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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Related quotes
My house is small
My house is small
Cogon-roofed
And nipa walled.
Fenced by bamboo slats
Near the shore
The air is fresh
The breeze so cool
Shaded by a tree
And stars and moon
I sleep here alone
With nothing on
Hand
bare
I am a simple man
Barefoot and calm.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Attempt To Describe
i wish to describe
anxiety on a shaking glass of water
held by your hand, but i do not wish to be
tactless about it,
with due respect i transferred
my gaze to the other side
of the window and told you about
the dancing leaves of the bamboo
being blown by the gentle
wind from a very green mountain
on the left side of
our house.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Beautiful Bird That Cannot Escape From The Cage
there is a beautiful bird caged in my house
its flumes are red
its beak of course is black
its claws neat and clean
and cannot scratch
its eyes blank
its feathers dull
(perhaps she is bored to death
but she is still that beautiful bird caged in the heart
of my house)
when she sings
usually in the night before everyone sleeps
everyone hears
what sadness lies in the heart of its
throat
i know that it wants to escape from the cage in the heart of the house
but someone more cruel
wants it caged
forever
there is a beautiful red bird caged in my heart
i want it set free
she understands it well
she wants to be free
i know it too well
but things will just be what it is
there is nothing we can do
she is the beautiful red feathered bird caged
and shall never be free
like the stairs, like the walls, like the beams like the stars
shall this red bird be.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sea Is Very Calm This Morning
the sea is very calm this morning
the talisay leaves are not disturbed by the breeze
my mama is sitting on a bench
combing her long hair
saying nothing
under a tree
beside our little nipa hut
facing the horizon
on the other side is a big house
whose iron gate is painted red
a big man comes out
rushing as though
he is chasing someone
holding a stick on his hand
shouting at the child
playing with my small brother
inside the yard
of our house
the child of that man is frightened
and runs as fast as he can
back to their house
his father catches him
beating his legs
with the stick on his
right hand
i can still hear the cry of that frightened child
from the very beating of his own papa
what a mess!
i could have told you once again about the peace
and the calm and the quiet of the sea on a morning like this
but it is not true anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Details
one gets too particular about the details of
the morning picture: there are two rainbows
from the top of the galvanized roof of the old house
surrounded by trees
its other foot extending to the hazy hills
the rain is soft
landing on the small ponds
below the trees with few brownish leaves
making some ripples
the grass is wilting by the previous summer heat
the wind whispers softly like a woman in love
the horizon gives a gray boundary of the foot of the hills
some houses look like pigments of black and brown spots
too distant for my sight
i sit here
my mind is calm like a pigeon roosting on the steel beam
of the gymnasium
they say
that when one gets too lonely
the details of the world becomes
too visible
one can even hear the flapping wings
of a butterfly lost inside
the room of your heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Exile House
EXILE HOUSE
Our tiled roof dripped
and the four walls threatened to fall apart
but we were to go home soon,
We grew papayas
in front of our house
chillies in our garden
and changmas for our fences,
then pumpkins rolled down the cowshed thatch
calves trotted out of the manger,
grass on the roof,
beans sprouted and
climbed the vines,
money plants crept in through the window,
our house seems to have grown roots.
The fences have grown into a jungle,
now how can I tell my children
where we came from?
Changmas – a tree usually planted for fences; flexible and flourishing
poem by Tenzin Tsundue
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This Beast I have Become
This animal.....it's still caged in side.....tearing me apart......help me tame this animal......I can not control myself.....who cares is you see the darkest side of me......help me through this nightmare.....its tearing me apart....I can't ecsape this hell.....help it's till caged inside....i can't control myself.....help me tame this animal.....wake me from this night mare.....no will ever kill this thing......this beast i have become....ITS STILL INSIDE......TEARING ME APART......THIS ANIMAL....
poem by Dallas Stevens
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The Sounds Of The Jackhammer
today i shall hear the sounds
of the jackhammer
as they start breaking
the hard cement of
this old house's foundation
for soon they shall build
a new stair
for the second floor
of this new house
that we are constructing
we earn twelve years
of the peaceful life
love still dwells
our communion strong
our vision unwavering
this is our answer to
their questions
this is our way of
resolving the doubts
up there there shall be
no walls and no roof
it is the stars and the moon
at night that we all want to see
we shall have tea
and our company
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Getting Out
i did not say it was a mad house.
perhaps it was me, when i left it.
perhaps i have not seen the light.
or perhaps it was too dark inside.
or perhaps the darkness is just inside myself.
but then i left it. It is now a fact.
i smile to the world now.
i have many choices about what colors
of shirt, or pants or socks to wear.
i can read any book and i can be anywhere
i want.
i did not change my face or modify my body.
there was no pressure to adopt my vision
to anyone else
or to that house that is set in the middle of the
big city and walled as high as the clouds.
all i felt was the hanging
and the inhibition as though i am caged
but you have always said
this is part of the molding and it
will be painful for a time.
i want a ring with a name and date on it.
i want a house without walls.
a face with eyes open and hands outstretch
to the sky.
i want to listen to the sound of the river
as it longs for the mouth of the sea.
i went to the mountain with trees and
listened to the songs of the birds
and the aria of the wind.
i went on top and saw the city
and it is too small for my hands.
now, i have seen the light.
now i feel freedom.
now i am myself. there is no fear
and all i have is love and
compassion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On A Calm River
on a calm river
a wooden sail
and a man paddling
his way toward
a small town
some bamboo
leaves on the
side of this
postcard from
my beloved mama
when she left papa.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Planting Bamboos
Unrewarded, my will to serve the State;
At my closed door autumn grasses grow.
