When We Go To The Mountains
when we go to the mountains
we always feel the ease of our pains
the lessening of our burdens
the loosening of the ties
that bind our necks
and choke our throats
we shall be at the foot
of the hills and feel the rivers running under our feet
we feel we do not need
the buffers of slippers
our skins missing the touch of freshness
the massaging of the stones
the tickling of our nerves
the green grasses spreading on the plains
the cows grazing
the eagles soaring high above us
the goats smelling us like aliens
the water buffaloes sniffing
our city sweats
the natives dance an ethnic number
some roasted pigs
and yams and brown rice
we speak of the wilderness
the silence and the peace
and the mountains are still
listening to our stories: lost souls, destroyed habitats,
the rape of nature
the murder of innocence
the robbery of everything that used to be beautiful
pure and simple
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Rat 6
do you remember
rice fields? try imagining
the green rice fields,
put some hills
more hills, and put a gap
between two hills,
and put the sun
shining brightly
and then put some black
buffaloes grazing at the
foot of the hills,
and then on the left side
try putting a nipa hut
a window and a little girl
looking out for sparrows
and on the right side
put the running river and
a jumping fish
do you still think that this
could be your home?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mountain Of Poverty
this is what i can tell you:
the children are running in the hills
looking for their favorite butterflies to play
chasing dreams, i suppose, who knows
what they really know and
feel, i was once a child myself, perhaps i have the right to guess
what simple wants they have,
freedom, but i can tell you about something else,
their breakfast today is only brown sugar and rice,
and they have not taken their baths in the river because
the water is dirty, and there is no water system in the hills,
primitive, and still undeveloped, the grasses are not cut
tall and wild, and the coconut trees are not bearing much fruits,
there is drought, and the tenants do not have a good harvest
of their upland rice and there are rats infesting the rice fields,
it rains so hard, the road is slippery and we all have to walk slowly
to keep themselves warm, the men drink wine and smoke
the women do not weave mats anymore, they're sold cheap
and they are so disappointed with what they are getting
sugar is a precious commodity here, no coffee,
salt is expensive, salted fish is a luxury,
bread is like gold here and children do not know what is bread all about
cookies do not exist here
stone age, this is stone age in the midst of an expanding world
the children here are left out
i stare at them as they throw stones at play,
dirt and foul smell, but on the other hand i look at the pictures
that i took on that day
less the smell, less the dirt on their faces,
they are so beautiful, and the mountains are still hopeful.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Like An Ocean
(per andreasson/ pernilla emme)
Producer for bonnie: jimmy smyth
Ocean...ocean...
In the darkness of nowhere
Theres nothing at all
And I feel like Ive been here too long
Shadows and teardrops fading away
And my heart is crying for love
Far from those moments
When my eyes were still closed
And my heartbeat was longing for more
Way over mountains, higher than high
I could feel the breeze from below
Like an ocean...
Like an ocean...
Now tell me your secrets
Come closer and whisper
I feel like Ive seen you before
Theres no more illusions
No more escapes
Cause Im tired of asking for more
Seems like a lifetime fading away
And Im lost in an ocean of love
Im reaching and holding onto my dreams
Cause Im not alone anymore
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Spoken:
Far from those moments
When my eyes were still closed
Way over mountains
Higher than high
I could feel the breeze from below
Its like an ocean, ocean...heeeyehhh
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Repeat & fade
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Political Theory
the way you manage things
pertains to an ordinary garden
weeding out the bad ones
cultivating the ideals
the snakes are caught and
cut to pieces
and the rats poisoned
and the trees pruned
the paths cleaned of rocks
and pebbles
you level mountains
desiring the plains
and the neighborhood claps
their hand and shall make
new monuments for you
there are words of praises
but not from me
for in my garden
the snakes thrive with the rats
the moss grows well with the stone
the grasses and the buffaloes
the rivers and the reeds
the fish and crocodiles
the bees and the flowers
the mountains stay as is
and the plains spread as they wish
i just let themselves be
and they are all very happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mountain View
after the night of love
i sit on the bamboo stair
facing the wide expanse of
mountains before me
beyond the horizon of fog
and smoke from the tiny
houses five hills away
and down the plains the
winding river taking the
usual routes of least resistance
i have seen wild carabaos grazing
white horses running with the
winds and the black birds
flying high seeking their prey
of chicks unprotected by hens.
i am amazed by this macrocosm.
