What I Am To You
who are you?
i am not the sun
i do not have light
my hands are not
rays
do not worship me
do not look down
look at me straight in
my eyes
i cannot blind
you
i am a river
come, come to me
plunge in me
flow with me
in my own sorrow
do not stand there
and raise your hands
trying to reach me
i am not a cloud
i am a tree so
come, come, come to me
climb in my branches
pick my fruits
have some to eat
i am the kindness of the hill
the shade of the tired
traveler
do not create a distance
i am the grass
sit upon me
lay your body
i am soft and i am cool
make yourself comfortable.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Not...
it is not the language
but the thought
it is not the house but
those who live in it
it is not the road
but the car and the drivers
the passengers too
it is not the ship
but those waving hands
it is not the school building
but the students and teachers
deep in their mission
for more
it is not the church structure
but the pilgrims
in prayer
it is not this Earth
but us
it is not the River
but the bather
it is not the paper
but the words that you write in them
it is not the pen
neither the ink
it is you and your memories
it is not the feet and hands
but your distance
the journey
the things that you create
along this
path
this hill and mountain
that cloud and
sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Paint My Life
let me at least choose
the colors
red for love
blue for my sorrow
gray for my confusions
do not draw me in
bold strokes
for i was never brave
do give me crooked
lines
minimize the straight ones
my eyes are two moons
my feet are trees without roots
my face the sun
its rays my hair
my whole body
a driftwood
my moles be islands
my hands are branches
without leaves
praying to the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Sprinkle Your Love
The glazing sunshine
Afternoon
Under that tree
Tree with dry leaves
Visible roots
Dry earth
Give me water
To drink
And sprinkle your love
On the bareness of my heart
The sky and some patches of white clouds
I stretch
Hold my hands
The hands dry like the branches of that tree
Hold my hands
For these hands
May grow some leaves
And fruits
Like the hope
I have
From the tree
My love
Do not despair
There is blood
Still running in my veins
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Your Cloud
where the river cross
crosses the lake
where the words
jump off my pen
and into your pages
do you think
just like that
you can divide
this you as yours
me as mine to
before we were us
if the rain has to separate
from itself
does it say "pick out your cloud?"
pick out your cloud
if there is
a horizontal line
that runs from the map
off your body
straight through the land
shooting up
right through my heart
will this horizontal line
when asked
know how to find
where you end
where i begin
"pick out your cloud"
how light can play
and form a ring of rain
that can change bows into arrows
(i found a thrill)
who we were isn't lost
before we were us
indigo in his own
blue always knew this
if the rain
has to separate
from itself
does it say pick out your cloud
song performed by by Tori Amos from Scarlet's Walk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life Is Like A River
we give away like the way a river flows
day to day
we may start with the petals of the flowers
we let them fall one by one
to the flow of the river
then we begin again with the leaves and then
the twigs and the branches and then if we have
nothing more to give we give away the tree itself
to the flow of the river
we look at ourselves we give every part of us
piece by piece to the flow of the great river
our properties our honor our clothes and when all these
are given away we start to give back our hands, our feet
we look at every pocket of our senses and when everything
is given away we shall now give the last that we have to the flow
of this great river of life
we let flow our soul. we have given everything
sometimes we ask that we stay for a while, but this cannot be
the law of the great river of life is clear, we give everything away
slowly, willingly, until all the pain of giving is gone away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Ripe Guavas
on top of a hill
beside a cliff
the branches of
the guava tree
are filled with
ripe fruits
a bird with
small wings
flew and
perched on
one of the
branches
it is pecking
on the biggest
and the ripest
which at any
moment may fall
right on the
sharp rocks
just below
the cliff
where the hands
of death keep on
waving
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hill top
On the hill top of camomile and dandelion flower colours.
I hear a song with rabbit hears, coming from a church near.
Adoring the grass, adorning the air,
Exploring the maze of spice edge.
Thirsted by the long walk over the hill top
I am drunk of dew on Sunday bloom.
I rest on shade of snake bunch shape,
and sunshine day.
Where the cloud accompanies the constant sing of bird.
And lady bird claiming on a greenish mould brick wall.
Dressed by nature of black spot, red body and white look.
Of Sparrow bath in the green grass, with toys of worms & muddle soap.
I m seat on the higher hill, watching, mouldy tree shape,
And kids from far house playing with their bucket and spade.
Digging the sun out, into the smile on their happy face.
While the mother watering the flowers of her youth love.
Happy day, peacefully made of fresh air, whispering.
On my body, cover in clay smell,
Like the sand in my hands from the soil, full of space,
Infinite moments
Concealing my sorrow.
poem by Luca Menin
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Venus Stop The Train
Venus, stop the train
For the brakeman lost his place
Satellites were spinning and out of space
They televised her feelings while the light
The light struck terror
I kept my distance because she fell in love with everyone
Smoking grass and taking Christmas trees
She fell in love with me
I was polite to her
A soft sadness having much more than her
Loneliness
Her father warmed the benches
Vice president of southern branches
He reached out to her when her mother slept
He would never forget the light
The light, the light striking terror
I kept my distance because she fell in love with everyone
Smoking grass and taking Christmas trees
She fell in love with me
I was polite to her
A soft sadness having much more than her
Loneliness
Satellites spinning
Satellites spin
Well the light
The light, the light
The light, the light
The light strikes terror
The light strikes terror
I keep my distance because she falls in love with everyone
Smoking grass and taking Christmas trees
She falls in love with me
I'm polite to her
A soft sadness having much more than her
Ugliness
I keep my distance cause she falls in love with everyone
Smoking grass and taking Christmas trees
She falls in love with me
I'm polite to her
I reach my soft hand out to her
I've known her for a very, very long time
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why can't we...?
