At The Beach On A Sunday Morning
this is an isolated place
the coconut trees are growing uninterrupted
by the talisay trees long ago cut by papa
fenced by barbed wires and planted with carabao grass
this is one thing that sometimes i miss in my life
the molave gate is left open
for the caretaker knows that i am coming
to spend my sunday here...
i told them that i prefer being alone this time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Progress In The City
life was so simple
then: papa plowed the field
mama cooked sweet potatoes
water was inside a bamboo pole
plates were banana leaves
we rode on carabao backs
picnicked on nearby rivers
climbed coconut trees
no one minded us
whether we were right or wrong
we were happier then
then everything changed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Paco De Lucia In Guitar Strings
the guitar strings of paco de lucia
are not new to me
the sound of his spanish guitar
strumming on my mind
they were with me
in my childhood
with my friends
we get a smooth
long and strong
coconut palm
take it on top
of a hill
covered with green
carabao grass
and we ride
on the palm
slide it
on the hill
and
yehey
yehehey
yehey yehey
we laugh
so hard
my little
brown friends
that
the foreign
white visitors
call monkeys
we take
the coconut palm
on top of the hill
we ride on it
and we slide
on the
hill
green
with
carabao grass
grass
yehey
yehehey
yehey
we tumble
and roll
when we
reach the
foot of the hill
covered with
green
carabao
grass
we
crash
there may
be some bruises
on our arms
and
legs
but we
laugh
we enjoy
the sliding
the falling
the crashing
on the green
green
carabao
grass
we
crash
yehey
yehehey
yehehey
we are
the happy
little brown
monkeys
yehey
yehehey
yehey
we are
happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For Papa Gregorio
And then I finally reached
The narrow mouth of the river
That you told me about
And I was left with no choice
But to sail right there
On this wooden boat that you
Left me
I did it and here I am getting on
The sight of an island
A bountiful island with brooks
And green grass and
Coconut trees and
Lanzones trees
I am here finally
In accordance with the maps of your dreams
And tonight
I look at your sky
And I see the hundred smiles
Of your glittering stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shallow Thoughts...
along the shores
where the salty vines have covered our tracks
the coconuts are growing tall
and being so nearly planted
their leaves reach for each other
in a little distance
the heaps of dry leaves and husks
make a mountain
and now covered by the vines
and so concealed
beyond this place is a grass-less space
it is where most of the strangers stay
the mass of people gather
and bask under the sun
the gates here are closed more often
there are no kids
neither are there old people who take
their leisure here
this is my own place
so private and so deserted
i would like to call it another solitude
but the coconut trees without nuts
on this rainy December
signify otherwise
it is lonely, the hut speaks.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Actually...
i am having a hard time
getting inside your life
like a house fenced and
barbed wired
and i am like a dog waiting
outside
beside your steel gate
waiting
even if it rains.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It is Spring Time
It is Spring Time
It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.
It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.
It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.
It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.
It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.
It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.
It is spring time.
poem by Crystal Chown
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Long Time Coming
Long time coming
But no one seen it coming
Long gone then
And your heart is still running
Now you're thinking bout the times
And the things you should've done
Well you might as well forget it
In the end you have won
Long-gone letters
Well it makes you feel better
Now you spend your days calm
But you spend the night shattered
It's a long time now
To be left in no doubt
It's a long time change
Do you still feel the same?
And you just can't shake that mood
Cause she's poisoned all your food
Now you're bogged down in those blues
And you just can't shake them loose
It's a long time coming
It's a long time now
To be left in no doubt
It's a long time change
Do you still feel the same?
Long time coming
song performed by by Zutons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Border Years.
I`ve watched the trees.
Always thought they knew
More than they said.
I tried to stand
Inside another man.
But I`ve always been only me.
Well you got a Rover.
Because someone told you
The world will be over in
Ten years,
Come next tuesday.
And their best
For running away
From bombs.
Heard the creaking gate
Of an old leaking lady`s fate.
Tales.
Sat under empty days
Feeling my scars.
All that`s been learnt
Is being burnt endlessly.
Listened for the wind
Howling strings.
A serenade for a
Farmers` maid.
Couldn`t be better sung
Sunday romancers,
Two-time chancers.
Will be told to get lost
On an afternoon
As was this.
Chase the sun
To hiding places
We run.
Everytime.
Lyrical trees, painful breeze.
Tomorrow, another endless sneeze.
Open roads, I want to go.
Its a whistle from the wild.
Into the country, out to the peace
No man can handle.
Ring your bells, have as many fights
As you can find.
But listen please to the rain
Thro` the night
Parked 'Rover', tried to own her.
But she wanted a younger man.
Was whispered at me
From someone whose name,
I`ve just forgotten.
Your not interested, been elected
Best-dressed man of the borough.