How can some be so greedy amidst
these bounty? Can his hands hold
all the mountains? Can his mouth
drink all the rivers? Can he catch
all the black birds and put them
inside his cage? I know he can't but
i know he will. And that is the reason
why we are here hiding in the bellies
of these big mountains, siding with the
shades of the trees, taking inspiration
from all the stars, the moon and the
boundless sea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mining Story
they scraped the hills
with trees
the green grasses of homes
are gone
they dug those big holes
looking for
metals
manganese, gold,
for your jewelries
and other accessories
coal for your
fuels
the natives are dislocated
the children lost their birds
chickens and pigs are butchered
for they have no place
to stay
the hills are like criminals
their heads cut off
the trails here are like
intestines
penetrating the
belly of this
earth
listen! do you hear the drunkards
the government and mining firms!
listen! do you hear the sounds of guns
and the last living screams of the
chieftains
the mayors whom they voted
betrayed them
listen! do you hear the explosions
of bombs
the mountains are cracking
skulls
brains are spilling on the
rocks
listen! do you hear the guards coming
with their M-16s
and barking dogs
Run! Run! Run for your lives
Lest you forget
We are the last chickens and
pigs alive
Do not look back
Those are the children and wives
of the chieftains
Those are the hungry natives
begging in the cities
Their Homes gone
Their Hopes shattered
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Ngong Hills
A group of seven,
Magnificently stand at seven,
These inspired Karen Blixen.
With their face towards the city,
They smile and give a backdropp to the city.
Legend goes that back back in the days of yore,
A giant set foot at the plains and tripped,
And when he fell his fists left the prints in their shape.
And the locals named the hills Enkong'u
Which literally means knuckles in Maa.
Now, the white folks found that hard to say
Like they did with all the Kenyan names
And instead of Enkong'u they said
That, Ngong is what we call it, I say.
Didn't deviate much, now, did they?
Today these hills they still stand,
And beautiful Maasai cows, goats, and sheep
Graze and find their solace there
As they admire the greatest city on earth,
Even they call it the green city in the sun.
poem by Kimani wa Mumbi
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Innocence
What else can I do when the tears have all been wasted?
And the only voice you choose to hear
Sings the songs of our hearts breaking.
Say your dreams, they all have changed.
Well, my smiles, they all have faded.
And the thoughts that used to seem so pure in my heart,
They now feel jaded.
Because I wanna feel like I did.
And I wanna feel innocence.
What else can it be except this pride Im sick of drinking.
Storm clouds all have gone away.
Can we stop this thing from sinking?
Because I wanna feel like I did.
And I wanna feel innocence.
And I want you to know,
And to feel in your soul,
That someone has come and gone.
Im stuck up here with you.
I never thought wed get this high.
I used to be afraid of falling.
Now Ill spred my wings and I will fly.
I wanna feel like I did.
And I wanna feel innocence.
I wanna feel like I did.
Oh, and I wanna feel innocence, oh. i...
song performed by by Hootie & The Blowfish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Sleep a Lot
I sleep a lot and read St. Thomas Aquinas
Or The Death of God (that's a Protestant book).
To the right the bay as if molten tin,
Beyond the bay, city, beyond the city, ocean,
Beyond the ocean, ocean, till Japan.
To the left dry hills with white grass,
Beyond the hills an irrigated valley where rice is grown,
Beyond the valley, mountains and Ponderosa pines,
Beyond the mountains, desert and sheep.
When I couldn't do without alcohol, I drove myself on alcohol,
When I couldn't do without cigarettes and coffee, I drove myself
On cigarettes and coffee.
I was courageous. Industrious. Nearly a model of virtue.
But that is good for nothing.
I feel a pain.
not here. Even I don't know.
many islands and continents,
words, bazaars, wooden flutes,
Or too much drinking to the mirror, without beauty,
Though one was to be a kind of archangel
Or a Saint George, over there, on St. George Street.
Please, Doctor,
Not here. No,
Maybe it's too
Unpronounced
Please, Medicine Man, I feel a pain.
I always believed in spells and incantations.
Sure, women have only one, Catholic, soul,
But we have two. When you start to dance
You visit remote pueblos in your sleep
And even lands you have never seen.
Put on, I beg you, charms made of feathers,
Now it's time to help one of your own.
I have read many books but I don't believe them.
When it hurts we return to the banks of certain rivers.
I remember those crosses with chiseled suns and moons
And wizards, how they worked during an outbreak of typhus.
Send your second soul beyond the mountains, beyond time.
