Vaddafi
Train to pluck the coconuts,
5 to 6 months away from home;
But my friend Vadafi came out with some words,
And like the monkeys plucking coconuts in Thailand!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Let Your Will Be Done
Let your will be done and let me respect your muse,
Let your will be done and let me find my joy,
Let your will be done and let me gain wisdom;
But in ten years later i will pay my dues!
And like the monkeys trained to pluck coconuts in Asia.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Monkeys Must Know What's Good For Them
Monkeys do mind,
How a banana peels.
And how that's done,
To quicken the taste.
Why bananas do appeal,
And not coconuts?
I had not seen this spoken.
Or discussed in a fuss.
The monkeys must know what's good for them.
As they get their vitamins.
And swing from high vines.
The monkeys must know what's good for them.
And we...
Unfortunately,
Are not monkeys.
The monkeys must know what's good for them.
As they get their vitamins.
And swing from high vines.
The monkeys must know what's good for them.
And we...
Unfortunately,
Are not monkeys.
Monkeys do mind,
How a banana peels.
And how that's done,
To quicken the taste.
Why bananas do appeal,
And not coconuts?
I had not seen this spoken.
Or discussed in a fuss.
And we...
Unfortunately,
Are not monkeys.
The monkeys must know what's good for them.
As they get their vitamins.
And swing from high vines.
Stripping exotic trees,
Of fruit they leave.
The monkeys must know what's good for them.
And we,
Unfortunately...
Are not monkeys.
The monkeys must know what's good for them.
And,
We...
Unfortunately,
Are not monkeys.
The monkeys must know what's good for them.
And we,
Unfortunately...
Are not monkeys.
Monkeys must know what's good for them.
But we...
Unfortunately,
Are not monkeys.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Filipino Poem 2
As written by Bimboy a high school student
At St. Vincent’s College in Dipolog City section Einstein:
The sun rises in my little barrio in Olingan
And sits on two hill where our nipa hut lies
The sun is like a handsome face looking
At two hills like the twin plump breasts of a
Beautiful maiden and his sunrays are like
Fingers lovingly caressing them with too much
Warmth the coconuts, yes, the coconuts like nipples
Spread on the hillsides and his tongue licks them
his mouth sucking them these young coconuts
while my papa Leads the carabao to a mudhole to wallow
While my mother takes some hot chilis for viand
My sister is not there on the window she
Eloped with her boyfriend so you can find
Nobody looking out the window of the hut.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Race Industry
The coconuts have got the jobs.
The race industry is a growth industry.
We despairing, they careering.
We want more peace they want more police.
The Uncle Toms are getting paid.
The race industry is a growth industry.
We say sisters and brothers don't fear.
They will do anything for the Mayor.
The coconuts have got the jobs.
The race industry is a growth industry.
They're looking for victims and poets to rent.
They represent me without my consent.
The Uncle Toms are getting paid.
The race industry is a growth industry.
In suits they dither in fear of anarchy.
They take our sufferings and earn a salary.
Steal our souls and make their documentaries.
Inform daily on our community.
Without Black suffering they'd have no jobs.
Without our dead they'd have no office.
Without our tears they'd have no drink.
If they stopped sucking we could get justice.
The coconuts are getting paid.
Men, women and Brixton are being betrayed.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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If you had teeth of steel, you could eat iron coconuts.
The brotherhood of coconuts is a meeting in the cook-in pot.
Live In The Jungle
I'd like to move to the jungle and live in a tree
Tarzan would be my neighbor, and I'd be free
Free to live in nature, living off the land
Bathing in the lake and laying on the sand
I'd have coconuts and bananas to eat
And sometimes berries, what a treat
I wouldn't need a ride, I'd swing from vine to vine
When the fruit had ripened, make my own wine
I'd ride an elephant, if I had to travel far
I'd save so much on gas, not needing a car
I could stand on a tree limb, beating on my chest
And I could scream out, and the monkeys come to rest
I must have watched T.V. a little to much
Because, with this poem I seem kind of out of touch!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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New diet
I tried a new diet
nothing but coconuts and bananas
But I soon found
it wasn’t for me
I didn’t lose
a single pound
But Damn! ! Could I ever…
Climb a tree! ! !
poem by David Whalen
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More Fun Than A Barrel Of Monkeys
there are multiple questions pertaining to the concept,
'more fun than a barrel of monkeys.'
how big is the barrel?
how many monkeys are we talking about?
how big are the monkeys? Are we talking spider monkeys, chimps, baboons or what?
Are the monkeys old or young and where's the barrel, inside or outside?
If you leave the monkeys in the barrel, you got a problem:
they'll die in their own excrement,
if you lift the lid and let them out,
they might kill you.
a monkey can rip out your eyes, is that fun?
monkeys, leaping and running around the house, can do a lot of damage, is that fun?
monkeys are dirty, so... what exactly do you consider fun?
what's it going to be like trying to get the monkeys back in the barrel?
would that be fun?
what would the neighbors think of you, if you released the monkeys into their yards?
what happens if the police gets involved?
it could mean everything imaginable is more fun than a barrel of these animals.
maybe even more fun than a barrel of human beings.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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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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About Grandmother...
