Waiting For The Rain
dead grass
cracking face of the earth
cinder stones
parched paths
thatched roof of the house
at the foot of
the tired body of the hills
dried creeks
rivers that run dry
wells without
drops of water left
hands in prayed
angel without wings
all these chant in prayer
waiting for
the first rain after a long drought
of summer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rain Drops
Here comes the grey clouds
rolling in,
Spreading rain all over the
town.
Rain drops help to moisten
the earth's beautiful green
grass.
Sidewalks once dusty are
washed and cleaned.
Rivers and lakes are given
plenty more water.
Fishes swim around happy
beneath the rain drops,
creating millions of ripples
upon the water.
Flowers and plants no longer
Thirst,
Even trees and bushes seem
to dance after a good drink
of water,
Animals get their fill of
water too.
Just Like a shower,
Rain drops clean and
cleanse everything,
Leaving the earth refreshed
and renewed.
After the storm has passed,
The sun shines spreading its
warmth.
Rain drops that are left behind
on Flowers, plants, trees and
grass,
It is like heaven for many insects
to fill their thirsty little
mouths.
Without clouds we would have no
rain drops,
Without rain drops everything would
never be the same.
poem by Derek James
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Anxieties Of A Widow
May stretched its legs into the grave.
Thunder heralds the rains.
Hut on the bank of Kanoli canal
Is not re-thatched this year.
Her infant’s illness made the doctor gay
With all the wages she had kept.
Summer takes the last breath,
But the coconut leaf thatched roof
Is not re-thatched this year.
As the widow stands on the threshold,
The rain clouds gather over her sky
And the wind scatters terror in her corridor.
Will the tattered roof be flown away?
Will the rain drops make pores
On the roof of her life?
Where will her child crawl and smile?
Question waves are thus getting high;
Her canoe is ready to be tossed.
(Summer ends in the month of May and rainy season begins in the month of June in Kerala)
poem by Fabiyas M V
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The Analogous
everything has
an analogy
for instance these hands
with fingers
are they not rivers and creeks
a source and
tributaries?
for instance this body
this temple
where my soul rests
this eye
this window of the house
the sun
the eye of the earth
a friend of the stars
the wonders of our longings
for instance
the silence
a dash in our talk
a space of our doubts
many more
for instance you and me
two hands in prayer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your Dance My Love
you are so beautiful when you start to dance
when all the leaves fall off from your arms
naked, i have seen everything that your earth has to offer:
your hills and trees and forest, your creeks and rivers,
your clouds and seas, your grass and flowers
i have seen them all and touched them
your hills i have climbed
your trees with sweet fruits
i have gathered them all
and bit and sucked and savored each sap and juice
its flesh and fiber
i have slept on your grass
i have smelled your flowers
i have gazed on your clouds and have taken the dive
on your seas
i have sailed on your rivers
i have bathed on your creeks
i have done everything for you to please you my love
yet why are your eyes so sad tonight?
you are like a moon fading in the dark
you are like the song of a bird dissolving in distance.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Water
water for water is water, thirst made me dried
eyes tears flow water, leaves skin broken
need water, cure my pain smooth my rough
surface makes it clean
pure and perfect water made so bright, all the
day expose heat dried my sweat, in my face
and lips tears seen in the eyes
all day long I seat in my brow, waiting the sun
down to lead me low, hunger and thirst open
my throat, water spelled drops like a dew
wash my warm body as you can see, the limps
legs and the hands would be easy, where ever
in my body, the water comes refreshing to me
slowly, slowly, fell the cool water beneath
my delicate skin, in my buttock where you have
to stay, hold on, I sit you in my dream, my living
water makes me the same
oh! water, please always watered me in each
new day and fell the real me
poem by Antonio Liao
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Swan, Lake, Leaf, Moon....
Your hands are leaves
Leaves that float on the water
The water is the body
I am the body
Where your dead leaves
Float
I cannot in this
Be the sun
And you cannot be the green
Comforting Grass
of the Hills
Those lonely hills that stay awake
at Night
The moon shines on the lake
Waiting for the Swan
She is the Swan
and He is the Moon
You are a dead Leaf
and I am the Body of Water
We are somehow
Nothing but
Spectators to the Swan
Moon Affair
But sad is this game of Irony
Again some love
more Love have remained
Unrequited....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Details
one gets too particular about the details of
the morning picture: there are two rainbows
from the top of the galvanized roof of the old house
surrounded by trees
its other foot extending to the hazy hills
the rain is soft
landing on the small ponds
below the trees with few brownish leaves
making some ripples
the grass is wilting by the previous summer heat
the wind whispers softly like a woman in love
the horizon gives a gray boundary of the foot of the hills
some houses look like pigments of black and brown spots
too distant for my sight
i sit here
my mind is calm like a pigeon roosting on the steel beam
of the gymnasium
they say
that when one gets too lonely
the details of the world becomes
too visible
one can even hear the flapping wings
of a butterfly lost inside
the room of your heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Prayed For You An Angel
I prayed for you an Angel
It's there watching over you
To help to console you
At times you are feeling blue
I prayed for you an Angel
To help to keep you in line
To keep you from all trouble
On days your sun won't shine
I prayed for you an Angel
To come from Heaven above
To comfort you in sorrow
And surround you with Gods love
I prayed for you an Angel
To make sure you'd be alright
To follow you everywhere
And take care of you day and night
I prayed for you an Angel
I didn't know what else I could do
So I just prayed a simple prayer
Telling God how much I still need you
I prayed for you an Angel
To help your heart to mend
God must have granted this prayer
For I still have you as my friend
Wrote 8/22/2008 by Norman Hale Jr.
poem by Norman Hale
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The Drought
A tired farmer looks upon the skies,
His longing eyes searching for signs of rain!
