A View In Town Square
four blue chairs surround
a center table
at the center table
lies the red cloth
there are no diners
this time of the day
on the blue frames of
the glass window
where the white curtains
hang & flow like silky water
the lush of the red
bougainvillea is a wreath
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
You Only Need The Heart The Soul
to be a poet
(what they think is needed is the
discipline to fully master the craft)
one needs (however)
only the heart
the soul, the rest when summoned
properly
comes without much
hesitation, for in time, when you are
true and faithful
words come like servants
and arrange themselves like furniture
the chairs walk in
to form the dining set
with the center table
the curtains hang themselves
on window borders
to form a frame
a perfect perspective
to view the sea
of art.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tinted Images
I remember tinted images
yellow and stained
in old wooden frames.
The glass was scratched and wavy.
They sat on a table next to a lamp
painted with naked cherubs.
The couch and chairs were covered in plastic.
I never asked why.
One day my father spilled his beer
no one panicked and I understood.
There were stories after dinner
with coffee and cigarettes.
I was young and don't recall them now.
We don't tell stories after dinner;
no one smokes anymore.
I have pictures in polished frames.
My couch is stained and the chairs are worn.
On a table next to the lamp
the one with naked cherubs
are the tinted images in the old wooden frames.
When the lamp is lit
I can see myself in the glass.
poem by Ronald Shields
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A Table For Two!
Flash of dream overcome me
as I took slumber one night
I saw a romantic setting
lies a set of table for two
A bouquet of red roses
decorate at the center
where a bottle of red wine
completes the table for two
I saw you entered the haven
dressed in rainbow colored suit
your face so pretty with a smile
as we kissed at the table for two
Mesmerized by your countenance
I was filled with romantic stance
as we danced to the tune of love
such so divine at the table for two
Awaken at height of joy
I am filled with inspiration
as today it becomes a reality
a table for two on Valentines day
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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Those Little Birds In My Country
one is red
up the tree
one is blue
down the drain
one is white
at the center
of the house
the others eight
in all
on each window
one sun
with eight rays
no stars
this time
not one
stripe
the Filipino people
has learned
to hate.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Like The Way You Write
narrative poetry
in little doses of feelings
from the most trivial
to the least know, and it
is everyday,
i like it that way you
make a diary of what
happens along the way
a glass of water inhabited
by a black fish
a room becoming a haven
for a blue butterfly
the lamp as the center of
your universe
the chairs as knights of the
night armor applauding
waiting orders from your
head king of imagination
your bed hugging you as
the queen of purple hearts
words playing like kids in
the part at the center of
the city of halluballoo (read
as hallucination) while
their mothers are away
doing the marketing
calling daddies to fetch
their kids back home.
by now you know this is
nothing but play: a dolphin
catching a ball passing it
to the parakeet rumor mongering
with another parakeet
as the clock of nature ticks and
ticks: my ears are tickled by the
feathers of triviality.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Know His World
the center table is the sun
and the chairs around are his planets
the walls are the horizons
the floors are the abyss
his words on paper scattered stars
his dogs and cats his zodiac
his silence his void
doubts his ripples
in the sea of galaxy
where his soul
is immersed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode To A Strict Lifestyle Of The Past
'twas the cruel time
with grandpa when dropping a grain
of rice on the table cloth is such a big crime
when you like to eat but you cannot swallow
the food
when you like to drink but the water tasted
as bitter as bile
when the conversations on the dining table
are shallow as affection is strange
as nothing becomes more important
than a future
not be be bound in the house anymore
when papa did not do anything
when mama simply sobbed
and stayed silence
and surrendered everything to God
all we waited is the blackness of the night
black because death is indifferent
because time is not a rescuer
of those who sank into
the bottom
of despair
i recall all these cruel times now
upon a grain of white rice
upon a coffee deprived of milk and sugar
upon a bread without the butter
upon a naked table
scratched with a knife
stained with tears
i look over the window
and stare at the black butterfly merely passing by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Margate
The curtains in the bedroom
are drawn close
and you lie
in semi-darkness.
Through the open window
I can smell the sea
and hear waves breaking
beyond the road.
The wind pulls at the curtains
and every now and then
the white beach
and the blue ocean peeps in.
