Best Day
Who was it said a mortal's best day is the last day
until then one cannot assert otherwise
like the foot dipping into the river
is that it the preacher said
I be dogged if I know for sure
but you do raise some mind bogglers
the pair sat on the wharf
fishing poles in hand
bobbers bobbing in the murky water
the sky pewter-gray and sullen
like an old seagull
dingy and flaccid
in its excrement
the best day might well be your last day
depends on a scraggly chicken
in the yard beside a rusty barrow
wheel gone to who knows where
words are simple as dirt
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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After Thoughts About William
did i tell you that in this life what we see is what we get?
like william's
red wheel
barrow
words are things
and things are words
interchangeable
you see what i see
but what i see need not be what you know
and what you know
need not be seen by me
just like a red
wheel
barrow beside the
white
chickens
it is great
behind the lines is this child's death
eyes closing
forever
you stand by the side of the window
helplessly looking somewhere where you become nothing
but
this speck of dust
falling on that red
wheel
barrow glazed by rain
water beside the white chickens
a thought falling
endlessly on a chasm that sinks deep within you
helplessly, you,
just stand there for in truth we are here just to see how things come and go
and then we go too, like the white chickens
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Electric Eel Song
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Take out you’ foot
From the black river water
Haul out you’ hand
Out the slow river water
Stay ‘pon the bank
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Shadow ‘pon the bottom
Is the eel in the river
Something like you’ hand
Is the eel in the river
Swimming like you’ foot
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Foot after foot
Though the black river water
She can’t touch the bottom
Out the slow river water
Shirt like umbrella
In the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Cutlass shape
Is the eel in the river
Black blade or brown
Is the eel in the river
Dozing so quiet
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Slap of a tail
Through the black river water
Shiver like ague
Out the slow river water
As if she take cramp
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
No blood, just a thrill
Is the eel in the river
Lightning bold
Is the eel in the river
And she Drown now, she chilly
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
poem by Slade Hopkinson
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The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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I love To Go Fishing
I love to go fishing everyday,
To the river or the lake.
Up in the morning without delay,
I go fishing soon as I wake.
Down to the water to wet my line,
My float bobbing up and down.
Fishing in the morning, is just so fine,
Your face will never sport a frown.
A big ole catfish, or a little bluegill,
I just don't give a hoot.
I love the way fishing makes me feel,
To me it's like forbidden fruit.
If I get lucky and get a bite,
Then the day is made.
I'll stick around till early night,
Just snoozing in the shade.
1/20/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Boy In The Pew
A boy in church sits in the pew.
His mind is not on sin.
In the background the preacher is preaching
and his voice is getting thin,
to the boy that is.
He's tuned him out.
He's not aware of the lecture or shout.
His mind is on more delectable things
like fishing and girls he knows.
The words of the preacher have not reached his ears.
His mind just simply goes
to a place where sin is not a fear,
to where a boy can always be
happy, lazy, boyish and free.
He closes his eyes and music plays
and the choir sings of God.
He listens and finally comes awake
and finds it really odd
that the words of a hymn
as he sits in the pew
can always reach his ears,
something the preacher can't do.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Curse Against Elegies
Oh, love, why do we argue like this?
I am tired of all your pious talk.
Also, I am tired of all the dead.
They refuse to listen,
so leave them alone.
Take your foot out of the graveyard,
they are busy being dead.
Everyone was always to blame:
the last empty fifth of booze,
the rusty nails and chicken feathers
that stuck in the mud on the back doorstep,
the worms that lived under the cat's ear
and the thin-lipped preacher
who refused to call
except once on a flea-ridden day
when he came scuffing in through the yard
looking for a scapegoat.
I hid in the kitchen under the ragbag.
I refuse to remember the dead.
And the dead are bored with the whole thing.
