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rice reaping—
no smoke rising from
the cremation ground today

haiku by Masaoki Shiki
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I Have To Walk Away Again Looking For The Fresh Air

one finds a hard time nowadays
looking for fresh air

i step over a good view of the rice fields
from an Asian perspective

the rice fields are flowering
dews still sticking on the blades of grass
the sun is slowly rising from the mountains
a lot of fog hang on the sides
coconut trees are towering
not much winds today from the sea

a middle aged farmer stands under a tree
with his sweater on and his long bolo on his side
smoking his cigar
the woman in the house is cooking mud fish for breakfast
meanwhile she goes out and
starts a fire under the mango tree
burning a rubber tire
to drive some insects away
which she thinks are destroying
the tiny white flowers of
the tree

i smell the smoke coming from the cigar
it is floating in the air
the smoke from the rubber tire burning
is choking me

somehow that is what is being done to this world
brought about by ignorance and superstition and bad habits

i have to walk away again
looking for the fresh air

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mother's Steamed Rice

the sweetest song from the kitchen
that i hear
is mother's steamed rice
its smoke rising
to the ceiling
of our old wooden house

the smell so fresh
so sweetly scented with
pandan leaves
so heavenly
in broad daylight
i can see the moon and stars
beside the plate full of white steamed rice
are five pieces of salted fish
their skin charred with the cinders
their eyes staring
poisoned with so much envy

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rural Sounds

mooing cows
barking dogs
flowing river
grassy plains
hushing winds
tall mountains
foggy hillsides
rising cliffs

a little brown boy
harvesting water apples
a little girl lifting her skirt
to catch them

father plowing a rain fed field
elder sister washing dirty clothes in the river
brother catching fish for breakfast
mother cooking rice

smoke rising from the chimney
reaching for the gods residing in the skies

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Day I Hate Rice

The day I hate rice
Is several rare day in a year
When I don't eat rice
I don't want to eat rice
I don't want to see it
Because I hate its taste
And I hate to think about it
If I have the day I hate rice
Then you'll know that I don't feel well
I'm bored of this procession
I want to run from this life
Because I begin to hate myself
...just a little while
And everything will be back to normal again
That's the meaning of
The day I hate rice

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I Dont Want To Throw Rice

She married the one I love today
When my back was turned she took him away
Now while theyre all outside, waiting to throw rice
What I want to throw will surely black her eyes
cause I dont want to throw rice
I want to throw rocks at her
She took the only love I had
No, I dont want to throw rice
I want to throw rocks at her
It would be a way to hurt her cause she hurt me so bad
Well I never stole nothin in my life
But if I get the chance Ill steal him from his wife
cause all is fair in love and war, maybe Im carryin this too far
But I feel like tying dynamite to her side of the car
No I dont want to throw rice
I want to throw rocks at her
She took the only love I had
No, I dont want to throw rice
I want to throw rocks at her
It would be a way to hurt her cause she hurt me so bad

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Smoke Comes Out

when the smoke comes out
they are there to say that there is fire
on the chimney
when the smoke is black
they all say i have decided
when the smoke is white
they keep on praying since
no one is chosen
to lead the lost flock
without their grazing ground
during winter time

what if the smoke comes out
from my eyes and the smoke is black
and there is no fire in my heart?

what if i am lost? shall you care?
please don't. I must tell you i am happier
when left alone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Belfast To Boston

There are rifles buried in the countryside for the rising of the moon
May they lie there long forgotten till they rust away into the ground
Who will bend this ancient hatred, will the killing to an end
Who will swallow long injustice, take the devil for a country man
Who will say "this far no further, oh lord, if I die today"
Send no weapons no more money. Send no vengeance across the seas
Just the blessing of forgiveness for my new countryman and me
Missing brothers, martyred fellows, silent children in the ground
Could we but hear them could they not tell us
"Time to lay God's rifle down"
Who will say this far no further, oh Lord, if I die today.

