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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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The practice of patience toward one another, the overlooking of one another's defects, and the bearing of one another's burdens is the most elementary condition of all human and social activity in the family, in the professions, and in society.

quote by Lawrence G. Lovasik
Added by Lucian Velea
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At 55

she sleeps with the
tv on
at 6 o'clock in the morning
in the kitchen the
breakfast is
cold

he walks upstairs
waiting for the sunrise
sparrows are busy
feeding the fledgelings

he sits on a chair
by the veranda overlooking
the sea

there alone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tombstone

Where's my perch
that held me on
moonless nights.

Where is the only place
I felt accepted
by everyone there

Where is the stone
that like an old friend
is gone

On a hill overlooking
a river
Maybe the closest to heaven
they'll ever get

Taken away...gone
for river road

poem by Midnights Voice
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From Where I Stand I See The Silent Tomorrow

tomorrow comes
on small
silent feet
like a cat

from a window
overlooking
a harbor

gently,
the clouds drift
the mist and frost
slowly gone

and what the cat
sees
is the sun
smiling

and the cat

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Only to the extent that someone is living out this self transcendence of human existence, is he truly human or does he become his true self. He becomes so, not by concerning himself with his self's actualization, but by forgetting himself and giving himself, overlooking himself and focusing outward.

quote by Viktor Frankl
Added by Lucian Velea
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Monobloc Poetry

man sits
on mono bloc

facing a woman
standing beside
a mono bloc

chair, man looks over
the window

woman leaves
mono bloc chair

solo mono bloc
on a monologue

monochromatic
point of view of

a mono bloc

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Mountain Trek

summer is idle, as an African tulip falls
gently on the hillside
the place is quite overlooking an old city
the mountains are brown and empty
at night the moon comes out
a gun bursts sometimes and startles the black birds
on the tree alone beside the long
winding river of Bulawan
the black birds scream calling all
the deep ravines.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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July Paints of Winter

July paints masterpieces
kissing my canvas with lively breezy strokes
July paints what she sees
adding intrigue to yellow folks
She paints a cold numbing winter
adding icicles on Christchurch trees
She paints a briskly Tasman salty sea
Sitting at a window overlooking her muse
July can't see colour til summer’s shines it's hues

poem by ArmourQuill Hunter
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Morning Ritual

morning offerings
a rested mind opens itself to
a leaf of a tree
another heart feels the
dance of the
still wind with the vines
the slow steps towards
the path
leading to the valley
are chants
when you arrive there
you become a temple of peace
overlooking the hill
meeting with the embrace
of a distant horizon
the sun sees this
and so it glows

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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