"bamboos" poems
The head losing itself
A rainforest
Lake in the heart
Hundred tombstones
Named Narcissus
They Echo
Icy, bluish lungs
Pallid violet nails
Lips still yet loving
Salty bamboos
Necrophilic whistles
Siren's footsteps
Illegal loggers
Burying selves alive
Love, love that is
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
Sharp contrasts of all colors here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the mango clumps of green profound,
And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red—red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
On a primeval Eden, in amaze.
5.9k
A fisherman is drifting, enjoying the spring mountains,
And the peach-trees on both banks lead him to an ancient source.
Watching the fresh-coloured trees, he never thinks of distance
Till he comes to the end of the blue stream and suddenly- strange men!
It's a cave-with a mouth so narrow that he has to crawl through;
But then it opens wide again on a broad and level path --
And far beyond he faces clouds crowning a reach of trees,
And thousands of houses shadowed round with flowers and bamboos....
Woodsmen tell him their names in the ancient speech of Han;
And clothes of the Qin Dynasty are worn by all these people
Living on the uplands, above the Wuling River,
On farms and in gardens that are like a world apart,
Their dwellings at peace under pines in the clear moon,
Until sunrise fills the low sky with crowing and barking.
...At news of a stranger the people all assemble,
And each of them invites him home and asks him where he was born.
Alleys and paths are cleared for him of petals in the morning,
And fishermen and farmers bring him their loads at dusk....
They had left the world long ago, they had come here seeking refuge;
They have lived like angels ever since, blessedly far away,
No one in the cave knowing anything outside,
Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds.
...The fisherman, unaware of his great good fortune,
Begins to think of country, of home, of worldly ties,
Finds his way out of the cave again, past mountains and past rivers,
Intending some time to return, when he has told his kin.
He studies every step he takes, fixes it well in mind,
And forgets that cliffs and peaks may vary their appearance.
...It is certain that to enter through the deepness of the mountain,
A green river leads you, into a misty wood.
But now, with spring-floods everywhere and floating peachpetals --
Which is the way to go, to find that hidden source?
4.6k
Sitting alone
in the hush of the bamboo grove
I thrum my lute
and whistle lingering notes.
In the secrecy of the wood
no one can hear --
Only the clear moon
comes to shine on me.
4.3k
Our ashes have settled on the cliff of pride
while the seed of today sprouts your frailty beginning.
We have at last seen the face of our god
which you have not even learned to utter
or never will at all.
Your intelligence gave you power that
failed the comprehension of our yesterfathers.
You built humans in just a sprinkle of *****
on to the skin of alligators and ants
on to the stem of a bee and the sting of a plant.
And you called them your sons
And you called them your kind.
The burrowed earths have no more riches
and they are left unpalatable to worms,
no more worms even
for even these decomposers
learn to tire feeding on your greed
no more shades of blue in the putrid waters
to which this bottle was thrown,
to which this letter longed to swim with your same species
that can never be in our family tree
for it has grown dead atop the impotent soil.
How we wished that your sons wished they
were with us in the time when
sparrows roared in the Kamagong tree when
wild boars chirped in the dancing bamboos when
the snow-like smokes breathed in the cone of Mayon when
the bangus and tilapia worshipped the nets of the singing fishermen.
How we wished they wished they knew.
How we wished they wished they saw.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:36 AM UTC
After rain the empty mountain
Stands autumnal in the evening,
Moonlight in its groves of pine,
Stones of crystal in its brooks.
Bamboos whisper of washer-girls bound home,
Lotus-leaves yield before a fisher-boat --
And what does it matter that springtime has gone,
While you are here, O Prince of Friends?
3.3k
For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses:
Rain; empty river; a voyage,
Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain in the twilight
Under the cabin roof was one lantern.
The reeds are heavy; bent;
and the bamboos speak as if weeping.
Autumn moon; hills rise about lakes
against sunset
Evening is like a curtain of cloud,
a blurr above ripples; and through it
sharp long spikes of the cinnamon,
a cold tune amid reeds.
Behind hill the monk’s bell
borne on the wind.
Sail passed here in April; may return in October
Boat fades in silver; slowly;
Sun blaze alone on the river.
Where wine flag catches the sunset
Sparse chimneys smoke in the cross light
Comes then snow scur on the river
And a world is covered with jade
Small boat floats like a lanthorn,
The flowing water closts as with cold. And at San Yin
they are a people of leisure.
Wild geese swoop to the *******
Clouds gather about the hole of the window
Broad water; geese line out with the autumn
Rooks clatter over the fishermen’s lanthorns,
A light moves on the north sky line;
where the young boys **** stones for shrimp.
