En.Citatepedia^®.ro

We Are The Roots

for we are the roots
penetrating the wombs
of mother earth

and up there we
see God as the Flower
of all of our longings

the sky between us
is the stalk
the clouds are the leaves
and the winds
are our whispers
to one another

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Leaves

Winds whistle through the trees,
The breeze whispers and sends the leaves,
To glance off an unsuspecting tree trunk,
And then to execute a spirited bunk,
Zigzagging among the gnarled roots,
On the forest floor, which suits
Them very well, and there each one settles,
Surrounded by the stinging nettles,
To compost down and feed the ancient earth,
And then, in time, to constitute rebirth.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Mother Sky Cries

Mother sky cries when the leaves turn from green to gold
Mother sky cries when the leaves die and the weather turns cold
Mother sky cries when the earth turns warm and the body sweats
Mother sky cries and leaves the heart scorned and the skin wet
Mother sky cries and father cloud mourns
Mother sky cries and baby flower is born

poem by Anthony Martello
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A Realization Of Two Things

a bud is better
seen on top of its stalk

even when it has
already bloomed
completely

it is still nicer to
see the flower stuck
on its stalk

even if it has already
wilted
it is still nicer to see
it on its stalk

even when the stalk is gone
the flower is still there

and it is nicer still
to imagine it

untouched by any human
hand
only nature
only nature has the power
to take it

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Samuel Gardner

I who kept the greenhouse,
Lover of trees and flowers,
Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,
Measuring its generous branches with my eye,
And listened to its rejoicing leaves
Lovingly patting each other
With sweet aeolian whispers.
And well they might:
For the roots had grown so wide and deep
That the soil of the hill could not withhold
Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,
And warmed by the sun;
But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,
Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,
And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,
Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.
Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Spring's Whisper

Whispers reach with silkened sigh.
Upon spun wings of time they fly ~
through forests tall and stately bound,
across the brown and barren ground.

Hushed within dark wintry night.
Chilled by nature's frosty sight.
Whispers whisper to the sea ~
Upon new winds a change there'll be.

Above the mountains whispers soar,
a whisper now at heaven's door.
Change follows in expectant glee.
Upon new winds a change there'll be.

Through meadows far ~ they whisper long,
breathing breaths of springtime song.
Alas, sweet wisps of warming see.
Upon new winds a change there'll be.

Awakened by the silkened sigh
of whispers softly flying by ~
earth absorbs the sighs like rain
as springtime whispers once again.

Whispers reach with silkened sigh.
Upon spun wings of time they fly,
to spread their whispers ~ o'er land and sea
Upon new winds a change there'll be.

poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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299

at first i contemplate about the
sunflower as a princess
but it will not do her justice
because she is the queen
of the sun,
she rules the fields of green
and blue
and red too, these sunsets and
even sunrises
playing well
tagging her along
to paths of joys
& sorrows

she stands flower high
to the clouds
to storms and tempests
she yields
like any flower
still queenly to her bowing
only to rise again
with her seeds

yes, her many princesses
by her side
wilted yellowed petals
and withered
stalk
some soft winds
sad
some drops of rain still about to fall

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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But Let Me Talk Now About The Sunflower Queen

at first i contemplate about the
sunflower as a princess
but it will not do her justice
because she is the queen
of the sun,
she rules the fields of green
and blue
and red too, these sunsets and
even sunrises
playing well
tagging her along
to paths of joys
& sorrows

she stands flower high
to the clouds
to storms and tempests
she yields
like any flower
still queenly to her bowing
only to rise again
with her seeds

yes, her many princesses
by her side
wilted yellowed petals
and withered
stalk
some soft winds
sad
some drops of rain still about to fall

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Lost

A flower that grew so high,
The brightest colour of a favoured bride,
Walking on marbles, the ceiling is sky,
Spreading its petals with a magnificient pride,
always dancing in th caressing winds,
Whistles to the blessedness of the day,
A special specie of its own kind,
like a stream that approaches May,
Sweet necter, my heart excruciatingly longs,
Even bees perch with love so dear,
While other circles overhead with known songs,
Flower that seemed to stick to its stalk forever,
However, clouds wept upon your dusk.
Before night fall, the flower fell.
Deep darkness, My regrets dearly tell.

poem by Olabode Joseph Oluwatayo
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Even In The Driest Of The Desert

out there
in the driest part of the desert
a flower still thrives
thin leaves
and tiny petals
stalks like wires
and roots
penetrating the softness
of the sands
out there
it is preaching of hope
resiliency

some flowers are scarlet
deep blue
but nowhere can you find
black

black is the color of death
red is the color of
the wounded sands.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Flower of Death

The life is all we have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our mind
And its stalk will sprout and wind