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rising Sun

On the street of villains taken for a ride
you can have the devil as a guide
crippled by the boundaries, programmed into guilt
'til your nervous system starts to tilt.
And in the room of mirrors you can see for miles
but everything that's there is in disguise
every word you've uttered and every thought you've had
is all inside your file, the good and the bad.
But in the rising sun you can feel your life begin
universe at play inside your DNA
you're a billion years old today
oh the rising sun and the place it's coming from
is inside of you and now your payment's overdue
oh the rising sun, oh the rising sun.
On the avenue of sinners I have been employed
working there 'til I was near destroyed
I was almost a statistic inside a doctor's case
when I heard the messenger from inner space
he was sending me a signal that so for long I had
ignored
but he held on to my umbilical cord
until the ghost of memory trapped in my body mind
came out of hiding to become alive.
And in the rising sun you can hear your life begin
and it's here and there nowhere and everywhere
though it's atmosphere is rare
oh the rising sun and the place that it's coming from
is inside of me and now I feel it constantly
oh the rising sun, oh the rising sun, oh the rising
sun.
But in the rising sun you can feel your life begin
universe at play inside your DNA
you're a billion years old today
oh the rising sun and the place it's coming from
is inside of you and now your payment's overdue
oh the rising sun, oh the rising sun, oh the rising
sun.

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inspired by Issa - your rice field, my rice field

your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our dreams in tokyo

your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our sons in tokyo

inspired

your rice field
my rice field
the same green
-Issa,1815

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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She Is Rising

Those pretty feet are stuck deep in the ground
And all that junk just keeps coming
Must be the time to rearrange it all
Another place another time has called
She is rising above this world
She is heading for an open door
She is rising above this world
She is heading for an open door
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
One day he wakes up to a different drum
Rhythm coming from so far away
He had no time to tell anyone
His hips were moving to a perfect sway
He is rising above this world
He is heading for an open door
He is rising above this world
He is heading for an open door
Give it up let him in
All he wants is to begin
Give it up let him in
All he wants is to begin
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
She is rising above this world
She is heading for an open door
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
Give it up (she is rising)
Let him in (he is rising)
All he wants is to begin (all I want is to begin)
Give it up (she is rising)
Let him in (he is rising)
All he wants is to begin (all he wants is to begin)
She is rising
He is rising
All I want
All I want is to begin
She is rising
He is rising
Give it up
We are rising
She is rising
She is rising

song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With this soul

I thought my soul
Helped me fly as spirit
Until I felt my soul
Connected to the soil
Through my heart

Through my longing
And through my holding
Of the branches of a tree
I felt connected to all things
Through the ground

My soul is of this earth
In death
It is in the ground
I want to be buried
No cremation for me

But for now
I choose life I breathe life
I touch everything
With my bare hands
And give back what I can

With this soul

poem by Harriet James
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Varied Menu

Chicken and rice.

Fish and rice.

Rice and chicken.

Rice and fish.

Varied menu - 'ish!

Nice jungle place.
There's plenty of space.
Fresh clean air
But that dietary pair,
Fish or chicken
.....Not again!

So more trekking with a frown
Back to Georgetown.....

poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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Duct Tape World

rice and beans,
in the slow pot...
morning hangs,

duct tape lives
in the balance....
eyes wide open,

looking both ways...
grab a smoke,
and a shovel....

join in!
wiping last night's love
from the corner of the eyes,

or maybe just memory,
and an empty chair....
long autumn day

on the path to deliverence....
rice and beans,
in a duct tape world!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Home Is Where My Heart Is

my home is where my heart is.

the white furniture are the veranda
the black umbrella at the side of the door
the green grass the lush trees
the pathway filled with pebbles
the ceiling with a fan
the stairs without dust
the railings with shellac
mahogany smell of walls
the well at the backyard
the smell of bacon at the kitchen
scrambled eggs and fresh milk
every morning
the smoke rising to the roof
of white steam rice

mother calling us all
and father waiting
praying for grace
and then this hearty meal

