En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Morning Greeting

good morning, my friend

hope you're fine like the smooth morning rays of the sun
on soft hands caressing the shiny brown skin of my face

did you sleep well last night? let me ask if you have dreams
that make waking up a regretful event

i am out now for my usual walk to see the usual rising of the sun
on the golden ricefields on the road leading to a group of nipa huts

i am asking myself today: is there meaning to this usualness
this routine that comes to us without any break?
is there something new to the sun that we always expect to shine?
is there a twist to the usual chirps of birds, the usual white color of their wings? is there something better to do than walk and think the usual
thoughts of how to make a living and be the fit person to survive

this war on boredome
this struggle for meaning
this monotonous routine of this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that

there is no stuttering here, nothing symptomatic of sickness
and even death, there is this boredom again that will make us

not sleep the nights
and make us uneasy and restless and asking some more

what is this life? what is it giving me?
what am i giving it? how long?

just asking, i am returning to the house from this short walk
there is no music in my ears
more questions popping

i will just take tea
i need really to pee.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not So Usual

This is the most unusual story, of a most unusual girl
she's the paint in my picture, of a most unusual world
she can crawl out the frame while shes hanging on the wall
and shes calling my name
shes not so usual, wo
shes most unusual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes mostly a ghost, the way she watches over me
she complains when I smoke, but then you do the same to me
shes controlling my brain activity, knowing when i go to sleep
she'll catch you when I'm falling hard
shes so unusual
shes not so usual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes not so hooked on the drugs like I thought that she was
and never sucking on the lime, and hardly sipping on the wine
and dispite of her bipolar rollercoastering
I think I can trust, she'll keep me singing differently
and its fine cause shes with me now, most all of the time
trying to saving my life, thinking none of her own
and always kissing me goodnight when i just need to be alone
shes so sweet, so discrete, shes exactly what I need
not even make believe
shes not so usual
so unusual
shes not so usual
so unusual
not so usual, and not to practical either
but shes not so mystical, but not to magical either
but shes not so outta control, and not so used to the flow
shes not so usual
nah, shes a natural
ohhh, shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes so unusual
shes so unusual
shes gonna use me ohhh
shes not so u...
shes not so u...
not so u...
not so....

song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Unusual (Live @ Java Joes - 06.27.02)

This is the most unusual story, of a most unusual girl
she stood painting my picture, of a most unusual world
she can crawl out of frame while shes hanging on the wall
and shes calling my name
shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes mostly a ghost, the way she watches over me
she complains when i smoke, but then you do the same to me
shes controlling my brain activity, knowing when i go to sleep
she'll catch you when I'm falling hard
shes so unusual
shes not so usual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes not so hooked on the drugs like i thought she was
and never sucking on the lime, and hardly sipping on the wine
and dispite of her biopolar rollercoastering
i think i can try, she'll keep me singing differently
and its fine cause shes with me now, most all of the time
trying to saving the light, thinking not of her own
and always kissing me goodnight when i just need to be alone
shes so sweet, so discrete, shes exactly what i need
not even make believe
shes not so usual
so unusual
shes not so usual
so unusual
not so usual, and not to practical either
but shes not so mystical, but not to magical either
but shes not so outta control, and not so used to the flow
shes not so usual
nah, shes a natural
ohhh, shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes so unusual
shes so unusual
shes gonna use me ohhh
shes not so u...
shes not so u...
not so u...
not so....

song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Thoughts Early Morning

it is another morning
in the cancer of the tropics
the chickens jump from
the trees where they roost
for the night
the cocks faithfully crow
you can hear the cackling
as sounds of the day

later the motorcycles
ramble their engines on the
roads
of this small village
where i live

people dress themselves
for work
children go to school
with their colored bags
and tiny shoes

days are always usual
faithful to their routine
like a clockwork
like a machine

who wants to change it
and create a confusion?
no one dares
even death
takes a pattern

and so the days keep grinding
us with boredom
unless a terrorist comes with
a new bomb
shakes the world
and cause it more shock
so that new questions come
demanding for
more innovative solutions

who likes it that way?
no one.