In seventeen hundred came Tsing to these hill lakes.
A light moves on the South sky line.
State by creating riches shd. thereby get into debt?
Thsi is infamy; this is Geryon.
This canal goes still to TenShi
Though the old king built it for pleasure
K E I M E N R A N K E I
K I U M A N M A N K E I
JITSU GETSU K O K W A
T A N FUKU T A N K A I
Sun up; work
sundown; to rest
dig well and drink of the water
dig field; eat of the grain
Imperial power is? and to us what is it?
The fourth; the dimension of stillness.
And the power over wild beasts.
2.6k
Some day, when trees have shed their leaves
And against the morning's white
The shivering birds beneath the eaves
Have sheltered for the night,
We'll turn our faces southward, love,
Toward the summer isle
Where bamboos spire to shafted grove
And wide-mouthed orchids smile.
And we will seek the quiet hill
Where towers the cotton tree,
And leaps the laughing crystal rill,
And works the droning bee.
And we will build a cottage there
Beside an open glade,
With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,
And ferns that never fade.
2.2k
Sky Afire
It started as a tendril snaked
And quickly caught my eye
That beckoned me to come partake
The bright majestic sky
From turquoise into indigo
And all the shades between
With molten lava spreading slow
As far as could be seen
With orange and corals juxtaposed
Against the deeper blues
And silhouetted trees in pose
Amid the great bamboos
The clouds were piled in tumbling flow
And darkened as they fell
To charcoal black, blood red aglow
At meeting with the swell
And as the skyflow met the sea
And seemed to melt within
The sea took on its vibrancy
And flow began again
And as the skyflood reached its peak
Engulfing and aflame
It seemed directly to retreat
As quickly as it came
The ashen grey began above
And slowly spread below
Till all was left in pumice drifts
Within its final glow
And now the show has ended
With the sky once more a sky
And the clouds and sea appended
For a witness such as I
3 Oct 2000
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
no man has seen him, but
when here, when making his grand appearance
the world prepares for him.
the trees are first to bow down,
bending their trunks and shedding their leaves
and swaying about their roots to royalty
the half-damp clothes on hanging bamboos prepare
with its fabric flapping to play a fanfare,
then sound off with a fluttering finale as he whistles by and leaves.
the angled windows then, as if by unanimous consent,
slam themselves painfully into perfectly parallel
posture – like soldiers in a straight file.
and in mirthful defiance, a wandering page of the news leapt
and caught the wind like a kite, riding the city
on its crests and troughs
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:05 AM UTC
fumbling callow lovers
clumsy and all too eager,
sit in the bamboo grove-
he tries to give, the first kiss,
on her trembling lips.
prankster wind's hands
vigorously shake
the bamboos in the grove.
bamboos sing in ecstasy
pining lovers by and by
find the shore of pleasure,
merge in that symphony.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 1:36 AM UTC
From the thicket of garrulous bamboos,
a love lorn song, in the air makes waves,
enthralled, a rustle, from the foliage
of a mango tree laden with fruits,
A wistful tune announces,"I am here"
a hearty call heard in return,
a symphony of love, fills the air
two invisible lovers, woo each other.
a sonorous duet, above nature's sounds,
in clear high notes, celebrates love newly found,
cacophony of birds, is bridled
sudden stillness is all ears for love notes.
now the lovers, are in the air
circling each other, madly love struck.
like a breeze meets and carries fragrance,
love is sought and found, a song composed!
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
Sitting in a room
Where only echoes are stored
Thinking that without echoes
All the voices on this earth
Might have been dead at birth.
You can wipe out all the voices with ease
But what will you do with echoes?
I know now why the bamboos are in the valleys.
Hills without a voice
Gathering the echoes
For a time drowned in silence.
late comer did not hear the flute playing
She only collected its echoes and left.
The butterfly has gone
The flutter still remains on the petals
Listen to the stars carefully
Their echoes have golden hues.
Even when all the sounds are wiped out,
The earth might live some more time
By spending the echoes frugally.
A truck have been spotted in the city
Carrying echoes
For making them impotent.
It is impossible to predict
What will happen to the voices
Mortally wounded with bullets.
All the dungeons of this world
won't be sufficient
To imprison all their echoes.
00
Poem By Veerankutty Mehfil
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
Sun slowly peeps
sunbeams, yet to waken
sleepy eyes, minds
sky is gray this morning
several hours past a tremor
no wind to stir action
bamboos, fruit trees
are stilled
currently
awaiting movements
worse than 5.4
it's crazier,
awaiting aftershocks...