Death will take blossom, and it shall never fade it shall stay bright
And oh it shall be a beautiful sight, as it holds its petals into the night
And the leaves shall spread as green as green can be
And if you look close you will see

It's roots shall grow deep in the pot of eternity, in the dirt of the mind
The flower shall shine, so magnificent so kind
It's pollen will fly, will sour
And wait at the front of someone's door

The sun of the next world shall shine and nurture, the rain shall fall
Thanks to that the vines shall grow, and overcome the wall
The minerals of the soul will strengthen the warmth shall grow
This process shall grow, like snow falls, fast at first then slow

For the life is all we have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our minds
And its stalk will sprout and wind

For now the flower shall bloom
The darkness shall leave, take the gloom
It shall leave us and we shall follow in the light of what's to be
Only then, we shall see

The flower of forever
As it takes root, you use it as a lever
Lifting you to the flower
And now you shall not cower

For you know this will spread and the flower shall grow shall thrive
And then you will know you are truly alive
As it takes root in your soul, and it shall becomes the power
For this is the blossom, this is the flower

The life is all our have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our mind
And its stalk will sprout and wind

Bethany Hill
(This poem is not supposed to make you contemplate death, and I would not like to have people think that it is. It is just meant to show you that you should not fear death yet you should not reach for it but to take it when it is meant to come. Thank you)

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Autumn Leaves

I still hearken a little deep
from the rolled out time
the last song of cuckoo
humming through the hot winds.

The scents of last spring-flower
still drift through
my dried up nasal lanes.

Today walking silently
over the crackling autumn leaves
I rue for the withered
bed of roses that once paved my way
towards a breathing heaven of verve.

The parched earth and naked trees
stand before me
like fossils
of the deceased last spring.

The desiccated bed
of my garden-pond
it seems,
has no tears to shed
at her robbed off
once brimming water wealth.

Where are those bunnies
and little squirrels that sprinted,
rollicked and rocked
over my grassy lawn?
Where's grass?
Where's lawn?
Under the searing Sun
where are smiles, glee, bliss and prank?

The dead autumn leaves
under my feet
whispered in husky, crackling tones
the secret of seasons:
"We're dead...interred we reach soon
our mother roots' bed.

We'll sprout again
as leaves tender, sleek and charming...
no death to us...
no dearth
for green-green wealth.

Every autumn is followed
by a new spring.

poem by Sathya Narayana
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A Boy In The Water

a boy
wades in the sea
on the shallower part
he dips his feet
and feels the rocks
beneath

the deep waits
danger lurks

the mother is complacent
and busy
with the weaving of her dreams

the boy goes deeper
and the mouth of the
sea waits
in hunger

the mother sings
to the clouds
as the father pounds the
earth for
his corn ears

the boy goes deeper and deeper
wading through the
water

the sea opens its mouths
and breathes
and becomes so silent

the mother weaves her dreams
the father pounds the earth for corn

the winds pass by
the clouds become heavy and gray
the tears of the sky
arrive

the waters of the river rise
the mother screams
the father stabs the earth
with the sharpness of his bolo

regrets and mourning
reign
the complacent village

the boy is now at peace
in the belly of the sea.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For Us To Become What We Really Are

when you ask me
i always have
those answers

i know how
to invent what is not there
as a kit for my
survival

i ask you
perhaps sometime

when we are
freed from our
syndromes

to dropp all those questions
and leave
them unattended for
a while

like leaves from
our twigs when

we have chosen to be
trees emptied of
our barks

we shall see
skeletons of our
selves

freed from the trappings
of our flesh
from the support of our
bones

for then we shall
have no biases
of the longings of
our minds

liberated from the
shackles of
what we strongly
believe in

and i will tell you again
that i have all the answers
not of my invention anymore
but those handed
to us

by the hands of the sun
by the mouths of the rivers
by the lips of the moon
by the whispers of the stars

o, let the winds be cold
let the nights be lonely
we need all these sometimes
so that we may become
what we must be really are.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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what do we do to Mother Earth?

do not burn
let the leaves fall to the ground
let them stay there
layer by layer
heap upon heap
let mother earth
hug all the leaves
let the affection be
strong and heavy
let the leaves die
and rot and become
water and become dust
to dust
let all of us see this dust
we shall do what mother earth
and nature loves best
to dust we shall return
and be its permanent part
close to the bosom
of mother earth
forever

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Birth, Pain, Love, Happiness, Sacrifice and Death-A Life Quoted

Penning down the fantasy,
From the land with mortals as scarcity,
Every frame having its liberty,
Where no word is struck with sterility.

The verse depicting a prose,
As in the clouds the sun rose,
Earning the smile of every earthly rose,
And going to touch Lord’s toes.

