Part of the Soul
There is a part of the soul
Concrete gardens will not fill
Towering trees of steel
Fail to satisfy
Water trickling into the drain
Not excite
This part longs
For Burnett’s Secret Garden
For vines concealing the past
The creek’s laugh
The flower’s hope
And the enduring promise of tomorrow
A solitude that never
Leaves you feeling alone
The adventure of not knowing
What is just around the bend
Branch filtered sun beams
God’s whisper in the wind
Where the reflection in the water
Isn’t just you, but something greater
A place of superiority
Marred not by man’s imperfection
A place of solitude
Bringing you home.
poem by Bethany Waters
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Childhood’s Retreat
It’s in the perilous boughs of the tree
out of blue sky the wind
sings loudest surrounding me.
And solitude, a wild solitude
’s reveald, fearfully, high I’d climb
into the shaking uncertainties,
part out of longing, part daring my self,
part to see that
widening of the world, part
to find my own, my secret
hiding sense and place, where from afar
all voices and scenes come back
—the barking of a dog, autumnal burnings,
far calls, close calls— the boy I was
calls out to me
here the man where I am “Look!
I’ve been where you
most fear to be.”
poem by Robert Duncan
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Shallow Thoughts...
along the shores
where the salty vines have covered our tracks
the coconuts are growing tall
and being so nearly planted
their leaves reach for each other
in a little distance
the heaps of dry leaves and husks
make a mountain
and now covered by the vines
and so concealed
beyond this place is a grass-less space
it is where most of the strangers stay
the mass of people gather
and bask under the sun
the gates here are closed more often
there are no kids
neither are there old people who take
their leisure here
this is my own place
so private and so deserted
i would like to call it another solitude
but the coconut trees without nuts
on this rainy December
signify otherwise
it is lonely, the hut speaks.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The joy of the road
It’s a big joy
to take the road
and drive past cornfields
and to get the sweet sour smell
that water leaves there
for the first time
in your nose.
It’s a big joy
to drive on a road
that allures black in front of you
and goes up and down through the landscape.
There’s something indescribable
if you become part
of the sun and the wind
and with a motorbike
to find your place
in the world around you.
There’s something magical
to hear the insects
in the bushes
outside of Pieter Maritzburg
and to smell the summer sun
on the plantation trees.
Still greater is
to catch the smell of the see
on the wind
to see the blue waters
lying in the distance,
while free like a bird
you drive nearer to it.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Water That Quenches Your Thirst
at four o'clock in the morning you wake up.
blood is boiling and you look for water to quench the fire.
there is no water in the kitchen.
you go upstairs
no one is there.
you open the window
there is no rain.
it is just the silence of the world
that becomes the water
to your soul.
you drink every moment of this silence.
every dew
in the leaves
of the tree of
solitude
you are refreshed and from that moment on
you know where water
is.
what dew is
what leaves are.
there is a thirst that you have just
defined.
it is not their water
neither yours.
it is beyond the ownership of everyone.
and you know
now
where to find it
because you
also know
what it
really
is
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Epiphany
Outside the surge of the wind, the wind in the trees,
The rush of leaves, and the sighing in the pine-needles,
Outside the sound of the sea-shore, distant, remembered,
The waves breaking on the gray rocks, and the evening approaching,
The restlessness, and the interminable noise.
Silence in the room, and solitude,
A sense of spaces, remoteness and nearness, and the soul's awareness,
Desolate is the hearts desire
And the loving knows no end,
When the morning in the clouds breaks across the sky,
And the forests sway and bend.
Outside the wind, the wind in the trees,
And the sighing in the tree-tops.
Noises from the town, heedless, unthinking, indistinct,
Recurring, fading,
And silence in the room, and solitude,
The shadowy dimness, the darkness of evening,
A pause in time, and the soul's awareness.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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When I look at the world around me
Pink, red and purple geraniums
that flower in the garden,
cannot grow without sunlight
and water.
Still, every different flower
has an own colour, a different odour
and the texture of flower cups
and the time that buds last
are different.
When I look at the world around me,
I know how a part
of You’re great omnipotence looks
and I see flowers dazzling everywhere,
to pay homage to You
from who
every thing comes
and every plant and flower
leaves me dumbstruck with beauty.
In all things, Your love is unlimited
and the greatness of Your works
tells me that I‘m also part
of Your making
and that all things fit somewhere
in Your universe.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The City, the Solitude, the Soul
Every time
I try to fall in love with this city
I fail miserably.
