A Political Theory
the way you manage things
pertains to an ordinary garden
weeding out the bad ones
cultivating the ideals
the snakes are caught and
cut to pieces
and the rats poisoned
and the trees pruned
the paths cleaned of rocks
and pebbles
you level mountains
desiring the plains
and the neighborhood claps
their hand and shall make
new monuments for you
there are words of praises
but not from me
for in my garden
the snakes thrive with the rats
the moss grows well with the stone
the grasses and the buffaloes
the rivers and the reeds
the fish and crocodiles
the bees and the flowers
the mountains stay as is
and the plains spread as they wish
i just let themselves be
and they are all very happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Night Runners Competition Counted
we enjoy counting the rats
running around at night,
when we are arriving home
on our faithful motorbike,
usually two or three rats to see,
Kayla and I have a competition
counting first spied rats we see,
who can spot local drain rats first
the biggest rats seen truthfully
are as big as healthy pet cats,
we go look at pets frequently
in BSD once a week we peep,
in at a pet shop when we watch,
a movie in expedition BSD every week
a family movie is a special treat,
our two happy daughters think it so neat
our neigbour concreted over their open drain
next door rats love their drains seldom stray,
so less rats outside rats too close we do disdain
rats who venture close in life peril cannot stay,
if any bold rats venture into our house ceiling,
these rats are disposed of poisoned very quickly
our rule is no entry for any rats poison strictly,
tropical rat best learn trespass has no pity feeling.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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T8
there is a winding river
beside tall mountains
you must know that we have
crossed this river
ten times already
it is the same river
winding through the banks
of these foggy mountains
the tall cogon grasses
can deceive us and so
are the boulders of rocks
that lie along our paths
we are grasping for air
to reach the highest peak of these range
of mountains and valleys and
plains
at the topmost
there we can see the truth and negate
that we can never step twice
on that same river that winds through the hillsides
snake, boa, venomous circuitous foggy paths
damned, we stepped on the same river more than twice
this is the tenth, and this is the highest peak
the world is nothing but a winding snake.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When We Meet Again Sometime This Summer
i tell you, i do not like winters, and i do not wish
to go where winter lies. I am intolerant of anything
that freezes me, that thaws, that gives me frost,
that bites like an ant, that solidifies me like
refrigerator ice.
i like summers. Flowers blooming. Green grass
spreading. Butterflies in different colors in the garden.
Bees just enough for the buzz. I love trees. I love
rivers, and springs and creeks.
Bamboo trees beside the rocks beside the pebbles
beside the river. I like the songs of the rivers. Lots of rivers.
Gentle rains. Hush winds. Cool shades. Shadows of mountains.
When we meet again, i like it to be this summer.
Lots of sun. Warmth., Sweat. Perspirations. Palpitations
of the hearts of the young on summer time.
Under the cool shades of the trees on summer nights.
I always remember summer nights.Strong summer winds.
Flown hair. Drying pants and underwears. My legs exposed
Beside the brook. I like being naked. I like being on top of
everything.
With you, on you, by you, within you, in your mouth all over your face.
Oh summer breeze. See you. Feel you. Love you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Admit The Rat (Interlude)
I got a story
bout all these rats
all the sewer rats
all these gun rats
im talkin bout all these gold diggen rats
these hood rats
my grandmothers a rat
she's just an old school rat
my mothers a rat
she's just a high class rat
my sisters rats
she's just a middle class rat
my cousins rats
they just low class rats
im tired of rats tryin to get into my boyz pockets
im tired of rats tryin to ride around in my cars
im tired of rats talkin all that jibber jabber to their friends
but ond day these rats are gonna be straight
no diss to rats
cuz there are some rats that i love too
my message to you today is admit the rat in you
to all women admitt the rat in you
admit the rat in you
admit the rat in you
admit the rat in you
song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People don't like to feed live mice and rats to their snakes. Now we have a regular meat food that they will eat. Ninety percent of the snakes will eat this food and love it.
quote by Dick Van Patten
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Admit The Rat
I got a story
Bout all these rats
All the sewer rats
All these gun rats
Im talkin bout all these gold diggen rats
These hood rats
My grandmothers a rat
Shes just an old school rat
My mothers a rat
Shes just a high class rat
My sisters rats
Shes just a middle class rat
My cousins rats
They just low class rats
Im tired of rats tryin to get into my boyz pockets
Im tired of rats tryin to ride around in my cars
Im tired of rats talkin all that jibber jabber to their friends
But ond day these rats are gonna be straight
No diss to rats
Cuz there are some rats that I love too
My message to you today is admit the rat in you
To all women admitt the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conspicuous by its Absence
While tending to the garden one balmy November,
Helping my mother wash the leaves of the dust,
And gently cut off the dead branches and flowers,
Spraying the ones still seeming bright and robust…
She picked some reeds lying by her side,
Puzzled, I asked what are these for mother.
They are for the infants of the garden my child,
They need support to grow and are called climbers.
Sweet pea is one garden flower of such a family,
So I am going to use these reeds to make a trellis.
By January, despite chill the flowers will be smiling gaily,
Soft hues, translucent, capricious and sweet scented...
They are really my favourite as they have no flamboyance,
Growing them is like meditation and needs a lot of patience.
Now, in gardens, they are conspicuous by their absence,
Perhaps because we like things with zero maintenance...
To thrive, plants or relationships need love and nurture
No wonder, they wilt and have an uncertain future....