Tell me what you saw, I will wait.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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Theres Gold In The Mountains
(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
There are lots of girls in the mountains
And theyre worth their weight in gold
When theyre in my arms with their lovin charms
A treasure chest I hold
Well theres gold in the mountains, love in the hills
I dont need no city women with their diamonds and frills
Theres gold in the mountains and oh what scenery
The prettiest girls I ever did see
Theres such beauty there in the mountains
You can feel your knees growin weak
Every single boy feels the height of joy
When he climbs that mountain peak
Well theres gold in the mountains, love in the hills
I dont need no city women with their diamonds and frills
Theres gold in the mountains and oh what scenery
The prettiest girls I ever did see
I said theres gold in the mountains, love in the hills
I dont need no city women with their diamonds and frills
Theres gold in the mountains and oh what scenery
The prettiest girls I ever did see
I ever did see
I ever did see
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Read Psalm 30
Say, it’s the first day
of your holiday in the country or the wild:
you’ve slept so well, you go out
just as dawn is about to break,
to take in your surrounding:
fields, woods, forests, mountains;
there’s dew on the ground, moist air
gently rolling off the mountains;
everything seems, at this precious moment,
to know all about two great events:
sleeping and resting, and waking and being alive;
you take it all in for a moment;
then maybe, light a cigarette,
think of your first cup of coffee,
congratulate yourself for living the good life..
or maybe something in you would like,
as the first slow sunlight makes rainbows
in each dropp of dew in front of you,
to say thank you to someone or something;
maybe you believe a bit in God
while freely admitting, you don’t understand
anything about His – or Her, or Its – nature;
and maybe that sense of wonder
that crept up on you
slips into a sort of thankful praise; and that
expands the wonder wonderfully, until
you’re living surrounded by wonder;
and if someone said to you standing there,
don’t you feel that all around us,
we are looking, smelling, tasting, hearing,
in the silence and the stillness, something of
the nature of God? you might
say, something like that…
maybe the psalmist is right,
God ‘needs’, too, in a way;
needs human beings to wonder at him,
thank him, praise him, celebrate him…
maybe the mind loves innocence,
the heart, to sing and dance…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I Want Water
Just dont taste good.
Whats wrong-number one water.
So the rice grower, ' said'.
You maybe want more.
Feel like a shut door.
Water just dont feel right.
Acid-rain- blurring my sight.
Number one water-BOY.
Please dont tell me more.
YOU MUST HAVE WATER.
YOU number -1,1,1,1, -wont live.
Water shock to the body.
Water just dont feel right.
Must have some water, water.
WHAT YOU MEAN-YOU WANT -WATER.
Out on the block -GIRL.
BABY NEEDS WATER.
YOE, YOE, YOE-you got-WATER
MAN-KEEP YOUR COOL.
YOE-COOL water MAN.
COOL WATER
WATER.
WAT.
W.
[[[[the end]]]
[GOOGLE: search, POEWHIT]
poem by Joe Poewhit
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Saga Of Old Prostitute
At the age of five my only father died
at the age of ten I got raped
this not a ease to explain how
in a every half decade
I faced walls in barren field
I got cursed being beautiful
beauty doesn't signifies a
beautiful wife to be of someone
a beautiful house and a
caressing husband were
not ment for me indeed
At the age of fifteen
I drifted from the mountains
to the city of trains
the trusted man I had
sold me in this plain.
sold to this city of people;
into this no heart man's land
at the age of 20 I had 2 sons
Who always asked me who
was my husband
but I kept numb
and my silence was
obvious
sometime I feel where I am
though I m standing on my
feet erect
Now when I m dusk of falling sun
who ll look after me? I wonder
nothing to gain and loose
my stupidity! who ll look after this old prostitute
poem by Abiee Josy
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Achieve Goals of Dreams!
Innocent animal pleasure of child is harmless!
Playful quest urges him to do so to get satisfaction.
With a little knowledge he likes pictures, colours
and enjoys beautiful things in dress and all things!
Perfectionist loves to see beauty in all activities,
Loves beauty of Nature, beautiful things ever,
Loves to do in a beautiful way whatever he loves;
Aesthetic nature grows since childhood on sure!
Then thinking age begins him to feel about drawbacks;
Seeks loneliness in Peaceful places of Nature at first;
His taste of beauty diverts him towards Nature's beauty:
Sea, sky, misty hills, snow mountains, smooth rivers,
Green meadows, smiling flowers, moon and stars....!
He goes to such places often far from the madding lads;
Gets peace of mind and communes with Nature in toto;
Becomes also a mystic soon enjoying the bliss endless!
He regains new spirit full of enthusiasm and begins life
Again from the scratch to achieve goals of his dreams...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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I Shall Speak
I shall speak of rivers
and I shall speak of streams,
And I shall speak of how they flow
and seep into my dreams.