Somewhere, perhaps
In a dirty corner,
In a nasty crevice,
In a squalid lane,
In the slush of drain
In some smoky street,
In some noisy cafes,
In the madness of tavern,
Above a haughty sky-scraper,
Down the corridors of power,
Under some dense cluster,
Under some muddy feet,
Is hiding its soul……..
There she writes,
About the historic aura
The grave of Omar Khayam,
About monsoon rains
Episoding the excruciating heat,
About peacocks and dance,
About bangles and romance,
About ruins, history, chance,
Poetry evoked by city,
Poetry! From filth, dirty,
An aimless roaming
In its airless streets,
The solitude in the sole
The soul in solitude,
In college, in university,
I try to fall in love with this city
I fail miserably.
I look at the elusive vehicles,
I look for soul,
I drink coffee with you,
I wish to drink from soul,
I listen to the grunt of donkeys,
I hobnob with the landlord,
I pay, I lodge,
Try to gather my peace,
I try to take it home,
Heart aches, heart says
‘Console it ably…….
The sole in solitude,
Try to fall in love with this city’
Every time I fall………
I fail miserably.
Somewhere it’s hiding,
I no longer look for it,
There are no stars to guide me,
Ah! The strange city,
The unfamiliar faces,
And solemn-looking ill graces,
This place is not mine,
In it’s richness and diversity,
Its grandeur, its poverty,
How could be its melancholy!
The sole is solitude,
The solitude, my soul
These people, these restive people,
This elusive immensity,
I can’t share my sole, my pride, my melancholy,
I say this with honesty,
I remain at ‘home’,
Remember my home,
My soul, my pride, my melancholy,
My people, my roots, my history……
I hate this city,
I’m telling you honestly!
I am a failure, a
I fail miserably…………
(September,2007)
poem by Feroz Rather
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The Fishes' Message, Poet: Sohrab Sepehri
I went to the pond
Hoping to see the reflection of my loneliness in the water
There was no water in the pond.
The fishes were saying:
'"It is not the trees' fault at all.
It was a sultry summer noon,
The bright son of water, sat by the pond's edge
And the eagle of the sun dived down and lifted him up & up in the air.
To hell with our not reaching any oxygen from water.
And the glitter has left our scales all together.
Instead, that big light,
The reflection of that red carnation in the water
Whose heart, if the wind was blowing, would beat behind the layers of neglect,
was our eyes.
It was a window to the confession of paradise.
If you see God in the palpitations of the garden,
Make an effort and tell him that the fishes'' pond is dry.'"
The wind was going to visit the plane tree,
I was going to visit God.
poem by Mehraneh Hosseini
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No matter how much we love our family and friends, a part of us needs the occasional moment of solitude as a plant needs water. It is the inmost core of each of us that, that part which nobody can define but which we all recognize because it never changes.
quote by Anna Neagle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Me Tomorrow
She said, "it's lonely here tonight." she's always sad when she's alone.
She said, "i need you here tonight." she couldn't wait 'til i get home.
She loves me, and that's all i need to know.
She's part of my life; just a part i won't let go.
Then she said,
"love me tomorrow. won't you please promise me? love me tomorrow like today.
Love me tomorrow; hurry back. can't you see i need you much more than
Yesterday?"
You know it's always cold at night; it's always lonely 'til the dawn.
And though it's not what we both want, knowing she's there, i'll carry on.
Because she loves me, and that's all i need to know.
She's part of my life; just a part i won't let go.
Then she said,
"love me tomorrow. won't you please promise me? love me tomorrow like today.
Love me tomorrow; hurry back. can't you see i need you more than any words can
Say?"
She loves me, and that's all i need to know.
She's part of my life; just a part i won't let go.
Then she said,
"love me tomorrow. won't you please promise me? love me tomorrow like today.
Love me tomorrow; hurry back. can't you see i need you much more than
Yesterday?"
Love me tomorrow; love me tomorrow like today.
Love me tomorrow; i need you much more than yesterday
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song of Her Garden
She builds her pleasant garden
Where the winds are not so strong
The sun sometimes relenting
Becomes her companion
The garden spreads its arms to her
Thick shoulders, fragile hands
The creepers and the vines that bear
Her flowers from many lands
There is shade upon her shadow
And a path of leaves and stones
That were inlaid imperceptibly
Through years of life alone
There's a trickle of river water
Breaking on a precipice
An ornately painted corner
Where she sees the light of bliss
Papaya trees and lemon trees
That the hurricanes forgot
The garden is her mirror
It reflects her, then does not
Wind chimes in the moonlight
Songbirds awake till dawn
She cultivates the seasons,
Leaves the garden to be born.
