4: 16 A.m.
the rain begins
to fall
on the nipa roof
of the house
soothing sounds
solemn song of the
humble house to
God
this early morning
as one reads silently
a Matin....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Need For A New House....Or Home...
early morning
when the doors are still closed and the windows still tipsy
like the whole house
you fly away
the sun comes out with the clouds
early morning you fly away
away from it all
the clouds are floors and grasses
and you are a lonely bird among a flock of chairs
early morning you fly away
thinking about nothing
you fly away and you feel like a leaf inside
that gentle beast
it is a ride-awA Need For A New House....Or Home...ay
among the paradoxes of life
and its ironies
early morning there is this flight that takes you to a stop-over
of your life
no one knows that you are grieving
over a search for what you feel
the one you had which you lost
intentionally
among the flock of chairs landing early morning
on unstable floors
early morning you take a cab
you choose still
which house
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Houses
1898 -- A Song of the Dominions
'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Building A House Of Your Own
to a newly wed couple
building a house is poetry
each nipa shingle is a memory
put on top of another to make
a roof, an imagery of protection,
each wall is respect for privacy
each beam is stability
each door is a security
each window an eye
the house is the nest of this
new found love
and then a baby is born
giving them hope
as they both shower their affection
and as love grows there
like a well tended tree
as time strengthens their company
the house you know
has become their home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A View Of A Narra Tree Whose Branches Are Cut
there it stands tall beside a nipa house
its branches all cut
the climbing lichen and moss shall soon die
at noonday
wilting and stiffening
mummified on an early summer
when all the fingers are cut off
and arms stripped of hands
how can man be a man?
how can a tree be without leaves and branches?
how can moss and lichens thrive on such a cruelty
the nipa house triumphs and someone inside laughs
the sharp axe and the long bolo serve the purpose of the author
of this murder.
I loathe. I make this protest poetry.
Man murders nature unpunished.
No kind of poesy saves. Words are useless.
Metaphors are dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A House Without Stairs
do not say
that without the stairs
the house is not a house anymore
without the ceiling
the more the house becomes to me
take the roof
if you want
or the beams
or even the floor and window frames
my house will still be a house
the sky its roof
the stretching grassy plain its floor
all the stars become
my magnificent ceiling
whatever is taken
we must imagine that all things are still there
lest we only have a house
that crashes on the floor
with all of us
dead
crushed to the death of
our imaginations
a door without an exit
because you have not seen hope coming
the lock and key
are all in the mind and heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Morning Desire
(dave loggins)
Here its seven in the am,
Its gonna take more then wakin to rise me
I wake up with this need again
But feel the love of the woman beside me
Its just one of those days
When I wana lay here with her
And love her before I leave
And listen to the rain fall up on the roof
And the thunder sounds like horses hooves
Oh I listen to her breathe
And it makes me wana wake her up
And tell her that Im on fire
With morning desire
It looks like Im gonna be late again
And I need to get up and get movin
And Im tryin
But the longer I keep stalling
The more I think about callin in and lieing here
Its just one of those days
When I wana stay here with her
And watch her while she sleeps
And listen to the rain fall up on the roof
And the thunder sounds like horses hooves
Oh I listen to her breathe
And it makes me wana wake her up
And tell her that Im on fire
With morning desire
Well I love to hear the rain fallin on the roof
And the thunder sounds like horses hooves
Oh I listen to her breathe
And it makes me wana wake her up
And tell her that Im on fire
With morning desire
With morning desire
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Astonishing Forest
Where the house filled with living
The house continuously giving
Where the house filled with nature
The house filled with adventure
Anything can survive
With the nature it provides
Where the house filled with grass
The house filled with hedges, bushes and plants
Canopy trees be it rain or shine
Will be there for you at any time
Where the green house filled with fresh air
Will shelter you in the heavy rain
O the house of beauty
O the house of sound
So much variety is yet to be found
poem by Sehar Zaman
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The Spider As My Analogy For You
the black spider
with a yellow mouth
and invisible tongue
early in the morning
on the jack-fruit tree
webs its house, so
beautifully transparent
against the sun
it is art and functional
at the same time
a house of beauty
and a trap for prey
a fly is trapped and
breakfast is ready
at the center table of
its creation
full, the spider basks
in the rain as i watch it
still thinking about you
and your house of lies.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Morning Song
this is the song of
the pillow and the blanket
when you splash them
in the air and then
you fold the blanket
and put it on top
of each other and you
set them gently aside
this is the song of the
yellow green venetian blinds
when you pull the strings up
and you let in the light
this is the song of the doors
and the windows when you
unlock the knobs and open
them to let all the sounds of the
day enter your house
this is the whistle that comes
out from your throat when
you shape your lips like
a pout where good thoughts
are let in and then the notes
begin to fly like some birds
on a clear early morning sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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in Marupay...
from here you can
see a number of villages
tonight
the wind howls
a gas lamp
inside the kitchen
of this
wooden house
nipa roof
continue
to give a little
bright
light
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Independent Woman....
we are in this house
that from our sweat built
there are only two of us
in this house
which we have not really
called as home,
something's missing
you give me a hint
not the glass window or
the ceiling fan,
i know it but how can i
tell you?
i won't tell, it will hurt you,
we continue living
somehow
just the two of us in this house
we have our own careers
and every morning we rush to go on our different ways
the night is the only place
of our tryst
we manage to spend time for love
we sleep together and share
what we can
there will be a time when this house shall fall
because it is not a home for us all
there will be one morning when you will finally leave
and take away everything from me
and then i will write it on the wall
this house is never a home,
she never wanted a child to bear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Old House in the Glen
Winter has come and the wind and the rain
Wash over the house in the glen.
