest twig or biggest branch
Wanting not to be low, not to be trampled at
Then a hurricane came with its wind blowing wild
It uprooted the vine, the tree fell to the ground
And there they lay in waste, under the sun they died
The grass is still there, flourishing and alive
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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The Vine
I dreamed this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphosed to a vine,
Which, crawling one and every way,
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.
Methought, her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprise:
Her belley, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nervelets were embraced
About her head I writhing hung
And with rich clusters (hid Amoung
The leaves) her temples i behung,
So that my Lucia seemed to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curls about her neck did crawl,
ANd arms and hands they did enthrall,
So that she could not freely stir
( All parts there made one prisoner).
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts which maids keep unespied,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took
That with the fancy i awoke,
And found (ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a stock than like a vine.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Ramblings Of A Researcher
bury the head
deep into paper files
like one cormorant
looking for
deep sea fish
one finally longs for
air to breathe
a face to see
like the one you missed so much
yet you cannot even
touch
you rise with the fish
on your beak
swallow everything
but nothing satisfies
not the books
not the fish
not even that face that you long to see
this time
it is the memory of the deep sea
that entangles you
like a flower
vine creeping
holding on to the trellis
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Picture Of An Engaged Couple
i had the chance of looking
again at the old picture of an engaged couple
on a marriage that did not push through
on a separation that was
so sudden like the horses of a race track
i have seen their eyes
they were so in love
i have seen their closeness
like a vine on a trellis
like the freshness of a morning glory
facing the new sun
somethings seemingly are not
what they really are
and i ask myself: where is that possibility of a wrong?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pleasures
a smooth flow of chivas regal
inside my throat lingering
but only for a while,
a white flower carried by this vine
on its soft tendrils crawling an iron fence
a trellis as lean-on
a salmon sushi bathed in soy bean sauce
and a fingerfull of wasabe
inside my tongue the chili running
towards me throat lingering and
rising in my nostrils in my brain
hot green tea that i sip
slowly
chopstick on top of a teriyake
a bowl of seafood ramen
its flavors rising to the lamps
of the ceiling
i face you and you face me
at this moment
we nod to make another sip
of life
we face each other again
remembering a promise.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If I Close You
if I close you I'll close my eyes
and there will be nothing more to see
if I close you I'll close my heart
and there will be nothing more to beat
even though I know you'll never open again
even though I know it is impossible
I cling to the illusion that you're still here
and that maybe just maybe mightier that all perhapses
one day you'll come and stay with me
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The couple must cling
Two trees cannot cling to each other
And two vines do not cling together.
To cling, there be a tree and a vine.
Bend your wife or bend to her utmost.
Be supple if she is not supple
Or divide between you the time and the place
As to when and where each be supple.
Between the couple must there be clinging
For the welfare of home and children.
Once accustomed, discomfort is over.
15.10.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Once Upon A Rose
Once upon a
rose
Was planted.
A trellis
was
erected,
a safe
arbor
for her
to
rely on.
cling to.
As she
grew
opening
her
petals,
becoming
a lovely
lady.
she was
admired,
looked
upon
for her
beauty.
One day
someone
decided
to
transplant
her into
their
garden.
Once upon
a rose.
They began
to pick
at
her
petals.
One by one
they fell
to the
ground.
One by one
coming
ever
near to
her
heart.
Saddened,
she
began to
cry
being
exposed
to the
world.
Finially
the
plan
for her
return
was
complete.
Being hurt
and
forlorn
once again
she clung
to her
trellis.
Today
her petals
remain
closed,
refusing
to
reopen.
Once upon
a rose.
poem by Heather Burns
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Alive, Alive
at dawn sleep left without a word
my back curves and my arms look for something to hold
to grip what is there before me
my fingers shake and holds the keys
of the computer
they all begin to scribble words
to assure my being
that i am a tree with roots
a vine with tendrils
an earth still blessed with a sun
and winds and breeze
i sweat and look around
i stand still beside a window
i open the eye of the world before me
and said to myself
everything is alive
to include me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Prisoner
`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'
`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'
`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'
`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.
I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive
leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.
Thus night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
When at last the work was done
and the links were complete and unbreakable,
I found that it held me in its grip.'
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Ebb
welcome to the ebb
of time
have you experienced
drowning in an ocean
of emptiness?
have you once drowned
yourself
pursuant to the will of
your cowardice?
welcome to the rise of the
water
people do not just swim there
they also want to die
and others who see are not
at all shocked
for once they also
attempted doing the
expected
and those who rise from that
low feeling
somehow become renewed again
tempted to the power of
life they begin to love the fear
of dying
ah, life is too short for an argument
and experimentation
this time, life goes hand in hand
with pleasure
and meaningful attachments
like that flowering vine
so attached to the trellis
that even the sun could not
really take it
it wilts in time
irrevocably posted to the
mutuality of the coldness of
the inanimate trellis
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Is Something That We Must Write
we must write about the language that they are using
in the common places such as the
market
or the barbershop or at the playing fields or even in the
zoo
we must write nothing new
nothing to invent
or to make from our very own hands and minds
what we must do is simply to look around and discover
the shape of the wind
and its soft fingers
there is nothing new in our making only this sensitivity and this discovering
of what is around us
that which grows by themselves and blooms and lingers and extends
like some tendrils of this flowering vine
slowly moving
unnoticed by all except you
becoming aware of that was not there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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