Will Take You To Crabhouse
two parallel roads
sandwich by pines
long can't see end
golf balls astray
lying on needles
same in deep pond
house by riverbank
candle lit windows
veranda, both sides
love overlooking green
at water edge of pain
swirling; lofting wind
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Water so Deep and Profound
Water so sinuous and devious,
And as mystifying as you.
Water is always hiding its true self,
Never in one form.
Water can be the shimmer,
Reflecting off the light of the pond,
Making the pond seem magnificent.
Water can be the rushing sound,
As it escapes the secretive pond,
And runes down into the vast ocean,
Seeking adventure and unfound dreams.
Water can be the feeling of calmness,
As it sits there, overlooking the pond,
With wonder and seeing how it made it what it is.
Water so supple and wondrous,
The pond is born from the water.
Water so deep and profound,
Just like you,
The pond so incomplete without water,
Just like your family.
poem by Music Galore
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My doctor asked me how many golf balls I had hit in my career. I'm lying there in bed calculating somewhere between four and five million golf balls I had hit to do that on my body.
quote by Greg Norman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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When Death Is Nearing
They paced the room as restless
As an untamed wind -
As the old Sycamore swayed
Like a belly dancer -
The dust-swirling in copper eddies -
And the storms concern -
E'er raging -
The windows-pulsating heart thunder -
And nerves on edge -
Of the edge of the sill -
There was a crack in the Pain -
But it can be relieved again -
No news is good news-some say -
But the silence of death -
It mourns -
The bells are tolling once more -
Perhaps, another Angel with new -
Wings borne?
Do not grieve for her in the NOW!
Nor e'er in the morrow -
For her suffering is over and done -
An end at last-to her pain and sorrow.
Dedicated: 2U
poem by Theodora Onken
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Down in the deep water..
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I ponder my life
Just how did I get to this
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where the waterfall of dreams
Sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where time stands still
just only forever.
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I buried all
That was ever my childhood
Where I let it go,
Where it bends and meanders,
Twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
Were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the deep water,
I left the edge of the river,
As I looked down
For my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the deep water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
......Sinking forever.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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the plaintain at the veranda's edge
unfolds its coiled leaves,
its jewels,
and veils the water basin
in five feet of green
tanka by Masaoki Shiki
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In A Time Of Dearth
Before me,
On either side of me,
I see sand.
If I turn the corner of my house,
I see sand,
Long, brown
Lines and levels of flat
Sand.
If I could only see a caravan
Heave over the edge of it:
The camels wobbling and swaying,
Stepping like ostriches,
With rocking palanquins
Whose curtains conceal
Languors and faintnesses,
Muslins tossed aside,
And a disorder of cushions.
The swinging curtains would pique and solace me.
But I only see sand,
Long, brown sand -
Sand.
If I could only see a herd of Arab horses
Galloping,
Their manes and tails pulled straight
By the speed of their going;
Their bodies sleek and round
Like bellying sails.
They would beat the sand with their fore feet,
And scatter it with their hind feet,
So that it whirled in a cloud of orange,
And the sun through it
Was clip-edged, without rays, and dun.
But I only see sand,
Long, brown, hot sand -
Sand.
If I could only see a mirage,
Blue-white at the horizon,
With palm-trees about it;
Tall, windless palm-trees, grouped about a-glitter.
If I could strain toward it,
And think of the water creeping round my ankles,
Tickling under my knees,
Leeching up my sides,
Spreading over my back.
But I only feel the grinding beneath my feet.
And I only see sand,
Long, dry sand,
Scorching sand -
Sand.
If a sand-storm would only come
And spit against my windows,
Snapping upon them, and ringing their vibrations;
Swirling over the roof;
Seeping under the door-jamb;
Suffocating me and making me struggle for air.
But I only see sand -
Sand lying dead in the sun.
Lines and lines of sand -
Sand.
I will paste newspapers over the windows to shut out the sand;
I will fit them into one another, and fasten the corners.
Then I will strike matches
And read of politics and murders and festivals
Three years old.
But I shall not see the sand any more,
And I can read
While my matches last.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Fetching Water
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Everyone today has forgotten
what it’s like to haul water in a pail.
Every house must have a Jacuzzi,
and a big swimming pool, as well.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
And our homes must have a green lawn
to keep it looking really good!
The water we waste on that green grass
could be used by the farmer to grow food.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Don’t waste all of that precious water.
We have worked too hard to bring it here.
We can’t live without that precious water
let’s be thankful that it is so near.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Don’t be taking the water from the farmer
without it his crops will never grow.
All of life depends upon the water
Don’t take it for granted anymore.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
poem by Emma Beverage
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040810c We Have Laughs, We Have Fun
yesterday i have fun, very happy
we went to panera for dinner
we chat we joke, taken very well
so wonderful to be with family
over a bowl of soup, sandwich
just being out there is remarkable
after a dinner we went shopping
it turn out to be gathering suspects
then we went to golf driving range
to iron out swings or learn how to
girls tried it first; balls rolls downhill
we didn't do much, we have our fill
***
unexpected outing with my family
on sunny afternoon in hampton roads,
virginia.
we have laughs
we have hugs
we have kiss
we have fun,
we have dreams
to do it again
and it will be soon
poem by Manonton Dalan
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These Pines
These pines are not the ones that i'm used to
They won't carry me home when I cry
Am I too far gone to recover
Or can I turn if I try
Should I trade my soul for another
Should I stay and pretend that I'm happy
Like so many times before
Yeah these pines
Are not mine
They don't smell so sweet
like the ones in my mind
And I search the needles
'Til I run out of time
But I don't see you in These Pines.
