At The Seaside, A Solitude
the seaside is peaceful
the sky is blue with white cumulus clouds hanging there
slowly they move and change shapes
like the air is painting and mixing the colors in space
gentle hues graceful strokes
the white sands extend to some miles
the coconut trees are like handshakes
their shadows restive and steady
i lay my body weary of the years
i look at all these lines and circles and spheres
i like to give up thinking and just be a spectator
i let them talk and i merely listen
the seaside, the seagull, the clouds, the coconut trees, the white sands,
the circles and spheres and lines extending
to nowhere.
i cover my eyes with a straw hat. I cease.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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at the beach in boracay February 2011
the coconut trees
line up the white sands
along the shores
of my privacy
like green umbrellas
with hands and fingers
touching no one here
but only skies
the sea is a lonely woman
with a flat blue belly
waiting for our legs and arms
in this place i am obscene
still thinking about what i should not have shared with you
i tell the sea
i am in love and i must be forgiven
but it does not believe me
the sands as usual
look at me with blank eyes
the waves are all
having their tongues-in-cheek
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Arriving At The Island... Alone
the boat takes you to the island
the only person there
is you,
the coconut trees rise to the sky
and the white sand spreads
there is a bed
and blanket
and pillow and the glass of wind
and you embrace the body of the sea
and they
who think that you better be left alone
as you like it
have long left everything there
and you put your body down
clothes on the white sands
skin on the tree
and bones under the rocky shorelines
you close your eyes
and begin to fly away
into the abyss of
solitude.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A View
driftwood
with seven twigs
on the shore
as clear as glass
is the water
and all stones and pebbles
are visible
above
blue skies
so blue that the white cotton clouds
appear like sperm cells moving
impregnating
an earth-sky womb
and then
it rains
the water rises
the drift wood again taken
floating
gently to another shore
another island
of white sands
a coconut tree towers
to reach a waft of cloud
winds as cool as ice
sands slipping on the fingers
a leaf from a guyabano tree falls
on the mouth
of a sleeping woman
beside her
the man whose arms are enclosing
her throughout
the rainy night
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Wish Life Were Like It
when i was a child
mama would give me a blank sheet
of paper where i can draw lines and circles
where my imagination runs
unstopped like it were the wind
blowing anywhere
all colors swirl and figures of angels
and fairies and castles and horses are drawn &
after a while all these become too
crowded inside the four corners
of the large white sheet
and then tired of such figures and lines and
circles and colors crowding on that large white sheet
i decided to take it away and
crumple it and throw it on the waste basket
and i would tell mama that i am taking
another blank sheet for my use
and she says 'It's alright'
I wish my life were like it. Something that i can
change the moment i do not like it.
Something to crumple and throw when
necessity dictates it.
And then i take another for good start.
I wish it were like that. But simply said,
it isn't.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How Many Grains Of Sand Are There On The Beach?
we are on the beach
it is a very bright and warm day
the coconut leaves are cooling us
the shade is comforting
the sands so white
the sea is crystal blue
the sea gulls are singing
colored fishes come up from time to time
hiding in the corals
if you want to know how many grains of white sands
are there on this beach
begin the count
for the meantime
we are taking our much needed plunge
we leave you for a while
enjoy yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer
summer is an ancestral house
surrounded with antique trees
blushing leaves
rainbow flowers
nearby the blue sea
white sticky rice and
grilled tangigue
fresh buko juice and
straw hat and a swing
between two coconut trees.