He’s standing ’midst a field of with’ring crops;
His hard work could end up again in vain.
The drought this year has been the worst of all;
The wells are dry; bore-wells need more deep’ning;
The ignominy’s unable to bear;
His sullen frame is moving like a snail!
While Mother Earth’s parched lips beg to be quenched,
The air is sultry and the sun scorching;
No cloud is seen that bears some hope of rain;
It seems he’s speaking from within his heart!
Though weather-forecasts kept exploding myths,
More greedy middle-men were cheating them;
The farmers had to subsist on field-rats!
What only could appease the Rain-Gods’ wrath?
Copyright by DR JOHN CELES 14-3-2004
poem by John Celes
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Salvation 2009
A darkling sky of black and grey.
Was brooding angrily above,
below the land in silence lay.
Where nothing stirred afraid to move.
Wild creatures I their wisdom hide.
Instinctively they know its best
To find safe havens and abide
before the coming storm can test.
Then suddenly the sky is rent
The rain pours down a fierce torrent.
The promised storm long overdue..
The thirsty earth drinks greedily
The dusty dried up river beds
Receive the water gratefully
And lace the plain with silver threads.
The drought has broken finally.
New grass will soon be flourishing
from seeds that have lain dormantly
In patience for their christening.
But now the seed have been baptised
by rain fresh fallen from the sky
Their need for moisture satisfied.
Their speed of growth is no surprise.
The drought consigned to history
We can afford to hope again.
Returning to normality
our thanks are due for prayed for rain.
9-Mar-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Gacela of the Dead Child
Each afternoon in Granada,
each afternoon, a child dies.
Each afternoon the water sits down
and chats with its companions.
The dead wear mossy wings.
The cloudy wind and the clear wind
are two pheasants in flight through the towers,
and the day is a wounded boy.
Not a flicker of lark was left in the air
when I met you in the caverns of wine.
Not the crumb of a cloud was left in the ground
when you were drowned in the river.
A giant of water fell down over the hills,
and the valley was tumbling with lilies and dogs.
In my hands' violet shadow, your body,
dead on the bank, was an angel of coldness.
poem by Federico García Lorca
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Grass
The world is all one smother of grass,
Waves of it rolling deep and green,
Clothing the paddocks’ gentle slope,
Laughing the brown tree-trunks between.
And some are praising the brilliant flowers,
The beauty of foliage as they pass,
But I am drinking its glory in
And thanking the Lord for grass, for grass!
The air is a-murmur with rippling sound
From jubilant creeks long fed with rain,
Singing of drought and travail past
And a bounteous earth drown young again-
An earth that is telling its thankfulness
With passionate rapture too deep for words
In acres and acres of waving grass,
Haven of promise to starving herds.
There’s a tangle of bloom in its moist green shade,
Mottled yam-flowers and gentians blue,
Small white stars that are honey sweet,
And nodding bluebells all drenched with dew.
And oh! The breath of its incense rare
As the summer breezes over it pass,
My heart is thrilling with voiceless prayer
And thanking the Giver of things for grass.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Millions of water drops
drops of water
millions of drops
Falling down the rocks
Millions of water drops
Glittering in the sun
Shining like pearls
Millions of water drops
Ending as a river
Finding way to ocean
Millions of water drops
Creating childrens happiness
Laughter and joyfullness
Millions of water drops
Soon will tide reach
White long shores
Millions of water drops
Animating Waves
into forming caves
Millions of water drops
splittering from above
till reaching top of the hill
Millions of water drops
Without them no sound
No whispers of the living
Millions of water drops
Watch the clearness
From crest to earth
Millions of water drops
For tribe’s best
Beware of waste
Millions of water drops
Treasured should they be
As belonging to all humanity
(march 2008, Switzerland)
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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A New Economic Theory
the sea has so much water
and so
has the rivers and ponds
and creeks too
you are the mighty sun
and you activate all your rays
like hands generating heat
from your self-energizing body
you take in
all their potable waters and keep
them in all your friendly clouds
and then by your power
as the all-kind all-giving sun
you order all the clouds to shower
to all the land the much needed rain
even the tiniest moss and algae
the underprivileged worms
the hibernating creatures
the dried seeds shall have the share
of all wondrous waters of the earth
this gather-all-and-trickle down
economic theory of mine
at the end
all shall have their share
all shall grow and bear fruit
throughout the years of their lives
where shall hunger be?
and wars and chaos?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dreamt I Was In Africa
I dreamt I was in Africa neath Serengeti sky
I heard the wild dogs barking, the spotted hyenas cry,
I heard the male lion roaring his anger pierced the night,
I dreamt I was in Africa neath African moonlight.