A flower was born out of the soil,
Where others were in turmoil,
Beauty of love it had in its essence coil,
Budding out it was juvenile.

Grew it on every ray of light,
But the days were not full of delight,
The clouds and the floods came into its sight,
And it slept every day as if it was a night.

Faded were the colors,
Days it lived like counting numbers,
But there is a God who never slumbers,
For the life of a child He played like a gambler.

Sent He a gardener with His smile,
Who never left that flower for a single while,
Who would bring the showers from the flooding Nile,
Who gave the flower a new color and went away as He's agile.

Gardener being God,
Sent by the Lord,
Was the only reason for the flower to make a nod,
Made with the flower a life bond.

Nurtured he the flower and its roots to the earth,
Never let the flower move away from mirth,
Everytime he touched it gave a new birth,
And the flower died every night in his memory when he returnest.

The gardener had to do his service,
This was too known to the flower’s nervous,
Told it to him, it was thrown in a circus,
But he never completely acknowledged its reverence.

God was the supporter to the shining flower,
Which showed like a bright star,
The gardener’s pain was its scar,
And his hand was its power.

Flowers cursed by the Satan,
To live until the autumn,
But gifted by the God’s solemn,
To live ever after, by the aroma, in men.

Said the flower to his Almighty,
“Crush me under your bare feet”,
Replied the planter to his child,
“You are my child from the bosom
And I would melt myself in the guilt.”
The flower with a pearl in its eye and a smile in the sun,
“The colors of my life, the water in my roots,
The food in my shoots,
Are no a pleasure of Him or the earth’s loots,
But of your might.
I would get my heavenly abode under your feet,
By serving my God who gave me my colors,
And my fragrance would keep you in my Light.

poem by Aashish Kalra
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Clouds Shall Pass

I see clouds
Whitish and feathery
Cotton white and feathery
Dark clouds, winds gather,

Winds howl, winds sweep the sky
Sun shines, coloured rainbow bows
little rain spatters, clouds,
Clouds shall clear, the sun winks.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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No Tree Can Stand Tall Without Roots Spread!

Every seed sends roots first,
Finding for soil and ground
where it can stand firm and tall,
stand firm and tall if roots go
deep,
Spread wide to find The sap! single cell that carry life,
Give life to cells and tissues,
Shoot, barks, branches and
leaves,
feed the leaves exposing leaves
to light, Visible tree stands on exposed
roots, not roots visible, Man made boundaries, fence and
compound,
Can't prevent or limit roots or
branches,
Sometimes absorbing soil here,
Branch will extent to neighbouring house,
How one can limit the nature,
or confine growing tree to
narrow circle drawn by man?
So is every life on Earth!
Mankind is like forest of different trees,
Yet all roots of autotrophic trees
deep in the soil,
Only parasitic have those roots,
pierce other tree's heart! Dive deep into yourself,
O man! Can you survive without
Your roots?
know how you are here,
Is it the mortal parent brought
you here, Or your fate,
Only be grateful to their love and
care forever!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Lap

The wingless sky
Of my mother’s wings
Spreads a mountain cry
The earthen clay thus sings

The wingless earth
Cries out the mothers’ wombs
Swimming in the pre-birth
Of beauty as secret as tunes

A lap thou art
Thy mother’s heart

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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About Being Extrasensitive The Places Around You...

I SEE sparrows gathering
little pieces of leaves and
light husks
for the building of
their nests

it is time for laying eggs
this summer
when the winds are a little bit
colder

i see leaves falling
the trees getting bald
becoming like new fingers
under the sky

i see grass spreading
slowly turning brown
like muscovado sugar

i see mountains
where clouds hang like
smoke from pipes
of old men waiting
still on there
veranda

i see roads where old cars pass
leaving an eddy
of dusts
slowly settling down again
like a light brown mantle
of the breakfast
table

you should have seen me
how foolishly have i waited for you
in this old house
where we first met
many years ago

you should have felt how a poem like this
can be written

because waiting can be an agony
and without being extra sensitive to all that i see beyond all these longings

the horizon over there
the mountains and grass and roads running without ending
and eddies of dust of old cars that conk and honk
and winds that manipulate the helplessness of leaves
as cold as feelings of being
ruthlessly abandoned

without all these
life could have long surrendered
could have long ceased
like a calendar
on the last day of Christmas

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'll Give You A Flower, Mother

I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
For life is but a garden
To children of 5 years

I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
For to a bride, they’re lovely
Mother, hold your tears

I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
I’ll lay it in your sweet hands
For our time has disappeared

I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
When I see you there at heaven
When my time’s done here

poem by Whitney Albright
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