A Musing
Thoughts come
rising
without warning
traveling
through rich scented earth
and wet grass
inhaled, slowly
way down to my feet
and out through
my deeply embedded toes
that throw off
shimmers of dew
that glisten on trees
and alight the horizon
Copyright ©2005
poem by Adryan Rotica
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Shackled To Depression
Shackled to depression
Intertwined, amongst my veins
Self worth, self love
Are lost, within the pain
Anguish and shattered dreams
Lie embedded in my heart
A glimpse of personal torture
Revealed, within the art
A medicated mind
Does it offer resolution?
Candy coated prescriptions
Swallowed, without solution
Blind to the rising sun
Of opportunity, to thrive
Another breath inhaled
Without purpose, without drive
Shackled to depression
Consumed by failure, and disgrace
A crying soul unseen
I walk invisible, without face
Copyright 2007 W. Bureau
poem by Wendy Bureau
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The Mower's Song
My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But these, while I with Sorrow pine,
Grew more luxuriant still and fine;
That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd,
But had a Flower on either side;
When Juliana came, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
Unthankful Meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gawdy May-games meet,
While I lay trodden under feet?
When Juliana came , and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But what you in Compassion ought,
Shall now by my Revenge be wrought:
And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all,
Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
And thus, ye Meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the Heraldry become
With which I shall adorn my Tomb;
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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The Vision quest
Wandering pine,
with rolled rug slung across her back
walked bare foot to feel the rich earth
beneath her feet.
The trees, high pines either side,
shielded the low sun casting shadows
bringing the ancestors.
Breaking through the pines
into crystal blue she laid her rug.
Calling on the four winds
North to prowling Bear
West to snarling Panther
East to breathing Moose
South to follow the doe eyed fawn
she began her vision quest
seated in a circle on the ground.
Cross legged she waited
stilled her mind
drew her quiet breath
and breathed the mountain air
slowly for the longest time.
Then it came.......
The rising...........
The oneness........
The wholeness.....
and The knowing
spreading through her
like the four winds.
There she stayed......
until the morning of the fourth day
when she rose quietly, rolled her rug
and descended through the pines;
with the rich earth beneath her feet
and the sound of running water at her side.
poem by Diana Rosser
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From A Train
Green and green; and evergreen
in my all, and scurrying
in flickered films
of glimpses, painted green...
and a car in the lane silently shimmers,
as I hear the morning swaying past trees that,
green over green,
silently guard the wet summer sadness,
where cattle stare at the hopping rooks
and do not know
of the things that have been...
or care.
Cloudly and bright:
passing the green.
Where, in my remembrance of once long ago,
I felt the mist
rising unseen from the grass
that was green between green
when we kissed.
So I hum a small phrase
that carries my thoughts
ever and onwards,
listlessly flowing
like the world that is passing
the window beside me
all behind all, so totally green
and all in my knowing
and all in my all
and all in my green.
poem by Peter Jones
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Why I Would Follow Her Like a Puppy Dog Through the Streets
Wearing an ankle bracelet
On the steamy July afternoon,
She walks in the sunlight
On a stone-paved road
Along an ancient avenue
Of insouciant flowers.
Her bracelet shimmers
In the rising waves of heat;
Youth is a glorious sweet breath
Inhaled with connoisseur-like relish
And exhaled in the magical perfume of excitement.
One has to gaze at beauty
And live in that charmed essence vicariously
And be transported to past, joyous
Experiences of exultation.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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It Is Another Long Walk To Life
do not mismate
your shoes. try fitting
in what fits you.
tie the lace.
stamp your feet.
tighten your belt.
stand up.
comb your hair.
wear the warmer shirt.
take the cap
and put it on your head.
smile in the mirror.
take the watch.
wear the white socks.
eat the banana.
and wear the Ipod.
sounds of chappel
in your ears.
it is 6: 05, now
you are ready for
the usual walk
at the oval this
morning. The leaves
of the trees and
grasses are still
rich with their
dews. The sunrays
are slowly coming.
the air is fresh
scented with
the smell of the
rice paddies.
good morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Song Of Spring
The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.