The elephants were trumpeting on Serengeti plain,
The sun dried grass all eaten the parched earth cried for rain,
The wildebeest and zebra had wandered far away
And Serengeti silent in the searing heat of day.
I dreamt I was in Africa the drought was at an end
The thunder and the lightning And rain came with the wind,
The ponds and rivers flooded, the once parched plains now green
And widebeest and zebra in thousands to be seen.
The moon shines in the heavens and the hunting jackals bark
In Tanzania in East Africa in Serengeti National Park
The grazing hippos grunting and the wild hyenas scream
And I was in East Africa if only in a dream.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Hailstone Food
My father loved the rain
Rain with hailstones
Twenty years gone past
When green and blue
Was all I knew
No red of blood
Nor ‘supreme’ of white
Nor ‘beauty’ of black
Just green and blue and love
It rained with hailstones
White stones from heaven
My father knelt down
On wet September grass
His head to the sky
Few stones in his hands
My father said
‘‘Thank you Lord for hailstone food! ”
I recall less of other days
When it didn’t rain
Perhaps such days were spent
Patiently waiting to say
“Thank you Lord for hailstone food! ”
Twenty years long wait
Four hearts waiting, breaking
My father waiting, breaking
Waiting! ?
But every body waited for him
I think my father never knew
About the power within him
To make the rain fall
Down once again
And hailstones to scatter
His September lawn
I know now
He was a patient man
Yesterday I dug a hole
And I closed a chapter
With all my childhood’s tears
I put my father in the ground
Funny this:
As the body went down
The clouds began collecting
As the sand filled the hole
The rain began to fall
And as we left the site
White stones scattered the land
poem by LLM Mbatha
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For this relief much thanks for M lady Ann
Just a few dwindling pools remain
in what was once the river bed.
Three years and more without rain.
Most of my livestock long since dead.
Yet still I have to struggle on
I have no choice no place to go
All of my men have packed and gone,
To where the deeper rivers flow.
Each evening I pray for rain
I won’t surrender to despair.
I’m not too old to start again.
No man can win who does not dare.
The storm clouds gather overhead.
Perhaps in answer to my prayer.
This time release much needed rain.
There’s water, water everywhere.
The river fills and overflows.
The arid earth drinks greedily.
The drought is over: Heaven knows
I’ve had my share of misery.
I face the future confident
That I can do what must be done
Determination and intent
are all I have I will go on.
I will build up my stock and then
I will employ some jackaroos.
To help me run the place again
much needed help that I can use.
But for the present work alone.
My nearest neighbour’s miles away
There is so much that must be done.
Enough to fill each working day.
When evening comes I will give thanks.
Unto my maker gratefully.
The river flows between its banks.
And all is as it ought to be.
09/07/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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When the rain drops fall on my head...
When the rain drops fall on my head
Then I feel the greatness of the nature
When the heat on earth vaporized
Then the clouds above makes the rain
When the rain drops fall on my head
Then I see the farmers are full of cheers
When the rain water roll on the ground
Then all the barren lands turns to green
When the rain drops fall on my head
Then I see the rain water runs down the mountains
When the rain water preserved in the built dam
Then there is no poverty on the land
When the rain drops fall on my head
Then I know the God sends it for us
When we do not go against the nature
Then the rain drops fall on the earth for ever
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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Butterfly Dreams and Angel Wings
my hands shiver in the cold
because you are not here for me to hold
and the summer rain starts to fall
while i'm still waiting for your call...
butterfly wings slowly take place
eventhough it's dark
and i can't see your face
as the moon says goodnight
and fireflies start to take flight...
all around me,
i can hear no sound,
no thunder, no lightning, only silence
i step out and stand in the rain
hoping that it will wash away the pain...
and angel wings took hold of me
slowly lifting me up to eternity
taking me to distant places
that are always full of hope and happiness...
then i suddenly opened my eyes
and i started to realize
it was just butterfly dreams
coming from my broken heart...
butterfly dreams and angel wings
are you really true?
or just a fantasy to make me blue?
butterfly dreams and angel wings
are you really there?
could you hold me
and never ever let go?
poem by Carla Grace De Los Santos
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Why Do You Think That I Am Ambitious?
you met me a long time ago,
20 years ago, i counted the passing years
i did not know what your impression of me
was.
when our paths met a few days ago
you wrote me a letter
telling me that i am an ambitious man
there is nothing wrong with ambition
it is a positive trait
to go forward in life
but i am not really ambitious
i live a very simple life
not that kind that Basho lived when he was once here
on this very place of a simple dwelling
a leaking roof where drops of rain serve as count
for the rhythm of
a poem
banana leaves to five space for something green
a perfectly opened window the one that does not close even at night
because we all want to see the hills and trees
the landscape of flowers and grass
we even want to take the roof out
so we can see all the stars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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