What could I do to ease a rustic heart?
I planted bamboo, more than a hundred shoots.
When I see their beauty, as they grow by the stream-side,
I feel again as though I lived in the hills,
And many a time on public holidays
Round their railing I walk till night comes.
Do not say that their roots are still weak,
Do not say that their shade is still small;
Already I feel that both in garden and house
Day by day a fresher air moves.
But most I love, lying near the window-side,
to hear in their branches the sound of the autumn-wind.
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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Lovely, Lovely, Lovely Memories
By an old river beside a bamboo grove
She bathes herself
Only the bamboo leaves hinder
Your view of her long black hair
As she splashes naked in the
Clear River.
Lovely 2
There is a nipa hut on the side of a hill
You meet her when it is dark
She lights your cigar
As you get near her
You decided to smoke later
Lovely 3
You are rocking yourself on a rattan hammock
On a late afternoon when the rest go home
It is Saturday
She stays
You watch her come near you giving you something
She says it is the key to her room and she is all alone tonight.
Lovely 4
The cogon grasses have grown tall & thick on the hillside
Both of you hide in there
Nobody sees you
The tall cogon grasses dance wildly to the slow wind
Lovely 5
Four years in the university studying chemistry
You return home finally
You embrace your old mother meeting you by the door
Outside you see the guava tree filled with its ripe yellow fruit odor
So heavily laden like a big Christmas tree
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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House and Home
A house is not a home
Is what has oft been said
When one shares it with no one
And is all alone in stead
But home does not a house make
For without walls there is no place
Nor is there shelter over
When there's no roof for cover
So whether in solitude or company
In real life or fantasy
Both home and house in kind
Need more than frame of mind
poem by Lola Cesini
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Poetics 9...
beyond this house
where we live
more or less
ten meters away
lies my neighbor's house
painted white
with a blue roof
and magenta windows
some walls are made
of glass
honesty there is peace
among us
who are still on unspeakable
terms
on good fences
higher than ever
we have become
perfect neighbors
there is independence
when fire breaks
we are ready with our own
pails already
filled with stinking water
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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Inner Peace
The wind gently lifts my hair,
The sun on my cheeks, my only care,
I stand on a lone hill,
Peace within, my only thrill,
Where are you now? I'm not blind,
Got heaven on my mind!
You may say I have lost my way,
Thats ok,
I found the way out of here,
No longer seem to care,
What if you are lost? I'm not blind,
Got heaven on my mind,
What is there that you need to do, today?
Why can there be no delay?
What is it that just cannot wait?
This is the time to be great!
Will I ever see you again? I'm not blind,
Got heaven on my mind!
Look the other way and you will see,
There is a path that sets us all free,
To stand side by side,
A vision of heaven wide.
Will your heart ever mend? I'm not blind,
Got heaven on my mind!
Throw off the chill, bend to heavens will,
Can't you see, I'm not blind,
Got heaven on my mind!
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Bamboo Tunes and Cat Eyed Girl
In the murmuring evenings,
Cat eyed girl, worn ear-rings,
Stands by bamboo cluster,
Putting down pots of water.
Gilded bamboos sing and sway,
And the tired path becomes gay.
Bamboo hearts throb ever;
Unnamed tunes cease never.
Her bamboo throes resounded
In the gloomy wind unbounded.
Melodies of earth does shower
On her soul that does hover.
Finger tip of the wind brings
Sweet tunes from bamboo strings.
Music enters her inner grove,
Where the forlorn dreams rove.
Cuddled bamboos swing and say
What the lovers failed to say.
Never dying natural music
So keeps her hopes rhythmic.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Ideas For Walls
So many things in my head, Ive always had them before
No reason to be upset, theyre just ideas for walls
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing, demanding that the nightlife be called the right life
Like putting paint on my feet & walking sideways in rows
My walls could be so complete, complete with patterns of toes
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing the left side, right side, which is the right side
Now-ideas
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
A little m for the mirror, a double u for the wall
To make things perfectly clear, a great big h in the hall
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing, demanding that the nightlife be called the right life
Is everybody confused? (no) Im making no sense at all
You want a room with a view you need ideas for walls
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing inside, outside, outside, right side
Inside, outside, which is the right side
Now -- ideas
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas
Theyre just ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bamboo Tree Poem
see the coming of the wind
from the prairies
see how it is playing with the
leaves of the bamboo tree
see how a bamboo leaf falls
to the ground
withered by the sun
and now flip-flopping
like an Olympic diver
see how it finally touches
the womb of the earth
silently it lies there
soundlessly it appears
like any other leaf
beside a woman now
sleeping
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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