But you - you go ahead,
go on, go on back down
into the graveyard,
lie down where you think their faces are;
talk back to your old bad dreams.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Muddy Water
I spend most of my life with this guitar
Playing my songs
Playing the role of a juggler
Hard and long
My pieces of this puzzle my life
I can't fit together
I seem shattered, and darkened down weather
Lost forever
See no one
No guest of my reflection been drawn
See no one, no one, no one
So don't stir up this dirt in this puddle and settle at the bottom
Unfortunately I done stepped my foot in muddy water
I try and pace my steps in an ordinary fashion through the doorway
Unfortunately I done stepped my foot in muddy water
I rolled over on nickels
Rolled and got out
I just kept on walking
Not knowing who I was
Where was I scarred and bleeding
Through blurred vision I saw freshened lines
Across the horizon
I was out of my skull, I was torn, I was tired
See no one
No guest of my reflection been drawn
See no one, no one, no one
So don't stir up this dirt in this puddle and settle at the bottom
Unfortunately I done stepped my foot in muddy water
I try and pace my steps in an ordinary fashion through the doorway
Unfortunately I done stepped my foot in muddy water
So just down another shot it's just one more ache in the morning
Take another hit it's just one more cell you'll be killing'
Have another beer it's just a few more words you'll be yelling'
Go have your self a ball
And take two of these and call me in the morning
So don't stir up this dirt in this puddle and settle at the bottom
Unfortunately I done stepped my foot in muddy water
I try and pace my steps in an ordinary fashion through the doorway
Unfortunately I done stepped my foot in muddy water
Water, water
song performed by by Nine Days
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Big One
I watched two people fishing,
one August day at the lake,
the sun was shining brightly,
as I began to bake.
I found an old oak tree,
to sit under and glare,
I watched these two for hours,
with their fishing poles high in the air.
They talked about the old times,
as they tried for their feast,
they were hoping for the big one:
a fish known as 'The Beast'.
I watched them be patient,
casting again and again in the water,
the fish were just not biting,
as the day got hotter and hotter.
Into the evening they cast their poles,
but no cast was better than the one before,
they packed up their gear and headed for home,
as my day continued-under the oak by the shore.
poem by George Aul
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The Child on the Curbstone
The headlights raced; the moon, death-faced,
Stared down on that golden river.
I saw through the smoke the scarlet cloak
Of a boy who could not shiver.
His father's hand forced him to stand,
The traffic thundered slaughter;
One foot he thrust in the whirling dust
As it were running water.
As in a dream I saw the stream
Scatter in drops that glistened;
They flamed, they flashed, his brow they splashed,
And danger's son was christened.
The portent passed; his fate was cast,
Sea-farer, desert-ranger.
Tearless I smiled on that fearless child
Dipping his foot in Danger.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Ode To A Seagull
rising from oneself
to the highest
sky
alone flying and
diving
and those who
watch
thought that this
is plain nonsense
for that seagull
may finally shatter
its bird's head
to a rock
it is not as simple
as that
the seagull has
learned the trick
of smashing itself
on the water
like a rocket
with a fuel at
its back
to speed to art
to life!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Speed
rising from oneself
to the highest
sky
alone flying and
diving
and those who
watch
thought that this
is plain nonsense
for that seagull
may finally shatter
its bird's head
to a rock
it is not as simple
as that
the seagull has
learned the trick
of smashing itself
on the water
like a rocket
with a fuel at
its back
to speed to art
to life!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Along the river
Water bends, rolls down
to fiind a place to banks,
waves break by stones
and curl up around them,
yellow poplars,
that watch the river, tremble,
drooping willows wash their locks
in hesitating water.
I remember how I was fishing
under shaded banks
with my friends.
Fishes were avoiding my fishing rod
and were inviting me to the competition with them.
From the river that winds tremblingly,
I hear melancholic verse of the natives
gone to the fishing with the boat.I have felt asleep.
It has seemed to me that a beautiful gondola with a miraculous fairy
has crossed the river.
I was charmed by the beauty of the fairy
that has glittered on the lustre of the water.
On the bank, I have done token to the gondola
and the oarsman has brought the gondola near the bank.
At the light of the torch, I have caught the hand of the fairy
and I have invited her on the bank.
A spark has died out in her heart,
bugle of silver has blown long
the disappearance of the gondola.
The fishers from the village have woken me up:
„ It was getting late.You have to go home”.
poem by Valentin Gabriel Cristea
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Sonnet: The River
Without the River-water, can men live?
It satisfies man's thirst and helps crops grow;
To keep it pure for long, let man thought give;
Alas! 'Tis polluted in ways galore.
Carcasses, corpses, stay afloat on it;
Men bathe their body's dirt and empty sins:
Their 'sacred-ashes' are immersed by bit;
They wash their dirty linen and then rinse.
But why allow effluents to pollute?
Dead flora and fauna and excrement;
The River bears the ignominy brute,
It floods or dries in weather inclement.
0 sacred River, bear with men insane,
Who ages still profane thee without gain.
poem by John Celes
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One Day You Stop By A Bridge And Just Sit There
and gaze at the rage of the water
under
the brown river gathering all the nuts
from the mountain
after the flood
murky, all murky
you sit there staring blankly
down
under
and you get carried away
floating
like one of the coconuts
not minding
direction
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Riverside
The river was flowing unceasingly.
On the bank sat a little girl
with a rose in her hand.
