Afternoon
a woman with a long black hair
sweeps the road
using a coconut broom
three children pass by
and suddenly throws a stone
to the mango tree
a motorcycle speeds its way
from the market
a dog crosses the street
the little girl runs after
we hear a screeching sound of the
brakes
and that is how the case starts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Red Motorcycle With Least Meaning
it is raining.
this is the first rain for the month of June
in Katipunan
i sit facing a screen
i press words
i look through a glass window
much older than my being here,
out there
the mango tree is heavy with its fruits
under its shade is
a red motorcycle beside a hollow block fence
which separates a dilapidated house
from the public market
a woman holds a blue umbrella
walks slowly along the pavement
it is still raining
cats and dogs, and the red motorcycle is wet all over.
it is inanimate and everyone
takes it for granted.
among those that i have enumerated
perhaps it must be the one with the least meaning.
the day is crying
and the woman with the blue umbrella is unaffected.
inside this room
with a glass window as protection
i am sifting
what meaning is there
for this rainy day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Deception
The lull in the dawn
Broken:
Bringing her
Smashing down to earth
Stretches herself in her bed
Hands and feet
Collide with tinned walls
This cacophony
Pulls her
Out of the bed
Chill is still there
Tightly wraps herself
With a tattered shawl
Sweeps the road
To be metalled
For a smooth walk
But herself hasn't
Taken a bath
Nor swept her floor
Throws glances
At smartly dressed
Satchel laden kids
Stops
Rests her had on the broom
Listens to their talk
Smiles
Till the broom pulls her back
Suddenly
Taken aback
Seeing the couple
Hand in hand
Pulls her hand from the broom
Looks at their smiling faces
They come
She looks
They cross
She looks
Away from her they move
She looks
Till she has lost their sight
Stretches herself
Again
A cacophony
And there she is
With the broom
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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The Sound Of Children
it is their sound that makes
this world lovable still
under the mango tree
when the wind starts to blow
when the ripe mangoes fall
to the ground and the children
starts to scramble for their
share of the ripe ones.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Way To Live
a little fish rises from the
water to
eat a bubble of
air
from the tree a
kingfisher with an eye
for fish
swiftly dives and
with its sharp long black beak
catches the
little fish
a boy with a rubber sling
aims at the blue kingfisher
hitting it with a
stone crushing its
round head and
sharp long and black beak
to the ground
a ripe coconut falls
from a tree and
hits the head of the
boy below
the lizard that climbs
the coconut tree
looking for brown beetles
at the top
does not notice how
all these events
happen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From My Window To The Road Below
a brown boy
beside his pregnant mother
hand gripping
a bus stops
it is going to the mountain
loaded with
boxes and bags
and a crowd of
people
the boy sees his father
carrying
a net bag of fish
he gets away from
mother and
runs across the road
where father
is waiting
an over speeding
motorcycle is
coming
screeching sound
and screams
and then
silence, i, close my eyes
and walk away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Under The Mango Tree
i like the idea
of doing many things under the mango tree
like
watching time go by like it is a stranger
and i
am a stranger too watching time pass by
like i am so interested
with what time
can do to me
making me old
making the mango tree bloom and flower and have fruits
and they are so many
that the mango tree bends
to the ground
and time stays for a while and ripens the fruits
and make all of them
in time
fall one by one to the ground
like some kind
of withered flowers
luscious, sweet, fruits of the mango tree
falling
by the slightest passing of the wind
and then the children
come and with all joy
pick them one by one
putting what they can
under
their shirts and still rushing
to keep
and take some more
under the mango tree
all the people
are so much alike
the rushing, the taking, the joy
of always having more
and it will never stop
as i watch time slowly go by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: Maid-servants
I hear the noise of washing clothes on stone;
The sun is scorching fiercely overhead;
A lady works for wages all alone;
She looks so famished, weathered, almost dead!
I hear the clatter-noise of pots and pans;
A woman washes vessels piled like mound;
She sweeps and mops the floor as if by dance!
And then, her broom begins to clean the ground.
I hear the noise of food being prepared;
A tiny kitchen smokes throughout the day;
A half-clad woman walks with nails unpared;
Her hair unkempt, she draws a meagre pay.
In society, we need sure hierarchy;
Nevertheless, there must be sympathy!
poem by John Celes
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Ninety Miles An Hour (Down A Dead End Street)
I took you home from a party and we kissed in fun
A few stolen kisses and no harm was done
Instead of stopping when we could we went right on
Till suddenly we found that the brakes were gone.
You belong to someone else, and I do too
It's just crazy bein' here with you
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
I didn't want to want you, but now I have no choice
It's too late to listen to that warning voice
All I hear is thunder of two hearts beat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
You're not free to belong to me
And you know I could never be your own
Your lips on mine are like a sweet, sweet wine
But we're heading for a wall of stone.
Warning signs are flashing ev'ry where, but we pay no heed
'Stead of slowing down the place, we keep a pickin' up speed
Disaster's getting closer ev'ry time we meet
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Yeah, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Well, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ninety Miles An Hour
ninety miles an hour
Words by h blair & d. robertson
Sung by bob dylan
I took you home from a party and we kissed in fun
A few stolen kisses and no harm was done
Instead of stopping when we could we went right on
Till suddenly we found that the brakes were gone.
You belong to someone else, and i do too
It's just crazy bein' here with you
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
I didn't want to want you, but now i have no choice
It's too late to listen to that warning voice
All i hear is thunder of two hearts beat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
You're not free to belong to me
And you know i could never be your own
Your lips on mine are like a sweet, sweet wine
But we're heading for a wall of stone.