Sally
Copyright May 26, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
When you’re off the shore there is an empty recap,
The mind who fell from the moon
And thoughts that struck the deepest of the depths
With memories and stories and a whole lot of emotions
Streams a new location for this resonating soul.
When the rooms get smaller and the boundaries –
Make no sense, there is the field you spoke about
We can go back, sip some tea and talk endless
Till the morning breeze kisses the red spot of your sky.
We were total strangers until the first lazy scribbles
But you spoke of bamboos and the music that flowed
With similarities and glee coupled with few lines of poetry
That you made me realize, life is worth living.
I know your son, your mom, your wife, your dad
I know your little girlfriend and your dear little diary
And I know the person who is ageless and nameless,
I know my friend, you are someone unusual.
When it rains, I know you’re coming to talk about-
Ganges, journeys and cravings and feel so excited
When you get the touch, that somebody is there
Destined to share the same feeling and the exact thrill
Of every moment and cherish memories.
Let us go back to the days- you the song and I the poet
And our days that we never shared
But we will someday meet at your ranch
Talk endless without the distress of judgement
And walk a little longer and paint red, red and white,
You can drive me home and I can drive you to endless letters.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
She, resting on one leg
maybe
watching him
He, lying on grass
alive?
Could be dead
Breeze, waiving water
searching
bamboos and canes
They, doing nothing
are,
hours and hours
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 7:01 PM UTC
I am from great grandma Jenny and her distinguished rose.
I am from summers at the beach and heavy winter snows.
I am from a bustling home and a yard bursting with imagination.
I am from a family where “head over heals” is no exaggeration.
I am from “Wait, whatʼs your name again?” on my very first bus ride.
I am from a brain full of secrets and “thatʼs classified.”
I am from the six legged octopus of matching Hello Kitty shoes.
I am from hidden forts at Teusinkʼs made of “rare” bamboos.
I am from cannonballs into the green and blue hut tub.
I am from the old Branch Office that sometimes refused to budge.
I am from soft green grass and sapphire blue skies.
I am from the back of a horse as the world flies by.
I am from cartwheels on old wooden balance beams.
I am from backflips and handsprings on trampolines.
I am from stitches, strained muscles, broken fingers and nose.
I am from insane barn sleepovers where only the glow-stick glows.
I am from dancing, biking, and hula-hooping through Wal-Mart.
I am from B-Town and Profession of Faith that really touched my heart
I am from Tulip Time parades and twirling my baton.
I am from so many things, the list goes on and on.
I am from my remarkable family who loves me in every way,
But mostly I am from God, and Heʼs why I am here today.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
The day I lost my voice
I did not cry
I rejoiced.
The day I lost my voice
I gained an ear
I listened.
I listened to flowers’ whispers
To bees’ chatters
To bamboos’ laughter
To children’s banters and giggles
To moon’s cries
To sun’s admonishments
If now, you plead me: speak
Please,
Don’t cry for me
Rejoice
Gain an ear
Listen
If now, you plead me: speak
Please,
Allow my heart to do it.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
Bamboos
Bend lithely
To strong winds
Sparrow's eyes
Speak of admiration
You may fall
But this, I tell you:
Broken reeds
Play great music
Hark Pan's story
Of his syrinx,
Beloved.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
Dawn prevaricates-
reluctant to break
But mynah beaks open
their cacophany amongst
rustling bamboos
Dogs stretch and yawn
nuzzling to run in the
relative cool
I wait
Let light encourage
Snake to slither home
to burrows, fat from
night feed
in they squeeze
Full moon round as cheese
sinks stately behind
the promontory
On turning
sun drips honey
over greened mountains
Five islands sit-
their time will come
As mine, alas
has gone
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
The west wind
whistle through the bamboos
A sharp stars
look through us
A memory of you
echos in the system
like truth;
it goes through us
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
Now the time and I are wasted
hell no, I'm trying to be good enough
to save your God **** respect
**** I'm not ready to disprove it
The world minds me when I saw your fault
I dont wanna lie to the lier
even I'm bad but acting be nice to you all
nothing is permanent
not even my heart
you wanna see the ****
so take my soul away
every one looks like innocent ****
no one helps you though
your bamboos are spreading
but let it be in legal
so unethical loyalty
I'm so dizzy
I'm a drunken yard you can spill your ****
and leave like nothing happened
cause your matter doesn't matter
my poor heart.
May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021 at 1:43 PM UTC