The black and white for her array,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where is her green that was so gay?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Unto a world too sick for May,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where are the lads that used to play?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
She has no heart for holiday,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
The trees are out in Heaven they say.
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up our way.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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A Poet.Is He The Man Who..?
A poet-
With dream as his face
with his feet a few feet
ever above the ground
walks all over the earth-
With his beaks of intellect
pecks at all fancies
that come within his grasp-
Scattering the rich soil of this earth
upon the expansive space,
and scooping with gusto
the luminous seeds of heavens
and showering them on earth in joy-
are these his daily routines?
Is he the wanderlust
who plucks blissful word-flowers
in the dense jungles of language
with an inimitable craze?
Is he the marvellous humming-bird
that pumps into the throat of words
the sweet honey of a secret sky
in immeasurable ecstasy?
Are those trillions of golden rays
of rising sun unfolding
in ineffable elegance
his intellectual outbursts?
Is he the master weaver
who costumes the silky words
and walk the thoughts
on the ramp of our hearts?
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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At 25k Feet Above
on a bed of clouds
feet dangling into the sea
you and me
above the clouds
the horizon beckoned us
we glided in the air
bits and pieces
clouds dispersed below the sky
new horizon teased
in a wink
the clouds spread as one grey spread
we melted as rain
vapour they turned
the heat within melted
we rocked
wings cut
through layers and layers of
moving vapours
slowly descended
we from the clouds above
earth-reality!
ah, you lifted me
above earth; closer to sky
dropped me on land again!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Bed of the World
The great bed of the world
arching over graves
over Babi Yar
with its multitude of bones,
with battalions of screams
frozen in a concrete glacier,
with pillows of earth
and comforters of green grass
covering all that dead flesh.
Dead flesh shall live again-
a dream in god's endless night-
rise green out of the earth
as grass, as trees, as tomato stalks
bearing a bright red fruit
and the feuds of man-and womankind
shall be fed again from the same seeds:
the tomato, the mythic pomegranate, the biblical apple
all rising from the grass that springs
out of the screams of stopped mouths.
Sometimes I dream
that my bed is built over a ravine,
the ravine of Babi Yar, any ravine
where thousands died
and I moan in pleasure to propitiate the earth,
to make fruit ripen
and trees wave green leaves like banners
all because love can touch me still.
It is never enough to create.
The beast must feed its meat teeth too.
Out of the screaming mouth of earth
we feed the grass that covers
all our beds.
I wish I did not know all that I know.
Galaxies spin, grass grows, and people kill.
We are the only race to murder for our dreams-
and not for hunger,
hungering for dreams
poem by Erica Jong
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Outside My Picture Window
It has been said that there is a world outside my picture window and
Beyond the trees I see everyday and the sky, sometimes overcast and
Other days, when the sun rises early- I can see the sky and have often wondered if
There exists another world within our universe- I know that
There exists a world inside of my mind and
My pupils are the windows into which
People would look if I were to venture outward?
Beyond the sky, and beyond the sun-
Beyond that world inside my mind,
I would never know where there exists a place for me-
Last night outside of my window
I could see the stars- stars mean different things to different people as
Does the sun, the trees and this whole world outside-
The world inside my mind revolves about
The sun that shines upon my own horizon and
As for this world outside, all I can do is look- and to
See a tree, perhaps a single cloud and the grass that grows-
I have shut my mind to the people who live beyond
The trees, clouds and the grass that I can see-
That window opens to the world inside of my thoughts-
I have just shut and pulled the curtain to discourage all intruders-
I am lying by my window in total darkness now as I place my hand over my eyes,
Shutting out reality and now I can see mountains, flowering trees and
A creek flowing in which I can see my reflection and
I am running upon the grass that grows beneath my feet-
I believe I heard music playing inside the fortress of my mind-
It has been said there is a world outside and I have pulled the curtain
To the window once opened to veracity-
Darkness has never looked as beautiful as I am safe here in my solitude-
Even when the stars are shining and the sky is such a magnificent sight to see-
No place is as exquisite as the creek that runs through my inner space and
The sun inside the world of my thoughts that shines upon my horizon?