we are like old rivers
old water taking the same path
to that same ancient sea

when we arrive there
there is no greeting
no welcome at all
just the usual fusion of
anonymity
and exhaustion and
the unburdening of that
load

some prepare for the big storm
and that is
something new
to entertain

this poem begs for meaning
again that is
a routine.

you ask it too
and it does not make any difference at all

you are as ancient in your question
as the snake in that myth
about Eden.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Into Another Reality

after the usual lengthy
lecture in the university
the usual hour after
something like 8: 45
on such usual evenings

i take the usual drive
from the city to my
urban homesomething like
fifteen kilometers alone

but this
time it will be different
i'll have the loud sounds
of some Queen songs on the DVD
and I'll join singing with them like
I'm going slightly mad

I was born to love you &
I wanna break free

and to All Fat Bottomed Girls
this is your Good Old-fashioned Lover Boy
Let's Get Down Make Love
Headlong
Heaven to Everyone
In the Lap of the Gods...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thoughts After Sex

after sex
people sleep

that is the
usual exit that
people who want
to escape seem
to know and do

they sleep

the routine keeps
going like
house, office,
office, house
roads, doors
doors, road

after sex
the usual exit
is closed

you look at the
ceiling trying to
open another
door

but there isn't
any.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inside My Study Room

five o'clock, the usual time
but i already woke up at 3: 45
too early really
but i could not go back to
sleep

the words arrive
riding on the boat
such wind
hovering
disembarking in my
brain

i am surrounded by
glass walls
and light brown
drapes
books scattering
like garbage
on the floors and
tables

i smell the odor of
dust and
water inside a vase
unchanged
the red rose
had long wilted

no one comes around
to fix things
and keep all of these
in their proper places

the windows are still
closed and it
is still dark outside
though the crows
have already
sounded their
sad calls

the cocks keep sounding
it is already morning
and the windows
must not be opened

i write some lines
as usual and then
i'll wear my socks
and put on my
rubber shoes
and then i will take
my walk to the
woods

it will be cold
and i can see my breath
like smoke from a pipe
but i need this
my body craves
my feet want to move

the walls are too much
and the curtains feel
like they have to be washed

i open the door
and then i meet a new
world again
i know at first it will
still be cold
that is usual

i know after this
the sun comes again
as usual
and things will warm themselves
again

on promises
like what hope is all about.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Is 4: 45 In The Afternoon

we know what to do.
we stop this stuff
we all go back to our beginnings
those usual nights
and those usual tomorrow mornings

ask if we make a difference.
my answer: No.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As Usual

The sun was shining…
The breeze was blowing
As usual

The day was dawning
The dusk was falling…
As usual

The people were brisking
The people were frisking
As usual

You died.
My heart was grieving.
It was Durga Puja.
They were celebrating
As usual

(Dedicated to Steve Jobs. I miss him…)

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Early Morning Walk

the night is gone
the rains stop

to start with
i take a walk

to greet the early
morning with the silence

of my heart to listen
to the songs of birds

high on those trees
as i tread the grass that

covers the path where some
friends used to walk

someone so active has
succumbed to cancer of

the colon the other with
a white beard gave in

to a coronary defect
the old couple still take

their walk here and when
we meet we smile perhaps

thanking the Lord that we
are still here talking

our usual walk on an
early morning waiting for

the sun to shine upon our
weary minds.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What To Say To The Early Day...

four in the morning is usual
it is still dark in fact
and what surprises is that usual darkness has to offer?

the chickens are not making sounds
the pavements are empty of strangers
the road is wet with the whole night raining
there is this newness
of what to do for another day

and i say to myself, with all courtesy: good morning.
have i said it before? i must, but always to someone other than myself.
it is unjustified.

at this early hour i have no one to talk to.
darkness is always silent. Twilight is still far.
the morning is not saying anything.
but always time moves, darkness fades away
and so
we always welcome the light
it happens.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fighting With Usual Ones

Usual cravings, as usual,
Come to me in plural.