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Slave To The Wage
Run away from all your boredom
Run away from all your whoredom and wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
All it takes is one decision
A lot of guts, a little vision to wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Sick and tired of maggies farm
Shes a bitch with broken arms to wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Burn away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Promise
dear lady
i will climb ten mountains
i will swim twenty rivers
i will sail thirty seas
i will walk forty plains
i will vanish in space
just tell me if all these deeds
can make you happy.
from me
the man you don't want me to be.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fertile soil, level plains, easy passage across the mountains, coal, iron, and other metals imbedded in the rocks, and a stimulating climate, all shower their blessings upon man.
quote by Ellsworth Huntington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Synergy
the weak and the strong
hate and love, religion and science,
night and day, sun and moon,
water and fire, heaven and earth
man and God, sky and sea,
the chasm and the abyss,
flowers and grains, grass and pebbles,
bees and butterflies, song and poems,
prose and stories, paper and pen,
cats and dogs and rains, fleas and ants,
water and oil, stone and paper,
scissors and glass and diamonds,
thoughts and actions, friends and foes,
mountains and plains and valleys,
eels and ladles, pins and sands, thread and
needles, stars and fish, sheep and shit,
silence and noise, solitude and emptiness,
i-pods and beans, cells and phones,
cliches and idioms, foams and fowls, and
come to think, well, don't laugh: you and me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When We Go To The Mountains
when we go to the mountains
we always feel the ease of our pains
the lessening of our burdens
the loosening of the ties
that bind our necks
and choke our throats
we shall be at the foot
of the hills and feel the rivers running under our feet
we feel we do not need
the buffers of slippers
our skins missing the touch of freshness
the massaging of the stones
the tickling of our nerves
the green grasses spreading on the plains
the cows grazing
the eagles soaring high above us
the goats smelling us like aliens
the water buffaloes sniffing
our city sweats
the natives dance an ethnic number
some roasted pigs
and yams and brown rice
we speak of the wilderness
the silence and the peace
and the mountains are still
listening to our stories: lost souls, destroyed habitats,
the rape of nature
the murder of innocence
the robbery of everything that used to be beautiful
pure and simple
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Will Be No More Flowers
you finally decide to leave the garden
the grass are taller now
and the little flowers are drowned
there is nothing worth the keeping and the cultivating
the rains have becomes useless seasons
like the sun and its sunny days
now is the season of departure
the packing and letting things go
the trees wildly growing
the mud sticking and the stones silent
living with the moss and the rotten leaves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Flower Garden
In the flower garden
The flowers are pink and white
The sky is blue
And it drags along the clouds of white
Friends of mine are waiting for me
Friends of mine are waiting to give me information
and advice
After receiving careful words from my friends
I continue on my way through the flower garden
In the flower garden
I spy my animal friends
A lizard and a bee
Both willing to help me
Either by running along the ground
Flying in the air
Or climbing a tree
Both are willing to help me get to safety
Both are willing to help me to survive
With all the obstacles, snakes, and evil seeds
around
After besting all the enemies
My animal friends and I reach the end of the
flower garden
They've done their job
And for that I'm grateful
I wish my animal friends well
Offering them a warm goodbye
As they make their way back to the flower garden
And leave me to continue on my adventure
poem by Justin Gildow
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We, The Quantities...
they shall search for one
for only one
and take pride in it
as treasure of a
lifetime
i am not that one
for i belong to the many
those series of
words like trains like
ordinary public commutations
boring whirring sounds
others call it pollution of
traffic sounds in the city
i am not the one
i am the many and no one loves this kind
the faces of themselves that
they hate
in the quantity
the ordinary foulness
that's left in the canals where dead rats
lie
those that they avoid
reminding them of their own
lousy selves
the ordinary air that everyone breathes
and yet have
taken for granted
for air is quantity like the sea and the oceans
they are not the one
they are the many
the masses, the crowd, the ants and
beehives and
the pebbles of the rivers
whose faces are all the same
not one unique
for the altar of fame
we are all in these
the quantity....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You Define A Thing
when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest
it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,
but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds
a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Dirty Mind
it is just a lamp
you can turn it off
anytime
be agile
know what you want
and what you don't
know when to stop
when to switch it on
know how to unplug
and plug it
it is all in the mind
do not force it
come to me
let us be there
hold my hand
gently like a marsh floating in the water
let us see the world
without our minds on
let the worlds see us
as part of its garden
flowers with white petals
bees without stings
molting snakes
helpless to the kiss of the worms
what do you really want from me?
what?
i am naked
do not dress me up
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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The Grass Grows Wild On Paths Unknown
the grass grows wild
along the paths unknown
they thrive and spread
and bloom
with no one tilling
and caring
and cultivating
except with nature's sun
and rain
in some vicissitudes
of warmth
and cold
how much you my love
whom i care so dearly
so tenderly and
and deeply?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Margaret
I KNOW a garden where white lilies grow,
Under the grey sweet-laden apple boughs;
It is a garden where the roses blow,
And honeysuckle covers half the house.
O happy garden, do you keep the vows
Breathed in your quiet ear beneath the rose,
Or do you tell the tale to each soft wind that blows?
Across your grassy paths she used to stray,
She moved among you like a living flower,
Her beauty drank your beauty every day,
Your beauty decked her beauty every hour.
You gave her rose and lily for a dower,
With all sweet flowers and fruits your bosom bore--
She took them all--and now she comes not any more.
O garden, if you breathe such secret things
To the south wind who loves you, tell him this:
To spread the scented softness of his wings,
And seek that other garden where she is,
And bid him bear no blossom and no kiss;
Only, dear garden, tell the wind to say
How grey the world is grown since Margaret went away!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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