Warning signs are flashing ev'ry where, but we pay no heed
'stead of slowing down the place, we keep a pickin' up speed
Disaster's getting closer ev'ry time we meet
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Yeah, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Well, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Casual Relationship
you ride in a bus
on a long trip to Pagadian
beside you is a woman with long black hair
pink blouse, not wearing a bra,
juicy lips, smooth skin,
perfumed
just the two of you
and it rains
heavily and the bus speeds its
way climbing steep roads
then her head rests on
your chest
she must be tired
your heart beats faster
something in your body
grows
you do not want this journey
to end
you caress her hair
she wakes up
and smiles
and then you kiss
at the terminal she rushes
to the road where a black car is waiting
she waves her hand
bidding goodbye
just that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Carefree Day For Each One Of Us
sunshine falls upon the leaves of
a mango tree
under it is a man wearing blue long sleeves
yellow shorts
twirling the key of his red motorcycle
he is talking to another man with short hair
denim pants, beside a wall with moss
it is a carefree day
it is life that is moving too slowly
to each and every living human being
in this sleepy community
a sparrow hovers and stops over my window
as i take my gaze, my long, long gaze to a faraway horizon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Road Incident....
a red easy ride is parked
along the graveled road beside a
cemented fence
it is one hot afternoon
a little girl carries on her head
a bunch of ripe bananas
following mother carrying a basket of
clothes
a man wearing a shirt with green row stripes
runs toward the market rushing
it is beginning to rain on this hot afternoon
after a while, the road is flooded
a little boy runs across the road against
an over speeding truck
and then what we hear is a mother
screaming for help
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Coconut
the tree of life
this coconut tree
leaves for the roof
midribs for the broom
its meat all around
from food to dessert
to cooking oil to
diesel and even
engine fuel
this coconut poem
shade for lovers
on the sandy beach
an imagery of breast
for sucking to
a man's zest,
a poet's quest
best, blessed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evening Coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
Atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
It really dont matter much, which way I go.
But remember to pull over in the storm.
Have you seen the evening coconut
Bobbing on the bay?
Standing on the waters edge of stone
Someone there besides you
To hear the words you say
To show you things your eyes have never known.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
While atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Neighbor
beyond the bushes
in my garden
in front of the fence
of my house
i hear the sound of
coconut broom sweeping
dry leaves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Woman is like a mango
A girl is a mango infantile,
That tastes in pickles.
A lass is about ripe mango,
That tastes in curries.
A woman is a ripe mango,
That tastes with its flesh.
At forties as juice and at fifties
As jelly, she lingers to my taste.
Even in sixties, she is like mango-essence.
In seventies, as endosperm of its nut
She still taste though differently.
Woman to men is evergreen.
29.05.2001, Berhampur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Gardener XIV: I Was Walking by the Road
I was walking by the road, I do not
know why, when the noonday was past
and bamboo branches rustled in the
wind.
The prone shadows with their out-
stretched arms clung to the feet of
the hurrying light.
The koels were weary of their
songs.
I was walking by the road, I do not
know why.
The hut by the side of the water is
shaded by an overhanging tree.
Some on was busy with her work,
and her bangles made music in the
corner.
I stood before this hut, I know not
why.
The narrow winding road crosses
many a mustard field, and many a
mango forest.
It passes by the temple of the
village and the market at the river
landing-place.
I stopped by this hut, I do not know
why.
Years ago it was a day of breezy
March when the murmur of the spring
was languorous, and mango blossoms
were dropping on the dust.
The rippling water leapt and licked
the brass vessel that stood on the
landing-step.
I think of that day of breezy March,
I do not know why.
Shadows are deepening and cattle
returning to their folds.
The light is grey upon the lonely
meadows, and the villagers are waiting
for the ferry at the bank.
I slowly return upon my steps, I
do not know why.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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I Can Hear Your Heartbeat
In the silence of the side street
In the whisper of the night
From the darkness of the empty hours
To the early morning light
From the hustle down on main street
With all it's lights so bright
To the trucker on the highway
Pressing through the night
I can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet
To me
And i'm sailing on your wind song
Oh, i can feel the summer breeze
You've got me walking on my tiptoes
You've got me standing on my knees
From the mills way down in pittsburgh
To the clubs of gay paris
Ah, no matter where i roam, girl,
You can always get to me
I can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet
To me
We got freezing coca-cola
We got anything you want
I moving on that back beat
Girl, but it's you that sings the song
'cos i can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
The sound of you is so sweet
To me
Oh i still hear your heartbeat
Yea i still hear your heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet,
To me
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sweet View From My Window...
the rain starts to fall
the red hen runs
towards the mango tree
the leaves are thick and
the trunk is old and tall
ten little chicks
red and yellow follow
the tracks of the red hen and
then seek shelter under her feathers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Man - A Macrocosm Of Nature's Intelligence
this hair
on its own
is no life
this stone
solitary
on the floor
is no life
the air on
the wind
is no life
let it steal
into the man
and the plant
a whole world
starts to churn
and soil with
the stone too
start becoming life
into the plant
into the man
the sun on
its own is no life
take him out
everything
stops to glow
the tree, man and
sun, stone....
this hair
on its own
is dead
throw in the man
throw in the plant
and the air
and the sun
and the stone
everything
starts
to grow
nature seeps,
breathes
through each
and everything
jigsaw puzzle
the man himself
a macrocosm
of its intelligence
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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