For not enough defense,
For over offensive bad,
Shall I lose this pretty math?

Nothing I hate more than usual ones.

Like November that needs only December
To end one year,
Shall I give up my intense desire?

Together with usual theory,
To get the pass-mark solitary,
Should I sit this exam blowzy?

If there were a right map of life,
I would avoid those with unusual might.

But now, by riding a horse neither male nor female,
Shall I keep acting as a character stray?

I don't wanna be a king in usual custom paragon.
I don't wanna ascend already used throne.

If your heart is not new,
If your love is blue,
You will fail my interview.

Let my loner life live along
Instead of being in usual crowd.
My heart wishes unusual heartbeat sound.

poem by Aung Si Myanmar
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Sleep

Woke up
slept for quite a while
severe noise
around me
I look around
The wind
The hills
The sands
The flowers
as usual
were there
before I went to sleep
Your hand
as usual
was there
before I went to sleep

(August 25,1997)

poem by Sangnam Nam
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Not Here With Us But Somewhere Else

it will be different
it is not the usual cup of tea
not the ordinary
day on the platter of the
sea
not the usual fish that you
catch
and serve on the table
on the usual olive oil
and baked
procedure
you see this is experimental
and people's ears need
not listen
nothing to tear nothing to fear
there is nothing that
you detached yourself from
yourself or
another
cool, keep going, do not stay,
there are still
unexplored islands
violet sands, red seas
buried treasures
somewhere else, yes always somewhere else
it is not here
with us, it is always somewhere else
that on nights
when we are dying and too lonely
we know
this is not our place, but somewhere else
a note from a violin string
a leaf blown by the wind
somewhere else, yes somewhere else.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Taking A Bath

last night stains
of pretensions now gone

soap and water
on an early morning bath

less the whistle
just the pressure and then

anew you come out
of the bathroom

the usual day the usual
activity: always hoping

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Indirectly...

i could have told you
i loved the way how Stevie Wonder
sang that song... i just called to say

i love you.

i care much for you
the usual nights that do not give me sleep
summer times have become
lonelier

i sent the message
and got the usual response

'Stop it! I don't want to be hurt again! '

i'm so sorry.
Thanks.

Perhaps i shall call again sometime
after another
25 years?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Usual Protest And The Unusual One

the usual protest is when you
say something for the person to know
that there is something that you do not like
and that you want that something to be
corrected or at least be improved a bit
but what you say falls on deaf ears

the unusual one comes next
you pretend that there is nothing wrong
that nothing is unusual
and that everything is smooth as usual
and you do not tell anymore that something
is wrong and both of you goes on with your lives
as though there is nothing wrong
and that you are well and
too submissive
and of course this pleases her
to her core

the other one asks if you're ok
in the middle of a cold weather
and you will say
everything is perfect
despite the shiver

and then she will find out that
one day you are gone
an empty house shall not
even tell her why

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Free space

Free space

We are still not confident of our abilities
We lack confidence and ignore capabilities
Every individual has stored and reserved capacity
This is considered as one of the finest unknown quality

How come a person reacts angrily at failure?
Within a second he braces up to make it sure
As if nothing has happened to deter him for goal
Now he as to start afresh with another call

He need go for any special coaching for this exercise
Nature is there for providing clues and stand with promises
There comes complete change with one season following another
To discard the old and encourage human being to share and solder

No body ends life with little reversals
The success and failure affects little on their arrival
It provides enough of lessons to enjoy and share the grief
But always keep in mind that they stay for a while or brief

The sun rises and sets as usual without change
The nights change course and stay calm to manage
Birds as usual air the melody in the morning
Return to their nests with fulfillment of mission in the evening

If birds can survive with weak wings
We can sure face the draught as human being
We can’t run away from the scene as coward
Life is mission to survive and look forward

If life was to be like cake walk
It was not necessary to have any kind of talk
But the real things are far different
Some of the things are illusory even if look apparent

Have conciliatory approach and adjust the course
It may need some correction and brilliance of course
This is the trend which may warrant some sense of urgency
It may turn the tide in favor and change the frequency

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Suspicion Is Contageous

Scene 1.

