En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Conversation With Solitude

The nothingness out of which you emerge,
is also a part of me, of which you do not know
no one wants to be with you,
everyone flees you, but feels you,

Everyone denies you, but
I know you exist,
I have seen you watching the yellow leaves as they abandon the tree,
Sad as me….

poem by Sarang Mangi
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Searching the truth

Nothingness of negation or
Negation of nothingness....

In self, we are the negation of nothingness,
But we allow the nothingness for self.

We allow the nothingness of consciousness
As a perpetual flight of the being.
We exist in self and we exist for self,

In a cartesian duality,

In a latin con-cretum,

When the certain being surpasses that being toward nothingness.

If Jesus did not exist,
the Christians would not be existent,
But Christians are existent.

No one can deny Jesus, as Son of the God,
And say that He is non-existent, at the same time,
As Son of The God,
Because no one can deny something that
Is non-existent,
As no one can deny the real essence of the existent.

The non-existent things are part of the reality.
He is existent in the Christian's mind.
He is non-existent in other's mind.
He is in idea.
There are too many wars for this idea..

Negation of nothingness
Lead to nothingness of negation
In a double negation.

Jesus is necessary for salvation,
Jesus is essential for salvation.

We need to be sanctified,
We need to be better than we are.

Without the assertion of existence,
The negation cannot destroy it.

We have a metaphysical necessity,
While God has His necessity of Himself.

And what would be the purity of intention
And the truth
Without this?

The denial of noes, which means fertilization, at Hegel,
The absolute duty to tell the truth, at Kant...
The human lie at Schopenhauer.

The existence and the non-existence,
Seemingly, an irreconcilable antithesis....

poem by Marieta Maglas
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Vivaldi, concerto for flute

Children playing on a green playground
Mothers watching
Closely watching
The faces of children
Smiling

Cool air
Green leaves brown leaves yellow leaves
Soft wind
Leaves falling down to the slow soft wind

Children running
Chasing each other
They are playing

A mother feels the soft wind
Cool air
And sees the trickles of leaves
Blending green brown yellow

With sunshine as canvass
Nature and human figures of mothers and children
Blending
Amazing
What a beautiful painting has God
In quick short brushes
Effortlessly with perfect strokes did make

The frame is laughter of children.

I am taking the whole picture for home.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The New Religion Of 'Nothingness

THE NEW RELIGION OF ‘NOTHINGNESS'

The new Religion of Nothingness
Hates God
And aims at Faith's Destruction-

The new Religion of Nothingness
Celebrates accident and incident
Idolizes the Purposelessness and Meaninglessness
Of it all-
And consoles us with speculations
That our universe may be a multiverse
Which too did not have to be created to exist.

The new Religion of Nothingness
Feigns Proof for its main contention
And gives Humanity no Hope
But only Nothing and more Nothing
As Beginning and End of all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Yellow Ribbon On The Old Oak Tree

who can forget the yellow ribbon
on that old oak tree? tell me.

tomorrow, i shall wear my yellow cap
my yellow shirt, my yellow brief,
my yellow pants.

my jaundiced eye, my golden yellow ring.
tomorrow, in my country, the sky is yellow.

all steps lead to the yellow brick road.
all fruits are ripe and mellow and yellow.

Tomorrow, the country is yellow.
Yellow for integrity, Yellow for change.
Yellow for justice. Yellow for truth.

One day more, and the sun shall rise
Yellow as ever.Yellow forever.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Maple

is a system of posture for wood.
A way of not falling down
for twigs that happens
to benefit birds. I don't know.
I'm staring at a tree,
at yellow leaves
threshed by wind and want you
reading this to be staring
at the same tree. I could
cut it down and laminate it
or ask you to live with me
on the stairs with the window
keeping an eye on the maple
but I think your real life
would miss you. The story
here is that all morning
I've thought of the statement
that art is about loneliness
while watching golden leaves
become unhinged.
By ones or in bunches
they tumble and hang
for a moment like a dress
in the dryer.
At the laundromat
you've seen the arms
thrown out to catch the shirt
flying the other way.
Just as you've stood
at the bottom of a gray sky
in a pile of leaves
trying to lick them
back into place.

poem by Bob Hicok
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Autumn

Red and yellow, orange and brown
will replace the green we see.
For the leaves of autumn are changing now
and soon will leave their tree.
The acorns will crunch under our feet
and rakes will soon be used.
Piles of leaves will be gathered
and the squirrels will keep us amused.

Oh what a glorious time of the year.
There's no other season like fall.
It feels like God has painted a picture
and gifted it to us all.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Autumn Again

Red and yellow, orange and brown
will replace the green we see.
For the leaves of summer are changing now
and soon will leave their tree.
The acorns will crunch under our feet
and rakes will soon be used.
Piles of leaves will be gathered
and the squirrels will keep us amused.