Lovely thoughts flooded her mind
of how she and her mother
used to come to the riverside
to wash their clothes.
The little girl always loved to
splash in the water, and at times
she knotted her fishing rod
and was busy fishing.
When the mother finished her washing,
both she and the little girl
would walk side by side,
the child with her fishing net
and a catch of fish,
and the mother with the
newly-washed clothes.
Memories came in one by one,
as the shore was deserted.
She drew so many pictures
in the sand, thinking about
her mother sitting in heaven
beside the loving Saviour.
poem by Aleyamma Jacob
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Creature Of The Wheel
Creature of the wheel trigger wicked way
Tangle like a web beneath me!
Ankle-deep in hell through another way
Crucify the sky above me!
[above me! above me! above me! above me! above me! above me! above me!]
New God kill machine and man
Say lord of the engines - yeah!
[pocket full of dirt frozen in my hands
Hold on to the nameless God - yeah!
Breathe into the deep and dying light of day
Overdose on bloody wings, yeah...]
Splinter in the skin turn your eyes away -
Sick and swaggering beneath me! [beneath me!]
Revolution mind ye of little faith
Rusty and dull -- cut me! [cut me! cut me! cut me! cut me! cut me! cut me! cut me! cut me!
New God kill machine and man
Say lord of the engines - yeah!
(creature of the wheel [no!!!] lord of the infernal engines
Creature of the wheel [no!!!] lord of the infernal engines)
[new god, new god, new god, new god, new god, new god, new god, new god,]
New God kill machine and man
Say lord of the engines - yeah!
(and o brothers and sisters, I ask you to look at him.
Does he have the marks? do you see them? [no!!]
And o brothers and sisters, I ask you to look at him.
Does he have the marks? do you see them? [no!!])
[demon-paper clowns stitched across my back
Easygoing dead black eyes, yeah
Microscopic giants on a chicken-run
Everybody dies laughing!]
Thrust into the drag on the edge and wait
Motivate the one inside you [inside you]
Bastard kicker burn blow the ash away
Heldorado gonna get you!
[get you! get you! get you! get you! get you! get you! get you! get you!]
(creatures of the wheel [no!!]
Do we need the creatures of the wheel? [no!!]
Lord of the infernal engines)
song performed by by White Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Well Water
What a girl called "the dailiness of life"
(Adding an errand to your errand. Saying,
"Since you're up . . ." Making you a means to
A means to a means to) is well water
Pumped from an old well at the bottom of the world.
The pump you pump the water from is rusty
And hard to move and absurd, a squirrel-wheel
A sick squirrel turns slowly, through the sunny
Inexorable hours. And yet sometimes
The wheel turns of its own weight, the rusty
Pump pumps over your sweating face the clear
Water, cold, so cold! you cup your hands
And gulp from them the dailiness of life.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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Fishing
I went fishing, for you
Well more net dipping
Not wanting to upset the balance of nature
I clumsily caught you, fishing.....
Gently I placed you in my ice cream tub
I fed you with images, words and honesty
You ate eagerly, it appeared to please
I studied what I could see and tried to learn it by heart
I put the tub in the water
As I had been taught at home
So you could swim away freely and unharmed
I watched you swim
but by surprise, you swam back
And whilst I smiled the deepest your wish to return
I did not want to tame you all the same
You are not mine to keep
You belong in wider waters
But my ice-cream tub sits below the surface
Dear friend, if you are curious, swim by when ever
I may just, by coincidence walk past and peer in.
poem by Stevie Taite
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To Honesto In Going to the City
as you pack
your jute sack
containing your
personal belongings:
a pair of pants
an old dirty white shirt
a pair of rubber slippers
a hat
(leave your bolo
you can't use it there)
do not promise me
that you will not
be coming back
to this poor little
town which has not
given you the
opportunity for
a higher wage
as a houseboy
ah, Honesto the city
if you only know
has no pity
it had long forgotten
feelings
and those who
cannot adapt to
its cruelty
may simply die
beside the sidewalk
of its cold streets
and when the flood
comes to clean
its waste
you may be lucky
carried for free
by the big water
to be finally eaten
by the wild fishes
in the murky river
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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050510J trying not to work
i happened to talk to a gentleman
retired from government last month
he is taking his time without a plan
fishing the wharf at morning sunshine
got his fishing hooks all tangled up
he told me, last he just threw in a box
on his first cast he yelled 'come on bite'
in my mind how could they without bait
snug 'em that won't be very pretty sight
i guess he saw me with a grin; respond
'oh! yes, i never put bait on first launch'
'i noticed, you must be clearing the rust'
poem by Manonton Dalan
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