Di I stumble or falter my words
When I'm saying everything is all right
I'm not one to release my depression
But these trees bring it out every night
Well i don't talk 'cos I'm trying to listen
To the wind take me home through these leaves
But it's quiet and don't hear nothing
Cos the wind doesn't blow through these trees
song performed by by Kasey Chambers from The Captain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deciding On A Disposition For The Day...
early this morning
before my walk
i go up the house and
stay for a while at the veranda
overlooking a garden
of anthuriums and
mahogany trees
i take some long breaths
feeling my lungs with
fresh air
i stretch my arms and legs
and breathe some more
i put some numbers of this
inhale and exhale
cycles
and then
last night's storm inside my head
is fully
overtaken
i tell myself
i'll make this day
perfect.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sea In Us
i am talking about
water, always there is a shortage
of what we have
in the mountain
the terrains are cracking
and the buds
and roots have always been thirsty
and strangled
we sit on the floor of this house
with big windows
looking at the vast expanse of hills
overlooking the
very wide sea
it seems that everything in our world
is sea, or
sea -ike, everything so deep
and blue
and so silent with all the
mysteries
something we still do not understand
and then you begin to talk about love
that we do not have much
something is lacking and something in us
speaks about
this hunger and thirst
this emptiness that all these resources
cannot fill
like the sea i am so silent
i am like an ocean not making any sense
of waves
like you
we shall also be like the sea
silenced by all these
mysteries
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Photographers
they go to placid lakes
to find the pictures of nature's best
these fishers
of the faces of nature's bliss
the green marshes of the pond
the fading sun
the fish coming out of the water
a leaf floating
the pines blown by the wind
shall they capture too the scent
of the flowers?
the pungent snake hiding under
the rotten bark of trees?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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041310e Sometimes It Could Happened
there's this group of trees by golf course
it collects lost flyballs; home for geese
nobody wants to crass stagnant water
so their balls is stranded there forever
sometimes i go there to pick good ones
some i keep, some i hit it back to them
one day there's an old man playing
he politely ask me if i could find his
lost balls, so i ask what is brand name
he said, ' it could be anything, my son'
i reach into my pocket and throw some
he said, ' thanks, i lost all my balls today'
poem by Manonton Dalan
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The Spell Of Spring
Exfoliative sycamore
Limbs splay low above the water
like giraffe's drinking from the shore
at some silty, placid river.
Where once their arthritic branches
at the mercy of winters winds
it's springs meliorative changes
that bring green budding knobby limbs.
Here I sit astride a boulder
overlooking the riverbank
awestruck by springs natural wonders
recurrent offerings enchant
me like a mesmerizer's spell:
enthralled, hypnotized, compelled.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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In The Pines
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines
And you shiver when the cold wind blows
My love, my love, what have I done
To make you treat me so
You've caused me to weep, you've caused me to mourn
You've caused me to leave my home
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines
And you shiver when the cold wind blows
The longest train I ever saw
Went down that Georgia Line
The engine passed at six o'clock
The caboose went by at nine
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines
And you shiver when the cold wind blows
I asked my captain for the time of day
He said he throwed his watch away
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines
And you shiver when the cold wind blows
Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Duck Pond
There's a pond at the centre of the village green,
Where ducks, moorhen and coot can be seen.
It's a feature which adds to the character and charm.
When sat by the pond, you feel a real sense of calm.
Pond-skaters and other small insects on the water skate:
The surface tension supporting their miniscule weight.
Waving their heads, the long, lush, green reeds,
Provide partial shelter for a fish as it feeds.
A frog pops its head up and looks around,
Then slips back under the water with a plopping sound.
Darting this way and that, are beautiful blue dragonflies:
Their motion so quick, they're gone in the blink of an eye.
There's sweet gallingale, marsh marigold and watercress,
But, for me, the pretty pink water lilies are by far the best.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Winding Roads
the white innova runs
for hours on this winding road
climbing mountains
we see the green forest
beside us
we are on rocky cliffs
we see the rivers wind
down the mountains
we are inside this silence
awed
overlooking the world
somehow this break
shall make us ponder
how we wasted time
on some nooks
of depression
and unnecessary worries
about tomorrow
the winding roads
still climb up this mountain
we look back seeing
the same winding roads
you say
there is no use going back
we look forward
the thrill up there
we do not discount
there is a valley somewhere
where we soon stop
and relax
then we shall talk
about this life
about these winding roads
that seem endless
to our gazes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Live, By God!
to be swept away by the storm,
every room in the house akilter.
hair thrown across your face,
lips swollen with longing.
to pluck stars from the night sky,
and drink the dew like wild beasts.
to howl and moo, to hoot and caw,
to be the ant that led the others astray!
to build small fires by forbidden roads,
to sleep inside the cave.
to drink moonlight, and spit revolution,
to walk naked in the cool evening.
to live, by God....
to shout and curse and sweat.
to break windows and kick down doors...
to speak of things long hidden...
to live, and yes to love...
with a force that defies the wind,
and brings rain from the dust...
with the faith of a child!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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