poem by Frank Bana
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A Version Of Solitude
you feel like a leaf steady on a pool of
water,
around you is thick fog
and beyond is the haze of a misty morning
the house on the river bank is deserted
and the boulders of rocks are gray and hard
the grass is nil dipping its tongue on the shallow waters
ripples of the wind bring the shadows of shimmer
the mountains stand still
merely looking
this is my poem for solitude
yes, my own version of solitude when all else fail
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Is Where I Belong
I hear the wind across the plain
A sound so strong - that calls my name
It's wild like the river - it's warm like the sun
Ya it's here - this is where I belong
Under the starry skies - where eagles have flown
This place is paradise - it's the place I call home
The moon on the mountains
The whisper through the trees
The waves on the water
Let nothing come between this and me
Cuz everything I want - is everything that's here
And when when we're all together - there's nothing to fear
And wherever I wander - the one thing I've learned
It's to here - I will always....always return
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wanting The Moon
Not the moon. A flower
on the other side of the water.
The water sweeps past in flood,
dragging a whole tree by the hair,
a barn, a bridge. The flower
sings on the far bank.
Not a flower, a bird calling
hidden among the darkest trees, music
over the water, making a silence
out of the brown folds of the river's cloak.
The moon. No, a young man walking
under the trees. There are lanterns
among the leaves.
Tender, wise, merry,
his face is awake with its own light,
I see it across the water as if close up.
A jester. The music rings from his bells,
gravely, a tune of sorrow,
I dance to it on my riverbank.
poem by Denise Levertov
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I'm An African
i am a full breed african stuff
a continent never lacking
the holy place for natural resources
the home of the blacks
never bringing solitude
a righteous continent
the definition of home
filled with many earth children
a place where love is bountifull
my home sweet home
africa!
poem by Umoh Cyril
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Little Brown-Haired Girl
I’m a wayward flower
Who has abandoned
His safe garden
To wander down
The concrete streets
Of the city.
When I find
The girl I love,
I will place myself
In the flower vase
Of her heart.
I believe
In the enchanted perfume
Of the feminine,
I’m seeking to embrace
A woman’s soul
In the pink afternoon.
Everything about me
Is a serenade
On a summery day
With a gentle breeze blowing
Beneath a soft shade.
I will call
A little brown-haired girl
An amazing goddess
As a thousand bouquets
Laugh and whisper her name.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Beautiful Thoughts
I remember a rustic place
way back from the road
hidden by brush and trees
overlooked if you didn't know
each day I'd pass and strain
to see more than the day before
bus driver might have slowed down
if I had asked her
but I didn't want to share
that place with the others
I imagine an area cleared out behind it
perfect to grow plants, all kinds
pots randomly place on the stoop
with flowers flowing down
a spicket to water them with
and bird houses all around
a hammock made for love
at a secret place in the woods
sounds of a creek nearby
and you with some of your books
I imagine we'd talk for hours
you'd read as I caressed your skin
sharing thoughts about everything
until one of us gave in
all the time in the world
to be near and learn all you are
protected safe in our secret place
like you are in my heart
poem by La La La Laurie
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The Shape Of Solitude With The Red Ants
it is easy to become
a cloud
a mist and then even be
part of the dust
it is the shape of solitude
assuming the bursting of some past joys
it is this feeling of leaves falling
from a dead tree
silently reaching the dry ground
where the red ants are waiting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Place From Our Childhood
There is a place from our childhood;
we like to visit now and then,
to recapture our youth,
through the years that has slipped away.
A place that has a magic touch,
even through the years it has changed.
A place where sunshine,
still dances on the water
of rippling waves.
Where the wildlife still gather,
free from harm.
A place of solitude,
where you can find
a little peace of mind.
A place within a city that has not
been strangled by any human hand.
Somewhere you can while time away,
with dreams of another day.
poem by David Harris
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Sir, What Is Revolution?
a child,
having overheard our conversation,
came to me, and asked,
'sir, what is revolution? '
i thought about it for a moment,
and sitting him on my knee, replied,
'you know when you're outside,
running and playing in the sun,
and you get too hot...
and you go down to the creek
and get a drink of water?
and you stand there enjoying
the shade of the trees,
and the coolness of the wind? '
he nodded his head.
'well, revolution is making sure
that the sunlight, the grasses,
the creek and it's water,
the trees that give shade,
and the wind a blowing...
will always be there,
for you and for your children! '
'and that children everywhere
will be born into a world that's safe,
that they have a home to go to,
and food to eat.
and that your momma and daddy
can sleep at night without worrying! '
the little boys shook his head up and down...
'that's cool... does god do that,
or do we? '
'out of the mouth of babes! ...'
poem by Eric Cockrell
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