So who can drink
With you on
Sunday dinnertimes now?
poem by Peter Vealey
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To Distinguish A Farm From A Forest
the child in her cannot yet
distinguish a farm from a forest
that having seen for the first time
a bunkhouse beneath those coconut trees
she told her mommy that
they are now in the forest and that
she plans to write about
tarzan and jane,
and the monkeys and tigers,
sometimes i miss kids and sometimes
i think i could have been a better teacher
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wake Up Time
You follow your feelings, you follow your d reams
You follow the leader into the trees
And whats in there waiting, neither one of us knows
You gotta keep one eye open the further you go
You never dreamed youd go down on one knee, but now
Who could have seen, youd be so hard t o please somehow
You feel like a poor boy, a long way from home
Youre just a poor boy, a long way from home
And its wake up time
Time to open up your eyes
And rise and shine
You spend you life dreaming, running around in a trance
You hang out forever and still miss the dance
And if you get lucky, you might find someone
To help you get over the pain that will come
Yeah, you were so cool back in high school, what happened
You were sure not to have your spirits dampened
But youre just a poor boy alone in this world
Youre just a poor boy alone in this world
And its wake up time
Time to open up your eyes
And rise and shine
Well, if he gets lucky, a boy finds a girl
T o help him to shoulder the pain in this world
And if you follow your feelings and you follow your dreams
You might find the forest there in the trees
Yeah, youll be alright, its gonna take time, but now
Who could have seen youd be so ha rd to please somehow
Youre just a poor boy, a long way from home
Youre just a poor boy, a long way from home
And its wake up time
Time to open up your eyes
And rise and shine
Cause its wake up time
Time to open up your eyes
And rise and shine
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Papa-Omm-Mow-Mow
Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow
The Beach Boys
Frazier/White/Wilson, Jr./Harris
The last time we were up here
We did a song by another group of guys
We like very much
A real friendly group of guys
Called the Rivingtons
Their song is called "Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow"
A papa-oom-mow-mow
A papa-oom-mow-mow
A papa-oom-mow-mow
A papa-oom-mow-mow
Funniest sound I ever heard
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
But I can't understand a single word
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Well if he's serious or if he's playin'
Woo my my it's all he's sayin
Papa-papa-hoooo
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Papa-papa-papa-hoooo
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Well say there pop, say what's your name?
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Well don't you come around and show your face
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
But hearing the sound I can't figure it out
Oo-wee this sound makes me stop and shout
Papa-papa-hoooo
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Papa-papa-papa-hoooo
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
Doot doot doot
Doot doot doot
A papa-papa-papa-papa-oom-mow-mow
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Doot doot doot
Well I hear this sound everywhere I go
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
From the record, TV, or the radio
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
But now it's spreadin' all through the land
I still can't seem to understand
Papa-papa-hoooo
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Papa-papa-papa-hoooo
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Papa-papa-hoooo
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Papa-papa-papa-hoooo
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Papa-papa-hoooo
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Papa-papa-papa-hoooo
Doot doot doot
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Papa, Can You Hear Me
papa, can you hear me?
papa, can you see me?
papa, can you find me in the night?
papa, are you near me?
papa, can you hear me?
papa, can you help me not be frightened?
looking at the skies i see a million eyes
which ones are yours?
where are you now
that yesterday has waved goodbye
and closed it's doors
the night is so much darker
the wind is so much colder
the world is so much bigger
now that i am alone
papa, please forgive me
i know you understand me
papa, don't you know i had no chose?
oh, can you hear me prayin'?
anything i'm sayin'?
even though the night is filled with voices
i remember everything you ever
taught me
evey book i've ever read
can all the words,
all the music help me face what's ahead?
the trees are so much taller
i feel so much smaller
the moon is twice as lonely
and the stars are half as bright
daddy, how i love you
daddy, how i need you
daddy, how i miss you
kissing me goodnight
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reminiscing Those Carefree Days...
the days are coming and going
the coconut tree that you once planted at the back of the house
has become so tall
and fruitful
rising above the roof and the other trees
growing at you
neighbor's backyard
the nights are dark as usual but soon when you begin to look at those hind sides
carefully
you will notice a collage of stars
blinking
like city neon lights
a comet once passed this path but you were then asleep
preoccupied with the thoughts of
your past
those cliffs that you have not climbed ever
the deep seas that seem to warn you about some people
people in the past
drowning
do not fear
bright mornings are still here everyday bringing you a bouquet of red roses
and scents of coffee
and toasted
bread
just be patient
high noons are temporary
the ticking of the clocks shall soon fade away to the voices of your carefree days
once when you were a kid
playing under a heavy rain
with your best friend
on some games of
mud
a long, long time ago.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Found A Reason
(reed)
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
I found a reason to keep living
Oh and the reason, dear, is you
I found a reason to keep singing
Oh and the reason, dear, is you
Oh I do believe
If you dont like things you live
For some place you never gone before
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Honey, I found a reason to keep living
And you know the reason, dear its you
And Ive walked down lifes lonely highways
Hand in hand with myself
And I realized how many paths have crossed between us
Oh I do believe
Youre all what you perceive
What come is better that what came before
Oh I do believe
Youre all what you perceive
What come is better that what came before
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
And youd better come, come come, come to me
Come come, come to me
Pa papa papa pa
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coming Rain Coming
Over there from the forests,
Of the Oak trees....