River flows
Only in one direction
And knows its destination
Yet,
Those by the banks
Thrive and prosper
Why can't we be
Like the river?
Tree bears fruit
And gives shade
For none in particular
Yet
Knows not its fruit
Or its shade
Why can't we be
Like the tree?
Rain rains
For earth to regenerate
The seed to sprout
And plant to bear leaf
Yet
Knows not the life
It recharges
Too many hands
On too many things
Do we have desiring
Name, fame and bounty
And suffer
We end up in
Rain of tears
With no shade to protect
We flow direction-less
Allowing our core
To wash away!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A River Poem
Inside the river are
the sky, the cloud, and the sun.
In my hands’ bowl is the river.
If I throw up my hands,
the river spills in drops, scattering
sky, cloud, and sun all o’er me.
From my hands’ bowl, if I drink
the river, then within me,
the sun, the cloud, and the sky.
Tell me, who is in who?
poem by Mamta G.Sagar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sedated
Queing up
Body searched
Ripped off
In the face of a guy with a grin
Feeling blessed whe he lets you in
Raise your hands, the night begins
Raise your hands, the night begins
Broken thrills
Broken pills
Vibrate
Your eyes dilate
Raise your hands, the night begins
You wanna be sedated
Say what you feel, do what you want
You look so good, you look so fine
Raise your hands, raise your hands
In the ultimate sky
Get high
You wanna be sedated
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sedated
Queing up
Body searched
Ripped off
In the face of a guy with a grin
Feeling blessed whe he lets you in
Raise your hands, the night begins
Raise your hands, the night begins
Broken thrills
Broken pills
Vibrate
Your eyes dilate
Raise your hands, the night begins
You wanna be sedated
Say what you feel, do what you want
You look so good, you look so fine
Raise your hands, raise your hands
In the ultimate sky
Get high
You wanna be sedated
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dream Of The Flesh
we are in the river
naked
our bodies meet
like
one body
missing
another body
and the river
becomes
one warm
water
trickling down
our two bodies
body to body
flesh to flesh
hands
to hands and
arms entwine
like some
chains of
daisies
to our necks
this oneness
that we
finally make
eyes to eyes
closing
and lips to lips
searching
tongues
we dare
search
our souls
if they
are there
too
in this
fusion
for the
meantime
we have no time
to ask
the river
has no name
even
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Y.. Tree of Life
The tree of life
It has a branch
A money making branch
The bigger the money making branch
The more comfortable our life
But if the money making branch
Is the only branch
On our tree of life
It is such an ugly and unstable tree.
A prayer and devotion branch
Will stabilize the tree of life
Let it be a real big branch
On your tree of life
But if only two branches on a tree
Imagine how ugly it would still be!
So let there be branches
Of Affability and Charity
Of Cheerfulness and Friendliness
Of Gentleness and Honesty
Of Humility and Compassion
Of Spirituality and Wisdom
Of Courage and Hard work
With these branches present,
It will carry soon the lush greenery
Of love and job satisfaction
And soon enough, the tree of life
Will bear the fruits
Of peace of mind and happiness.
A wonderful tree of life I wish you
with many fine branches
and lots of greenery and fruits.
poem by Aufie Zophy
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Country Scrumping
Your country cousin took you
Across a field to a vast orchard
Where low hung branches
Made the green apples within
Reach of your young boy’s hands.
Don’t eat too many of them
Or you’ll get gut ache, she said.
Your eyes had never seen so
Many apples, row after row
In long lines down the field and
Fields beyond. You picked an apple
And bit into it. They make cider
From these, she said, picking off
An apple too and biting with relish.
Your younger sister looked nervously
On wondering if she too should pick.
Go on, your cousin said, pick and eat.
Your sister reached up and pulled
And a few apples fell to the ground
With soft sounds of thump on the
Short grass. She picked up one and
Brushed it off on her dress. Have to
Run if the farmer comes, your cousin
Said, and don’t tell of this or we’ll be
For it. For what? Your sister asked.
Your cousin looked around and replied,
A good telling off or a good tanned ass.
You stood all three of you eating, beneath
The apple trees, in the short green grass.
poem by Terry Collett
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See And Feel The Wonder
Leave me in the cool tall grass
With my back against a tree
Tilt my head back a bit
Put soft brush beneath my knee
Put my hands atop one another
For I have the need, you see
To see and feel the wonder
To repose beneath the tree
So journey on…Don’t look back
Think no more of me
Just leave me in the cool tall grass
With my back against a tree
poem by David Whalen
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Taking Leave of a Friend
Blue mountains to the north of the walls,
White river winding about them;
Here we must make separation
And go out through a thousand miles of dead grass.
Mind like a floating wide cloud,
Sunset like the parting of old acquaintances
Who bow over their clasped hands at a distance.
Our horses neigh to each others
as we are departing.
poem by Ezra Pound
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The Maker
(daniel lanois)
Oh, oh deep water, black and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open
Ive run a twisted line
Im a stranger in the eyes of the maker
I could not see for the fog in my eyes
I could not feel for the fear in my life
From across the great divide, in the distance I saw a light
Of jean baptistes hes walking to me with the maker
My body my body is bent and broken by long and dangerous sleep
I cant work the fields of abraham and turn my head away
Im not a stranger in the hands of the maker
Brother john, have you seen the homeless daughters
Standing there with broken wings
I have seen the flaming swords
There over east of eden
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Oh, river rise from your sleep
Oh, river rise from your sleep
Oh, river rise from your sleep
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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