All the waters pure and clean
purify my thought.
I think how marvelous that I've seen
that which can't be bought.
I shall speak of hillsides
and mountains as they rise.
And I shall speak of how they look
and brighten up my eyes.
All the rises grand or small
expand just how I feel.
I think how wonderful that I've known
what no one can conceal.
I shall speak of beauty
and I shall speak of love.
And I shall speak of how they mix
and take me far above
the ordinary happenings
and events that fill my day.
I think how fortunate I have been
when my breath was taken away.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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In Femagas
This is the simplest place
I'd been
Througout my life
The roads pure clay
The mountains pure trees
Nothing bald
No patch of brown
The flowers here bloom
All year round
And fogs hang on
Mountain sides like
Guavas
The children knows nothing
But the laughter of the rivers
The playfulness of worms and birds
The freedom of the monkeys
The staple food is brown rice
The best viand is City Sardine
The one with the Boat trademark
The best desert is a chunk
Of brown sugar
When one gets sick here
There is no doctor
They just consult all their gods
In their sacred caves
And when they die
No one mourns
The other side of the River
Where the boatman takes them
Is their perfect resting place
The Silence golden
The Quiet diamond-like
So Perfect & So Secluded
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chicago II
I feel the tug of life
on my apron strings
the ebb and flow
of the big city.
I feel the wilderness
letting go.
I feel awakening
a ferocity of my own.
I feel the pull of the world
on my bootstraps.
the sites I've yet to see.
I feel my skin
settling in to the skin
of the big city.
I feel my veins pumping with the life
of this new city.
I feel my tissues revitalized,
I feel the virtigo of life
swarming around me.
I feel the call
of the city
even now.
And I must go, to this new place,
and feel life, at a new pace.
11-4-03
poem by Valerie Jupe
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Mmm Skyscraper I Love You
Thirty thousand feet above the earth.
Youre a beautiful thing. mmm skyscraper I love you.
Thirty thousand feet above the earth.
Its a beautiful thing. and youre a beautiful thing.
Thirty thousand feet above the earth.
Its a beautiful thing. everybodys a beautiful thing.
And I see elvis. elvis. I see
Porn dogs sniffing the wind. sniffing the wind for something new.
Porn dogs sniffing the wind for something violent they can do.
Porn dogs sniffing the wind. sniffing the wind for something new.
Porn dogs sniffing the wind for something violent for me and you.
Will you be my big plaything. my total big disorientator.
Will you be my big plaything. my ninja power. my number cruncher.
Yes. yes. yes. no. yes. yes.
And I see elvis. and I hear God on the phone. I see
Porn dogs sniffing the wind. sniffing the wind for something new.
Porn dogs sniffing the wind for something violent that they could do.
Porn dogs sniffing the wind. sniffing the wind for something new.
Porn dogs sniffing the wind for something violent for me and you.
The city is a whore tonight. and I see God talking
Elvis. God talking.
Pornfest pork fat jesus christ night light.
Elvis fresh meat and a little whipped cream.
Pornfast cornfat jesus christ night ride.
Elvis fresh meat and a little whipped cream.
Thirty thousand feet above the earth.
Thirty thousand feet above the earth.
Beautiful thing. youre a beautiful thing.
Thirty thousand feet above the beautiful earth.
Like I feel you.
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When we reach the mountaintop
3000 steps up
we climb
we take the rope
beside a cliff
we keep our feet secure
we keep our grip strong
climbing this trail
toward the mountaintop
when we reach there
both of us
we see the whole city
cars running like ants
on its belly
people walking like
small worms
the sun like a bulb
the trees like some
feathers and the
other mountains
bald like brownies
the sea is so blue
from far
the horizon bold
like a departure
the boats sail away
to another island
the plane on a
touchdown on the
cemented pavement
near the shore
some green palms
on the river
look like leaves
of grass
some clouds we touch
cold to our hands
3000 steps up
one hour up to the sky
just to feel
this loneliness
we see what we want to see
we feel what we want to feel
then we go down again
without a word
for ourselves
too tired
we console ourselves
that was solitude
we shall now talk about.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The climb
Forlorn, desilote, and serene.
I stand at the mountains
The place where I will rise
Upon its slope
Peace published in my thoughts
Oh how beautiful
Upon the mountains
My feet are
The feeling
I feel prepared me
For personal asent
Steep and salutary
A challange to be reckoned with
The charm of satifaction.
poem by Howard Johnson
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