Coming, coming the troop
Of rains with heavy breeze.
Charging like the troops
Of soldiers coming so fast.
The clouds heavy with water,
Have burst atlast.
They are coming from,
The north hills, coming to my place.
The trees around my house,
Are now waiting in embrace.
They waited long to have bath,
Under the shower of rain.
In heat and in dry dust,
How long can they remain?
Branches are nodding their,
Heads, signing, come o rain soon.
After such a scorching heat,
Come as God's boon! .
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Chalk-Pit
Is this the road that climbs above and bends
Round what was once a chalk-pit: now it is
By accident an amphitheatre.
Some ash trees standing ankle-deep in briar
And bramble act the parts, and neither speak
Nor stir,' 'But see: they have fallen, every one,
And briar and bramble have grown over them.'
'That is the place. As usual no one is here.
Hardly can I imagine the drop of the axe,
And the smack that is like an echo, sounding here.'
'I do not understand.' 'Why, what I mean is
That I have seen the place two or three times
At most, and that its emptiness and silence
And stillness haunt me, as if just before
It was not empty, silent, still, but full
Of life of some kind, perhaps tragical.
Has anything unusual happened here?'
'Not that I know of. It is called the Dell.
They have not dug chalk here for a century.
That was the ash trees' age. But I will ask.'
'No. Do not. I prefer to make a tale,
Or better leave it like the end of a play,
Actors and audience and lights all gone;
For so it looks now. In my memory
Again and again I see it, strangely dark,
And vacant of a life but just withdrawn.
We have not seen the woodman with the axe.
Some ghost has left it now as we two came,'
'And yet you doubted if this were the road?'
'Well, sometimes I have thought of it and failed
To place it. No. And I am not quite sure,
Even now, this is it. For another place,
Real or painted, may have combined with it.
Or I myself a long way back in time…'
'Why, as to that, I used to meet a man -
I had forgotten, - searching for birds' nests
Along the road and in the chalk-pit too.
The wren's hole was an eye that looked at him
For recognition. Every nest he knew.
He got a stiff neck, by looking this side or that,
Spring after spring, he told me, with his laugh -
A sort of laugh. He was a visitor,
A man of forty, - smoked and strolled about.
At orts and crosses Pleasure and Pain had played
On his brown features; - I think both had lost; -
Mild and yet wild too. You may know the kind.
And once or twice a woman shared his walks,
A girl of twenty with a brown boy's face,
And hair brown as a thrush or as a nut,
Thick eyebrows, glinting eyes -' 'You have said enough.
A pair, - free thought, free love, - I know the breed:
I shall not mix my fancies up with them.'
'You please yourself. I should prefer the truth
Or nothing. Here, in fact, is nothing at all
Except a silent place that once rang loud,
And trees and us - imperfect friends, we men
And trees since time began; and nevertheless
Between us we still breed a mystery.'
poem by Edward Thomas
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To A Woman That I Think I Know
tonight
i shall climb the old mango tree
that papa planted
when i was still too young
to understand
the fading of the moon
i shall cling to one of its strong branches
but due to my weight
it shall crack and given in and fall
i shall fall with it
straight to the mud hole
where papa's carabao
is wallowing
then i shall ride upon its back
hold its tail
and it shall run towards
a creek
where i shall plunge
and clean myself and
then rise
from its waters
and then i shall meet you again
and you shall tell me
how interesting things
have been
i shall ask from you
which has been so interesting?
is it me? or my falling?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ein Yahav
A night drive to Ein Yahav in the Arava Desert,
a drive in the rain. Yes, in the rain.
There I met people who grow date palms,
there I saw tamarisk trees and risk trees,
there I saw hope barbed as barbed wire.
And I said to myself: That's true, hope needs to be
like barbed wire to keep out despair,
hope must be a mine field.
Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Choked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstructing her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is any more than she can tell what time it is
Which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog swallows it
She has been misled again
...and again
......and again
She screams, she’s tired; she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like she’s been here forever
Trees that don’t talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
Mocking her, humiliating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
Water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Joyce Forbus
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To the flower in the desert.
First, you tell me that this must be done.
I commented, yes, that will be nice.
Second, you suggest that this will be nice in Riza's place.
I suggested otherwise.
It will be better at Nicco's since the trees are taller and
the grasses are greener.
Later, you spread the news. It will be at Nicco's.
Ten answered. They will be there.
Then i got sick. Mother Nature says,
I am not good.
The ought was not done.
The Thing did not push through because as you said,
I was not there, and that
I told you that THIS MUST BE DONE.
i AM just wondering why the OUGHT cannot be done without me?
Am i the wheel of the truck?
Am i the steer of the ship?
Am i the owner of the place where Nicco's trees are growing taller and
his grasses spreading greener?
I am not. I am not the Ought.
Then you said this no time to discuss this matter.
You are in a meeting with God.
You lied. I am not the OUGHT. You schemed me out.
You want be to become the river
where your boats will be sailing.
You lied, It is unfair. I am therefore cutting the water.
I cancel myself. I do not exist.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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