We came to Margate
for a holiday at the sea
to bathe is shallow waters
to swim with the surf,
to have some fun
and tan in the hot sun,
but darkness hangs
like a shroud over you
while the white beach,
the bright blue sky
and the dark blue ocean waits
on us to come.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Upon A Day Of Reckoning
it is always i
who cleans the table from
morsels
who throws away the trash
of what is unconsumed from
the kettle
it is always i
who wipes the spilled milk
on the floor
who takes all the shit
on the sink
who kills all the bedbugs
on the pillow
it is always i
and on the day of reckoning
the table and chairs will be smooth
and glossy
the windows look to the other side without blinking
the door shall be mute forever
the hinges and frames all numb
on the last slamming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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the symbolism that you gave to the poems of Pablo Neruda
your feet hangs on the sand
your body flat
the poems of Pablo are contained in a book
Five Decades of Poetry
on top of your belly just near the center of
your swimming trunks
wet and white
your navel is surrounded by masculine hair
and the book slides just below there
beside is a dark tainted glass
and a bottle of mineral water from Nature Springs
your feet are shaped like the wings of a dove
shielding you from the faint horizon of the sea quite far away
blue clouds faint like hues of sky blue
Half of your body without a face
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sexy Woman
white clouds
blue sea
green long island
on the shallow waters
a woman faces me
white bra
white panty
(two piece)
at the middle
the water touches
the center of her
being
the grass of her earth
is wet
she walks away
dripping
her hair is long and curly
black
she does not own me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Empty Chairs
A large willow tree
Still budding
With small leaves
Taking in warmth
and the suns rays
Set back from the
Well traveled street
Narrow lane
leading to
A enchanted white house
Generously shaded
By that starting
Willow tree
Away from it all
Noise and fury
A table mostly white
Its age is shown
By the bleeding rust
Its companions
Too similar chairs
The severity of winter
has left its punishing touch
Their forms
rugged and sound
Years of resting
On that paved brick ground
On the top
A cloth
Of colors
Filled with streaking
Lavander, Crimson and white
On that cloth
For my thirst
A glass dew dripped,
Filled with ice and lemonade
In this beauty
there I sit
With an empty seat
Enjoying the gentleness
Of this place.
poem by Howard Johnson
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Blue (Da Ba De)
yo listen up here's a story
about a little guy that lives in a blue world
and all day and all night and everything he sees
is just blue like him inside and outside
blue his house with a blue little window
and a blue corvette
and everything is blue for him and hisself
and everybody around
cos he ain't got nobody to listen to
i'm blue da ba dee da ba die...
i have a blue house with a blue window.
blue is the colour of all that i wear.
blue are the streets and all the trees are too.
i have a girlfriend and she is so blue.
blue are the people here that walk around
song performed by by Eiffel 65 from Europop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue
yo listen up here's a story
about a little guy that lives in a blue world
and all day and all night and everything he sees
is just blue like him inside and outside
blue his house with a blue little window
and a blue corvette
and everything is blue for him and hisself
and everybody around
cos he ain't got nobody to listen to
i'm blue da ba dee da ba die...
i have a blue house with a blue window.
blue is the colour of all that i wear.
blue are the streets and all the trees are too.
i have a girlfriend and she is so blue.
blue are the people here that walk around,
blue like my corvette, it's standing outside.
blue are the words i say and what i think.
blue are the feelings that live inside me.
i'm blue da ba dee da ba die...
song performed by by Eiffel 65
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Portrait Of An Old Woman On The College Tavern Wall
Oh down at the tavern
the children are singing
around their round table
and around me still.
Did you hear what it said?
I only said
how there is a pewter urn
pinned to the tavern wall,
as old as old is able
to be and be there still.
I said, the poets are tere
I hear them singing and lying
around their round table
and around me still.
Across the room is a wreath
made of a corpse's hair,
framed in glass on the wall,
as old as old is able
to be and be remembered still.
Did you hear what it said?
I only said
how I want to be there and I
would sing my songs with the liars
and my lies with all the singers.
And I would, and I would but
it's my hair in the hair wreath,
my cup pinned to the tavern wall,
my dusty face they sing beneath.
Poets are sitting in my kitchen.
Why do these poets lie?
Why do children get children and
Did you hear what it said?