and silence and sea breeze.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Variation Of The Day To Day Routine
finally you drive your car
to the place that you have not been too
it is grassy out there
and the hills are rolling
and the skies spread
all the blue
below it is the sea
and the white coast
with sea gulls
and coconut trees
and clouds drifting with
the wind
you step out from your car
and take the deepest breath
in your life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Travel
the fast craft slices the oceans
of our passage
from one island to another
day by day
we see the sea foams
and the skies
that we cut through
the sea gulls and the sun
meet us on the shore lines
of the port
another destination
of this travel
this wandering
another arrival greets us
smiling faces telling us
welcome
welcome
we are offering you this paradise
white sands
cool shady coconut trees
sweet queen's pineapple
crunchy to your teeth
pamper your tongues
beside the blue pools
reflecting the clouds
and our faces
we splash and take
what the jacuzzi offers
the sweet conversation begins
you are beside me
your legs touching mine
we make whispers
the water so cool and relaxing
you are warmer than the morning sun
we confirm again
distances
we confirm again the power of nearness
we affirm us in our arms
we close our eyes
the world is still
and it is indeed beautiful
inside us
on soundless splashes
the waters in our minds run deep
we fall in love again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Labourer and His Owner
Black and white -
His spade always wakes up the dreams
in the sands,
Except when he hugs
the coconut trees;
Sweat drops decorate his body
under the sun.
His owner, of the same age,
who simply stands
Or simply sits in some shade.
"A blessed man",
My mind always murmurs.
Now -
In the same coconut grove,
though very aged,
The same labourer decorates his body
with sweat drops.
But in the place of the old owner,
his dear son
Simply stands or simply sits.
Many years after,
My mind murmurs again, "Who
is really blessed? "
FABIYAS M V
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Designs
Circles and lines
are by design
how some move in life.
Those in circles
keep spinning around
and seem to get nowhere.
Those in lines
move straight ahead
as if they're always aware
of what's up ahead.
They do not dread
their future at all
until they hit a wall.
And then they join
with those in circles
and get stuck
spinning around.
Lines can stop.
Circles do not
and so what we've got
is LIFE.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Final Painting
The white cloud passed over the land
there is sea always round the land
the sky is blue always above the cloud
the cloud in the blue continues to move
- nothing is limited by the canvas or frame -
the white cloud can be pictured like any
other clouds or like a fist of wool
or a white fur rose
The white cloud passes a shadow across
the landscape and so there is a passing greyness
The grey and the white both envelop
the watcher until he too is drawn into the picture
It is all a journey from a room through a door
down stairs and out into the street
The cloud could possess the house
The watchers have a mutual confidence
with the approaching string of white clouds
It is beyond spoken words what they are
silently mouthing to the sky
There was no mystery in this - only the firm
outline of people in overcoats on a hillside
and the line of clouds above them
The sky is blue The cloud white with touches
of grey - the rest - the landscape below -
can be left to the imagination
The whole painting quietly dissolved itself
into its surrounding clouds
poem by Lee Harwood
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This Is A Discovery
i may not tell you
that in this island
where i take my
long walks in the
morning, i discover
something nice,
i am at home with
myself and i am happy
seeing the vastness
of the white sands
white cotton clouds
resting on high cliffs
trees on top and birds
and a light tower
i think of myself
as another island now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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October Day
The bright white clouds against the blue
are moving slowly, passing through.
Their shadows cast upon the ground
move slowly too without a sound.
The winter sunshine’s slanted rays.
Join in the game and seem to chase
the shadows which the clouds have cast
Shining brightly when they’ve passed.
The sky is clear unbroken blue.
It feels a little warmer too.
A little sunshine does I find
lift up my spirits change my mind
about the way I view the day
I do not like it when it’s grey.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Riddle
I cut my life in to pieces
Of light and deeper curves
In numbers and shapes mixed within
The mystery of my own color
In this five by seven of me
A heart where mother lived
Seven years after I was born
It’s still torn and abandoned
The green valley of rice and corn
I’m 3rd and 7th of 8 grains
To see a sky above the fluffy clouds
To the land of black, yellow, and white
My “shoes-lady’s land” wasn’t my dream
To watch the Ford- Rockefeller’s ending time
Yet my fate lies onto the stripes of red and white
In the 31st of its 50 stars
Thereafter three squares tire to be abused
By economy’s worst obstructions failed
The red-lines that went too many circles
Hacked me with them in jagged edge
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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A Visit To The Seaside
When we pay a visit to the seaside,
We venture out onto the sands,
And wiggle our toes in soft golden grains,
And mould sandcastles with our hands.
We so like to collect lots of seashells,
Different shapes, sizes and hues,
Houses that once belonged to sea creatures,
In soft greys, pale beiges and blues.