When I feel warm in the middle of the night,
I suspect that electricity is cut off as usual
When I bite a pebble while eating rice,
I suspect that it is adulterated as usual.
When I am denied a seat to the university,
I suspect that I am less eligible than others, as usual.
When I am left to fend on my own with family and friend's support,
I suspect that my country is as useless as I, as usual.

Scene 2.

When I come out with my sling bag and laptop,
I am suspicious of everyone who looks at me.
When I walk to the tube and sit there comfortably,
I close my eyes tightly to avoid the suspicious eyes.
When I enter the workplace and talk to my colleagues,
who are as suspicious as I, exchange the suspicious greetings.
Wherever I go, I see the people who are suspicious of others,
cameras to catch the suspicious looking characters,
unattended bags are removed within half an hour,
for the fear of suspicious people planting bombs,
in some other places literally no rubbish bins,
and I am allowed to throw wherever I like,
and people are watching me always as a suspect,
and that makes me to be suspicious of them too.

When I come out with my sling bag,
I am suspicious of everyone who looka at me.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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what GOD says to all those snakes...

this afternoon some snakes come into the house
(literally not those snakes with slimy skin
and without feet)
for there are snakes that walk like real people
complete with heads and
other usual parts like the way your friends look like
when you dine
and you pay
when they tell you stories and you listen
and you know
that these are all not true
but because of respect you nod just the same
and say, ok, ok, i agree

this afternoon these snakes come to the house
and we had coffee and biscuits
the usual afternoon talk and bonding
i may not have changed, but they do not know that there is also the fox in me
but still considerate and forgiving and patient and kind
all giving

they ask for rice and viand
and they talk about their undeserved poverty
and without questions
i give them what they ask and pray for
no harm
nothing big for such a kind man like me
i am not an angry man
my hands are open, my fingers are spread
like tributaries from the rivers to the seas

sometimes my fingers ache for these friends are snakes and they all
love to bite
blood flows from my tips
and the carpet gets stained

but i am not an angry man
and i am as patient as ten spiders webbing from one wall to the other
well, normal as i am
i get fed up sometimes and tempted to shout and drive them away
but i look to the sky
and talk to my God and then i begin to ask silently
all those questions
how to deal with snakes
and God says: 'my son, these snakes are your brothers and sisters
feed them well, please me
for i am the owner of the sea and the land and the sky
yours is but a coin
a patch, an atom
and so negligible

in fact, my son, you own nothing, you only manage what i own
and give you
feed them all, make them comfortable
do not argue, do not say a dirty word
look at me, they bit me too
but did i say a word? you haven't heard me
for like you, snake or man or god
you are all my children....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Morning

This morning was something. A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear
blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green,
as far as the eye could see.
Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went
for a walk -- determined not to return
until I took in what Nature had to offer.
I passed close to some old, bent-over trees.
Crossed a field strewn with rocks
where snow had drifted. Kept going
until I reached the bluff.
Where I gazed at the sea, and the sky, and
the gulls wheeling over the white beach
far below. All lovely. All bathed in a pure
cold light. But, as usual, my thoughts
began to wander. I had to will
myself to see what I was seeing
and nothing else. I had to tell myself this is what
mattered, not the other. (And I did see it,
for a minute or two!) For a minute or two
it crowded out the usual musings on
what was right, and what was wrong -- duty,
tender memories, thoughts of death, how I should treat
with my former wife. All the things
I hoped would go away this morning.
The stuff I live with every day. What
I've trampled on in order to stay alive.
But for a minute or two I did forget
myself and everything else. I know I did.
For when I turned back i didn't know
where I was. Until some birds rose up
from the gnarled trees. And flew
in the direction I needed to be going.

Anonymous submission.

poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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