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Smoke

smoke from the chimney
rises to the sky
and then gone

like us, did you not notice?
we are from here
this heart and then in pain
we rise up
we mix in space
there, do you see still us?

i do not see me anymore

i am fog dissolving in the morning
i am mist dissipating on glass
i am smoke
rising to the sky from the chimney
and then gone....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Land Of Dispute

Throughout the years, this fertile ground of all time
produce an abundant rice harvest
but when Cane and Nila had to be planted
with the laws and promises
a bundle of money
measure of welfare change
everything is measured by the amount of money in the bag
in the bank, and the stock trading
Money in the hands of farmers flows like spring water
Their time out to plant sugar cane and Nila
Time to be a little rice,
rice plants were molt
abundant harvest changed complaints
Their well-being such as inhaled
West wind,
disappeared

poem by Prasetya Utama
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A Request To The Dead

I offer this water to you,
my father, grandfather and great grandfather,
and to you, soldiers and generals
who fought for us and who fought against us
and who were killed by this war.

I stand here, on this battlefield,
and give this water and this rice to you—
you must be hungry and thirsty.

Ask for nothing
other than water and rice,
don't add to the long list
of things I was not able to give;
be content with this water and this rice
and return
to wherever you came from.

Consider this: the years
I have spent with you were many;
and this: it will not be long
before I join you wherever you sojourn.
Had I possessed things
other than this water and this rice,
would I have denied them to you
and asked you to return ?
Whatever I have
other than this water and this rice
are surely not appropriate offerings
for departed souls.

True, I traverse everyday of my life
with this baggage of witheld things,
but whenever I look at them
I disintegrate and cry out
with a voice that rends
the heavens
and the underworld.
Tears fill my eyes
when I make this offering
of water and rice.
I know, when my turn comes,
I shall have neither.

Look, the sun has almost set.
Now, go back to wherever you came from
with the little water and the little rice I gave you.
Look, I myself do not have
either any water or any rice.
Look, I have nothing except the few things
I didn't give
and kept with myself.

[Translated by the poet]

poem by Ramakanta Rath
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(Rejection Poem) Angel Of Death

The blood is rushing through my veins.
Breaking free of the shackles and chains.
Being pulled away.
I want to stay but I must go.
Oh hell, no.
It wont happen.
I killed all the passion.
Its over.
Done, sorry but this game can never be won.

The angel of death has come.
Reaping those lost souls.
I got to just walk away.
Its no longer my mistake.
I must take control.
Pulling the reins trying to drive me insane.
Patience, is no longer in my best interest.
Just leave me alone.
Let me be calm.
Probably should get stoned.
A unending high in this life.
A dream being destroyed.
But I must let go.

For the angel of death has come.
Reaping those lost souls.
I must take control.
A choice has been made.
As the day fades.
Win or lose it no longer matter anyways.
I'm not playing.
I'm not staying.

So let the angel of death come.
Reaping those lost souls.
I must take control.
I was the fool.
I was the fool.
A life so cruel.
I'll watch from afar.
Like a distant star.
You can no longer reach me.
You can no longer b*tch to me.
The line has been written in the sand.
Everyone one on that side is damned.

So let the angel of death come.
Reaping the lost souls
oh reaping the lost souls.
I must take control.
By saying no,
i will not follow a heart so hollow.
I'm not blinded by the sickness.
No oh no.

So let the angel of death come.
Just let her come.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Burning The Weeds

we take pride today
in burning all the weeds

those dry weeds
with all their screams
to the fire
we make

huge fire
we feel that hell in there
big smoke rising to
the skies

we look at the skies
seemingly
God smiles

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thirteen Cats

the old woman
who lived in the
food stamp trailer
on the corner...
with
thirteen
cats...
died two weeks
ago.

they found her today;
and animal control
came
for
the
cats.

the county came
for her...
there was
no
one
to
call.

a few lines
in the paper...
no
picture.

cremation,
for all involved!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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