The stars are far away and all that is real, though just outside my picture window
I perceive as too far away for me to reach- I would touch the stars and I could be a dove
That can lift my wings and fly away from all that threatens, but only inside my dreams-
Children sing songs and read fairy tales and they believe and I believe that
The sun shines light upon their worlds and
Someday their dreams shall blossom as has mine and shall become their homes-
Home is the safe place inside a person's mind, not within the madding crowd that
Exists outside my picture window- even if the stars are always there- and
That unique and special sun shall just keep on shining upon the world of my dreams….
poem by Claudia Krizay
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On A Picture Screen
Whence these twelve peaks of Wu-shan!
Have they flown into the gorgeous screen
From heaven's one corner?
Ah, those lonely pines murmuring in the wind!
Those palaces of Yang-tai, hovering yonder—
Oh, the melancholy of it!—
Where the jeweled couch of the king
With brocade covers is desolate,—
His elfin maid voluptuously fair
Still haunting them in vain!
Here a few feet
Seem a thousand miles.
The craggy walls glisten blue and red,
A piece of dazzling embroidery.
How green those distant trees are
Round the river strait of Ching-men!
And those ships——they go on,
Floating on the waters of Pa.
The water sings over the rocks
Between countless hills
Of shining mist and lustrous grass.
How many years since these valley flowers bloomed
To smile in the sun ?
And that man traveling on the river,
Hears he not for ages the monkeys screaming?
Whoever looks on this,
Loses himself in eternity;
And entering the sacred mountains of Sung,
He will dream among the resplendent clouds.
So Clear It 'Mints' My Senses
The pine scented trees,
Impresses an image...
So clear it 'mints' my senses.
Perhaps it is the Fall that does this?
With the promise that comes,
Along with those holidays gone
And missed.
As the temperature cools...
And the turning of the leaves,
Seem to be in a rhythm swaying,
Ever so gently.
The wrapping of gifts,
Or just the pleasantness that appeals...
To a healing unsolicited,
And received with anticipated acceptedness.
As the blowing of a brisk wind...
Wished to never end,
With such a majestic breeze...
Blending this scene seamlessly.
To receive and enhale to freely breathe.
And deeply.
The pine scented trees,
Impresses an image...
So clear it 'mints' my senses.
So involved with it...
Quickly I cement my committment.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Morning thoughts
Morning thoughts
~
A sun rises over roof tops
Greeting the cold morning air
A wind blows heavy, swaying trees
The branches stripped bare by winter
The world is slowly waking
And the picture beyond my window
Emerges to life once more
I lay motionless in silence
Nursing warm coffee in my hands
Early thoughts begin to stir
My pen yet to be put to paper
I think back to dreams
The night passed what they brought
I think to the day ahead
What will it bring
Thoughts of love and romance
What could I write of them
I watch a world waking
A sun rising over rooftops
And I listen to my thoughts
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Forever in My Dreams
Close to the morning hours before I awaken,
I find myself looking outside of the window of my dreams-
Sometimes amidst the bleak darkness, the full moon is rising above the treetops,
Stars are seemingly cascading behind mountains of far away places-
I hear footsteps faintly passing by, perhaps down the hallway of my fantasies-
Slowly my eyes would open and I find myself
Looking outside of the same window and
All I can see are shadows of trees that would be
Touching the sky within a figment of my imagination-
Close to the morning hours, close to the time that the world awakens,
I find myself lost in thought, disappearing into some other realm.