It cradles itself as if it were cold
For no one still lives within.
The years have passed over it, leaving it aged
And empty, and lost, without heart,
With no one to live there, no one to care
And the leaves are piled up on the hearth.
If you stand in the doorway, you can feel
Soft music that hangs in the air,
Like the soul of the house that ever lives on
Though there’s no longer any to hear.
The door is now gone, the windows un-paned,
The wood on the roof has gone slack.
But it still lingers on, as if waiting for
The people it loved to come back.
The old house listens, and waits, and sings
As the wind blows in through the door
And the beat of the heart of the house still sounds
Like the tread of their feet on the floor.
poem by Kate Wiley
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When The Rain Stopped Falling
there is this heavy rain
falling on top of your roof and it is so disturbing
that you wake up
and lock your windows
to shut yourself away from the sounds
of falling
but you cannot help worrying even when you cannot
literally hear the sound of the falling rain
you still imagine how they fall inside your mind
as though you can hear every syllable that every neddle of rain
is pricking in your brain
your ears
and your eyes still have the image of these
series of fallings
that even if the rain finally stopped
and you open your window to check
in the middle of this time
when morning cracks fromt the shutters of your windows
you still think like crazy
you hear the sound of the wind and it is like the sound of the falling
rain
and even if the wind has left like a leaf flown to the eastern side
of your house
even if there is no shadow of the leaf anymore
you hear your heart falling from your chest
now you must accept
leaving.
now you must accept the pain.
do not deny it.
it is you that is falling out
from the grace of her love.
it is you.
cry it out!
shout it!
it is you.!
it is you!
it is not the rain, it is not the wind, it is not the leaf that was blown away
towards the eastern part of the house.it is not the design of the house.
it is not the purple curtains. it is not the lonely courtyard
it is not the red bowl. it is not the tower.
it is not the blank sheets of paper.
it is not the bell.
it is not the winding stairs.
it is not the dirty garage.
it is not the scaffold.
it is not the white paint.
it is not the doorbell.
it is not the turbulence of the plane.
it is not the slap of the hand.
it is not the blue fan.
it is not the cellophance floating in the air and whirling in that corner
a dead-end.
it is you! and that is the truth!
be calm now. wipe the tears.
try sleep and dream.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Staying At Home...
amidst the heavy rain
beneath the roof we built
beside our walls
and on the surface of the warmth
of our floors
we habituate on this house
that with love and compassion
we are humble enough
to call our
home.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bedroom Karoake
Pink Champagne & I
love your hair...eh?
With a hairbrush
I sing
(prancing like a prat)
doing Rosemary Clooney
doing her thing.
Come on a my house... my house a come on
Come on a my house...my house a come on
Come on a my house...to my house
I’m gonna give ya candy!
You in stitches
having never seen a naked man sing
an old 1950’s song
from his childhood.
I have never seen
a naked woman
laugh so much
You snatch
the hairbrush
& tantalisingly turn the song
into improper suggestion.
Come on a my house.. a my house
I’m gonna give you
Everything...everything...everything!
I come...I come!
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Welcome To A Safehouse
this may look like
the house of a dove
for it has but one
pillar
for it has many windows
without an enclosure
it towers above them
almost touching
the hands of the wind
the sounds of cries
are as gentle as the early morning waves
on storms that fail to come
not much words here
just signs and
gazes
this the house of my mind
the doves of my thoughts
on the pillar of
privacy
on the windows of openness
no dogmas here
but freedom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Song Of Joy Sounds Up
A song of joy sounds up when the day begins
in respect as if every swallow, dove and weaver
worships their creator at the brake of day.
A song of joy sounds up
when the sky is open and blue as ink,
when the bright white sun lights its torch
while the morning star still shines blue-white,
while water rushes and shines in the brook
as if a great morning calls everyone to action
soaking hearts and souls with true love
and a song of joy sounds up...
poem by Gert Strydom
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House Of Jazz
Humdinger
Bell ringer
Got a nasty stinger
To slow you down
Mud slinger
Gold digger
Who point the finger
And do you down
Kickin' and a fightin' on a TV show
Lightin' blindin' in the middle of the road
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Ball stripper
Big tipper
Got a slap 'n' tickler
To make you growl
Spitin' and bitin' on a TV show
Tightenin' frightenin' givin' out a load
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Come on in
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
The house of jazz
song performed by by AC/DC from Stiff Upper Lip
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A House
rusty galvanized iron
as roof
barely a third of the space
mixed with the
nipa shillings
this is the house
by the side of the sea
with bamboo slats
as walls
the sea is not calm today
the bamboo fences are shaky
to the strong wind
i am inside a house of glass
i see all these
but i hear nothing
leaves of the jackfruit are blown
to the other side of the
fenced area
beyond this frame of mind
i cannot say anything
i am caged.
Our vision is caged.
We do not see
the whole picture
and people think that
we are wrong
that we are blind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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