I only said
how I want to be there,
Oh, down at the tavern
where the prophets are singing
around their round table
until they are still.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Inside the House of Bread
Everyone has a table inside the house of bread
Pouring in into the chairs the fish have come to roost
Its already started to happen inside the house of bread
Feasting and Forever enough to go around the table.
And I keep to myself in the age of all this water
We can share an ocean but don’t drink from my open well
I wont mind sharing in the house of bread
Everyone at the table deserves to be fed
poem by James Daniel Gabriel
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Early Morning Poetry
a gray cat so gentle
sleeping beside my easy chair
soft wind enters the window
from the far mountain
the white silky curtains
by the window
sway to the direction of the wind
a red rose blooms on the side
of the limestone wall
horse grazing on the grassy plain
a white dog runs toward a wooden gate
a car stops on the yard near the veranda of this old house
a brother from far announces his arrival
hot coffee and pancakes on the table
fumes of white rice and smoke from the grilled fish
faint classical Mozart music plays on the cassette
light from the sun penetrating the screen of the dining window
a black and white family picture on top of the family piano
grandpa on his military uniform as mother carries father on her arms
memories flood the room and words keep creeping like worms
i want to say that there are no termites on this house but that would be a lie.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Bougainvillea
Let it crawl and grow
Things that nature sow
Bright red and blue
Just might be right for you
My Bougainvillea petals blossoming lovely red
Its crawling veins clutching the neighbor's wall without being said
The flowery petal didn’t seem to be in pain
Even though cold winter morning sunlight nothing much to gain
How could I have allowed my flowery plant on my neighbors wall to grow
Well I just hoped Mrs. Basket might just enjoy the sprouting flower show
Let it crawl and grow
Things that nature sow
Bright red and blue
Just might be right for you
But alas my bougainvillea I was terrible wrong
With my views had grown to strong
Said Mrs. Basket-Hello bougainvillea you sure are lovely bright red and blue
But I really am sorry this wall is just not for you
Without a wall for my bougainvillea to grow and lean on too
Her beautiful red petals shrank like a once majestic lion, now caged in a zoo
So I have made up my mind to go over to Mrs Baskets one fine day
And plead to allow the bougainvillea to grow over her wall this summer month of May
So I hope to say to Mrs Basket
Let it crawl and grow
Things that nature sow
Bright red and blue
Just might be right for you
poem by Tashi Dorji
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Blue[Da Ba Dee]
Yo listen up
Heres the story about a little guy that lives in a blue world
And all day and all night and everything he sees is just blue like him
Indside and outside
Blue his house with the blue little window and a blue corvette
And everything is blue for him and his-self
And everybody around cuz he aint got nobody to listen.
Im blue da ba dee da ba di da ba dee da ba di da d ba dee da ba di da ba dee
Da ba di da ba dee da ba di da (repeat once)
I have a blue house with a blue window
Blue is the color I bought that I wear
Blue are the trees and now the trees are too
I have a girlfriend and she is so blue
Blue are the people here that walk around
Blue like my corvette its standing outside
Blue are the words are say and what I think
Blue are the feelings that live inside me.
Im blue da ba dee da ba di da ba dee da ba di da d ba dee da ba di da ba dee
Da ba di da ba dee da ba di da (repeat twice)
Indside and outside
Blue his house with the blue little window and a blue corvette
And everything is blue for him and his-self
And everybody around cuz he aint got nobody to listen.
Im blue da ba dee da ba di da ba dee da ba di da ba dee da ba di da ba dee da
Ba di da ba dee da ba di da (repeat til end)
song performed by by Eiffel 65
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Window
She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world
she leans out of the window
and this is what she sees
a wet rose singing to the sun
with a chorus of red bees
she leans out of the window
and laughs for the window is high
she is in it like a bird on a perch
and they scoop the blue sky
she and the window scooping
the morning as if it were air
scooping a green wave of leaves
above a stone stair
and an urn hung with leaden garlands
and girls holding hands in a ring
and raindrops on an iron railing
shining like a harp string
an old man draws with his ferrule
in wet sand a map of Spain
the marble soldier on his pedestal
draws a stiff diagram of pain
but the walls around her tremble
with the speed of the earth the floor
curves to the terrestrial center
and behind her the door
opens darkly down to the beginning
far down to the first simple cry
and the animal waking in water
and the opening of the eye
she looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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