Oh what a glorious time of the year.
There's no other season like fall.
It feels like God has painted a picture
and gifted it to us all.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Watching Me Watching You

I sit by the cutting on the beaconsfield line.
Hes watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
At the cocktail party with a bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by.
And they move so smooth without even trying.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesnt speak.
I have to look the other way.
But curiosity gets the better part of me and I peek:
Got two drinks in his hand --- see his lips move ---
What the hells he trying to say.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching
The trains go by.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me watching him watching.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tree by Smritirekha Bhuyan (Translated from Assamese)

Tree by Smritirekha Bhuyan (Translated from Assamese)

I had tried to become a tree.
When I was young my parents had told me
It is absolutely necessary to become a tree,
They still hope that I should be
As patient, as innocent, and as submissive as a tree.
Trees change their raiment in Winters and Summers;
They turn Yellow from Green
As per the the season's taste.
But unlike humans their souls do not change;
Even in their old age the leaves are humble, polite, and energetic.
Matching beats with the breeze
They sway and paint the world red.
(Although) there is no lack of effort on my part
It is very difficult to become a tree
Perhaps I can never be…

(Translated with permission)

poem by Syed Ahmed Shah
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It Is So Beaufitul

a tree
dies attacked by fungus

infection is all
over

all leaves fall
to the ground

i watch sadness
creeping on stones

a tree without leaves
is happiness

stripped
off
as though deserted
all essence
gone

it does not end there
yet

this afternoon
birds with yellow breasts
and tiny beaks
come hovering

the dead tree sings a song
to the night

the sky is listening and it is
so beautiful

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autumn leaves

The old are the autumn leaves
Shed of the time tree
And lie yellow to be laughed at
By the leaves full of green.
Unlike the leaves, the old are alive
To experience the neglects.
16.12.2005

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Tie A Yellow Ribbon

I'm comin' home, I've done my time
Now I've got to know what is and isn't mine
If you received my letter telling you I'd soon be free
Then you'll know just what to do
If you still want me
If you still want me
Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree
It's been three long years
Do ya still want me?
If I don't see a ribbon round the old oak tree
I'll stay on the bus
Forget about us
Put the blame on me
If I don't see a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree
Bus driver, please look for me
'cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see
I'm really still in prison
And my love, she holds the key
A simple yellow ribbon's what I need to set me free
I wrote and told her please
Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree
It's been three long years
Do ya still want me?
If I don't see a ribbon round the old oak tree
I'll stay on the bus
Forget about us
Put the blame on me
If I don't see a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree
Now the whole damned bus is cheerin'
And I can't believe I see
A hundred yellow ribbons round the old oak tree

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem If This Love Only Exist In My Dreams Than I Want To Sleep Forever

If this love only exist in my dreams than please do not wake me up
because I'm so deeply involved with this dream that I want it to last forever.
I feel so comfortable when I'm in my dream it almost like I'm in reality
everything feels so real your touch is just so tender your kiss is just so sweet
My word how can this be a dream when it feels so real to me do you feel the same or is it just me, me and my dream
but what kind of life can you have sleeping cause in my dream you the only thing that makes sense
what about other part of my life should I just abandon them because of my dream because of you my so called love or rather soul mate. Every time I wake up reality checks in and remind me of how unhappy I am with you but I am so in love with you, maybe I should spend my days sleeping so please do not wake me up cause I'm so in love with my dream.

poem by Zinhlejobe Sithole
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By a Window

Above the roofs the sky-blue,

And clouds passing by,

Before the window a tree in spring dew,

And a bird shoots up skyward drunk

A lost scent of blossoms -

A heart feels: This is the world!

The stillness increases and the midday glows!

My God, how rich is the world!

I dream and dream and life flees,

Life there outdoors - somewhere

Far-off to me because of a sea of loneliness!

A heart feels it and doesn't become glad!

poem by Georg Trakl
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At Home, At Home

Sunday afternoon
at home
sitting on a Persian pillow
watching the outside view
the sea over there
the mountains on the other side
sipping green tea
closing the eyes
meditating
on who you are
what you are
and what i can do for you

i have green eyes and the
tree are changing its leaves into mournful yellow.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The possible solutions to a given problem emerge as the leaves of a tree, each node representing a point of deliberation and decision.

quote by Niklaus Wirth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Afternoon

Three yellow cats up a tree.
Our fire-red grill is still cold.
We're tossin' horseshoes and
watching blue dogs
circle three cats up a tree.

poem by Rick Stokes
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Don't Weep For Me

Don't weep for me
Cherry tree
'Cause I am not cheery.
She ignores me
For her, I do not exist.
But how can I resist
My desire to flourish
In a spring as beautiful as this?
Don't weep for me
Willow tree
Even though
I feel so low.
Watching you thrive
I will survive.

poem by Lonely People Champion
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Views From Here....

the afternoon sun
leaves its last light cast upon the dusty leaves of the mango tree

the sea is calm and from a distance it hardly moves
as though it has given all its waves away to the passing winds

a red truck parks beside a cemented fence
below it so much of gravel and unwanted fragments of rocks

as i finish another work deciding upon the
liberty of this man wrongfully accused

of a crime which he denies as always
as not having committed it

i am pondering now how to see the truth beyond all these
views.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For I Too Must Leave Just Like Those Birds

the tree in the garden
has died

what we see now are
nothing but twigs without leaves

below are the heaps
of dead leaves
rotting

we have become like them
hopeless for sometime

dry and cracking
light as the wind
drifting like
the cloud

empty, hollowed by the
mourning of our arid
days

dragging nights
lifeless on a very cold wood
for a bed

one morning some yellow sparrows
with thin long black beaks
hover upon those twigs

and the dead tree even for
the moment has assumed
life

upon a borrowed hope only
for that brief moment

until then when all the sparrows
fly away again
taking with them all the songs
that you hear

you learn the tune from those
thin black and long beaks
and you must compose a song
for yourself

borrowing hope from hope
putting those leaves back
on your
imaginary trees

you must tell me
about the will to live

for i too must leave
and be a part of somewhere else

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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