We enjoy splashing out in the water,
Which the tide brings fast up the beach,
Catching our feet in the green seaweed strands,
Which are then dragged back out of reach.
It's a pleasure to ride on the donkeys,
All soft looking, sad eyed, but strong,
Each of them needing a love and a pat,
Before they'll carry us along.
There is the pier with its great attractions,
The prom stretching around the bay,
Candy floss, ice cream, hot dog stands,
Bandstand where musicians can play.
The sparkle, the glitter, and the shimmer,
Of sunshine way out on the sea,
The salty fresh air, and the blue. blue sky,
Means a 'holiday time' to me.
We take photos of Mother and Father,
Fast asleep in striped canvas chairs,
Obtained by us sneaking up quietly,
And just 'snapping' them unawares.
The amusement park, with a loud clamour,
The roundabouts spinning so quick,
The ghost train, ready to give us a scare,
And waltzers, which make us feel sick.
The old lady who tells you your fortune,
If you have the courage to ask.
The coconut shy and pinball machines,
Which will always take us to task.
The small boats waiting out by the jetty,
Take you for a trip out to sea,
With the gentle breeze and the rhythmic waves,
It's a wonderful place to be.
At the end of our day at the seaside,
With the sun rich red in the west,
We will all feel so calm and contented,
For our day's been one of the best.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Meop-itna 90
say hello to the world for me
it is not talking to me
it is offended by the words that
i am saying to the sea
and to the mountains
the trees turned themselves into shadows
the clouds hide the shapes of my thoughts
the colors all turning into heavy rains
soon the typhoons gather in one assembly
the piers shall no longer be ankles and bones
the waters turning into glaciers
we are ships frozen in the middle of the sea
we look for another world
in the skies in space we must deny our eyes
we pick up the fossils of our ancestors
the black gold we leave behind as sands
what stories shall they tell
to the crocodiles friends of the dinosaurs?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Coconut Miracle
A coconut bobbed upon the waves
and alighted softly on the sands
of the shore. Years later there
were many coconut palms on the
island. They provided milk for babies,
nut fiber for others, oil for lamps,
coconut shells for dishes, lauric
acid for meditation. Lifegiving
little lakes of milk unstolen from
an animal protected by a hard shell
as transform into heaven
slaughterhouse hells.
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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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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Our Own Dance....
in the darkness of our
nights
we shall dance
my love
just the two of us
and our shadows
that the moon so full
shall fill with delight
our music is our silence
oh, many shall join us
in this merriment
the sands of the shores
the leaves of the coconut trees
the winds of the horizon
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The ritual of morning
I went out early this morning to take a walk and see the world
At its unfolding, Skies grey and moving slowly away from light,
The dim lights, Pushing away dark clouds vice versa tugging each other Perhaps not wanting to part (Whatever happened last night? Nobody wants to recall)
Towards an edge on the right corner of the gym, Everything is shadowy (Like a dawn tryst In a tight room so foul
Filled with cheap perfume Beating warmth like Pink baby rats)
A black outline of coconut trees, Some houses appearing as smoke
Rising to the skies Like men smoking, Letting go off The sighs inside
their hearts
They are huge and keeps a chest full of Frogs wanting to jump
Into the pond, their dreams croak and croak
Throughout this hot summer Pleading to the white heronFor rain and more rain Lest they die
What arrived instead is the plow, Their territories cut into small pieces
And some will have no place to live, I am referring to the frogs
like men And the children Of the little space This pond drying itself
To death. The air is thin and sharp to the feel Of guts
Gathering the early dusts of the south bound road, And few raindrops
Fell on the chalky pathways some two or Three farm children running for cover,
I walk fast, trying to outrun The children, the frogs, the men,
And the shadowy coconut trees, Fast and faster still Like my thoughts running and running In circles Oval to this gym
The first ray is coming out From the edge of a grey cloud Pushed towards a darker side To my eyes Lights stab and light
With more light Gushing forth from the stomach
Of dawn.
Someone just performed The ritual of morning The birth Of another day, I walk past time And must go home on time
I have my lover for breakfast Waiting And some thoughts
Running and running thoughts wanting To stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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