at 90
grandma was left alone
sometime in
1970
she lost her mind
walked down the stairs of the house
and fell
on the big rattan basket fit
for the
coconuts
when she died there was
a grand funeral
her niche was covered by
daisies
her picture when she was young
was best
the neighborhood was so
impressed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Heavy Rain Last Night
the roofs never had
the time to sleep and
in darkness the fingers
of all nails keep
themselves in the
side pockets of
the beams
the rivers rise like
a platform for driftwoods
and leaves and
coconuts in a
fast parade
as a little boy watches
the show
and then
the frogs' hands begin
to clap
the crickets are not
in the mood for
singing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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on a Sunday back to the past that Papa left
on a Sunday
the man returns to the sea
to clean the foreshore
teeming with coconuts
from thick grass
bad grass and beetles
that eat buds and
kill
on a Sunday back
to the past again
clearing some forests
of memories
therein
one seeks a redemption
for what had been
putting some seeds again
as anticipations of
the future
that may never come
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ill Be Home On Christmas Day
(words & music by michael jarrett)
On the hills of georgia
Across the plains of tennessee
Ive seen and Ive done most everything
That a man can do or see
But if I could only borrow one dream from your sleep
Id be on that train tomorrow
Ill be home on christmas day
And so many times before
She left that candle burning
Oh, too many tears fell
My soul fills with yearning
If I had sense at all
Id just be on my way
Be on that train tomorrow
Be home on christmas day
Everytime I think about her
All the love I left behind
Memories still linger in my troubled mind
I could set aside my pride
And Id be on my way
Id catch that train tomorrow
And be home on christmas day
If I had any sense at all
Id just be on my way
Id catch that train tomorrow
Id be home on christmas day
I said Id catch that train tomorrow
Id be home on christmas day
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Marooned
...and in the final analyst,
Whoever is assigned to helm this moored
And marooned ship...
Needs to be very familiar with the crane operator.
No need to inquire about resumés, experience...
Qualifications or examine the color of the person.
Afterall,
THAT nonsense got us here in the first place.
Make eye contact.
Establish some kind of relationship...
That is genuine.
And IF we can get this 'thing' off the rocks,
And back sailing again...
That will be a miracle!
Hopefully...
After all of this bickering and tit-for-tat BS,
Something has been learned!
And learning from this crisis is highly recommended.
We'll have time for that...
Since it has been announced earlier the crane operators
Are having their own investigations being conducted.
That might take months...even years to complete.
That will give us all enough time to practice being cordial.
And tell those women to remove those furs.
No bowties or silk scarfs for the men.
We will not be celebrating the return.
We are going to be moving forward!
Basic presentations will be the norm from this day forward!
Now go crack those coconuts so we'll have 'something' to eat!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Leroy the Lion
leroy the lion was toothless,
every elephant
giraffe parrrot and snake,
found this hilarious.
he would walk through the thick forest,
trying to look scary and mean,
he would open his wide gummy mouth,
but no animal would scream,
he really was the worst lion ever,
he was as harmless as a feather.
monkeys would throw coconuts at his weary head,
sid the snake would slither up his large lion leg,
and whisper cruel words into his ear,
and alone in his den he would release big lion tears,
then one day,
a friendly wise owl,
heard the lions sad meow,
down he flew to see the lonely lion,
the lion told the owl of his plight,
'dont worry leroy your soon cause a fright',
off his flew to brew up a plan,
just like wise owls always can.
soon he returned with a set of lions teeth,
rubbing them clean with a giant leaf,
'where did you get these dear owl'
from your dead cousin,
poor fool was crushed by a stampede of cow,
wont be needing these now,
so leroy the lion,
placed the teeth in his big eager mouth,
and roared a loud scary roar,
he thanked the owl,
and soon saw sid the sly snake,
opened his mouth,
and sid did shake,
slivering off into his hole,
then he saw the cheeky monkey,
who on sight of the lions new teeth,
screamed and run up his tree,
and from that day on,
the lion ruled strong,
he was the king of the jungle,
and this is his song
poem by Not Long Left
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Deny Me Deny You
deny me
entry into your system
deny yourself
that gate of happiness
made for both
of us
from high above
deny ourselves
what we thought we really deserve
let our lips dry
let our minds go crazy
let the pillars between us
be as tall as the coconuts
let us accept for now
the bliss of freedom
let time simmer
let the ages age
let the wine bottle be sealed
and kept at the cellar
then we come back
for more surprises
how does our sweat taste after
all these years?
goodbye.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Farm
i want to spell
freedom for her
we are two here
in this farm
where coconuts
are old and tall
where the grass
spreads like crazy
where the spring
of water does not
cease pouring from
the slit of the earth
this morning
i go to the nearby
river naked
and sensing that
she has only the
pillow in bed
she follows me
and there she
undresses herself
naked like me and
she spells freedom
perfectly: cool
and smooth to our
skin, too warm in
our hearts, peaceful
and private world.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How Else Will We Get Them to Split Apart?
When you slapped me.
I knew why.
Although bruised and crying...
My attraction for you grew.
And I just 'knew' this was true love.
The kind from you,
That possesses my obsessed heart.
And canoes around my blinded mind!
With hopes one day,
Only you and I will throw coconuts at each other...
Blissed together,
On our own private island!
'That is sick! '
How else will we get them to split apart?
To get what is inside,
Seen...
To discuss?
And for us,
Now open.
To mend with licks and share more lust.
'By seeking the help we both need.'
Please...
That's too everydayish!
Besides...
There is no passion in that!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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