The full moon battles with the rising sun, stars shooting and seemingly cascading,
Saturn, Mars and Venus are dancing in rhythm to
The doleful and mystical song of the locusts screaming-
Inside the fortress of my thoughts,
I have made my home inside this kingdom in the sky-
In this place where the light of the moon is overpowered
By the rays of the early morning sun-
The colors of the sky are reborn- cyanotic blue and
Pearl-white clouds, seemingly tinted with gold,
Amidst the phantasmal waltz of my imagination,
I can hear voices familiar only to myself,
Shouting words that terrify and evoke moments of madness-
It has been said that reason can be affected by the light of the full moon
Before daybreak and I would ride bareback upon the tail of a shooting star
If I only could, as it would take me on a journey across the universe,
Perhaps to a safer place within this magical kingdom in the sky-
Close to the morning hours before I awaken,
I have lost myself inside a magnificent place of my own creation-
A place from which I would never leave if I could only wish upon a star-
This would be my utmost desire- as this lurid but dismal world
Into which I was born has not been kind to me-
As my memory becomes a vehicle traveling backward in time-
I can recall terrifying sights only I could see and threatening voices which
Only I could hear- within that moment that darkness transforms to dawn,
I find my spirit having been rudely snatched away from this place of my fondest reverie-
So I close my eyes and then I can see the stars once more, the moon and Saturn dancing-
And I begin to lose myself once again traveling across this pathway of my dreams-
Tears are falling from my eyes as they open because this vision can never become reality-
Tears would glisten with dewdrops upon the leaves upon the trees reflecting the
Early morning sunlight as I close my eyes once again and wish upon that star
As I would for always and forever in every passing thought…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sky
It was 16 degrees below freezing today.
The sky was blue, bright and vast.
I looked more closely at the sky
And it was suffused by sunlight, the same bright sunlight
That you are bathed in.
There was a corner of the sky that was grey and empty
Where you usually are.
I resolved to look more deeply, more intensely
At this vacant part of the majestic sky.
The deeper I concentrated, the more you emerged
And I found you again, in the sky of my mind
In the tapestry of my feelings and thoughts.
Across wide continents, you are here
And the empty part of the sky dissolves
Into a rich portrait of your days and nights
Where the earth beneath our feet unites.
poem by Frank Bana
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On A Sunday Morning
i like to lay my body on the grass
and put my feet up a rock
so i can see my toes
playing on the clouds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Make love to me slowly
Make love to me slowly
Kiss me by the neck slowly
touch me tenderly
not coldy
Grind your body next to mine
Let our union be divine
Make love to me slowly
Whisper sweet nothings in my ear
Tell me that you care
While you play with my hair
Explore my body
with your hands and study
Pleasure me
Open your eyes so you can see me
When I smile
My teeth dancing in a tile
Kiss me, Kiss me
Kiss me, Kiss me
Make love to me slowly
When you have been riding a horse
It expects you to stop
Make love to me slowly
My body is a temple
It is holy
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Our Thoughts Extend From Us To Reach
Our thoughts.
Actions.
And our deeds from us released...
Reflect,
Not only our expectations...
But express as an investment,
None of us should perceive...
Decreases in value.
Our thoughts,
Whether believed faithfully or not...
To be shared as spoken,
Instills...
Significant influence.
As if a seed implanted,
Within a mind open and listening.
Evaluating content.
What was said.
Who said what.
And how what was said to whom...
Has its effectiveness.
Like the Sun coming to rise upon the horizon.
That same Sun sets.
Like a leaf attached to the branch of a tree.
That tree provides all connected to it with nourishment.
And it is rooted...
Grounded,
To the Earth.
This Earth.
Our Earth.
Much like our thoughts...
Extend from us to reach!
Much like our thoughts...
Extend from us to reach!
Much like our thoughts...
Extend from us to reach!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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