Back To Childhood
i pay a visit to Apolonio today
now on his 60th year as tenant of my grandfather's farm
on my 50th year i begin to see the strangeness of the place
where i spent my childhood
the field of plain grass opens a view of a chase
of memories
coconut trees tower to the heights of my dreams
and the winding paths been converted as a wide street leading to the city
of progress and change
Apolonio's teeth are black and broken like a knife with jagged edge
his body emaciated his speech choppy
beside his wife who is already too forgetful about faces
he heaves a sigh and then tries to remember my mischief
hiding his hat and pushing him into the river
as he pastures the carabao that i let loose on the green fields
father was always angry
and mother was too defensive
the wind begins to blow and the clouds turn darker
yellow leaves fall from a very high makopa tree
and then it starts to rain
the rice ponds make the dripping sound of water
we take shelter in the old house where he now lives
his children have long been gone starting their own lives
in some other landlord's lands
he has regrets since not anyone has finished school
he tells that like a mirror to his past
the rain stops and then i bid goodbye
it is late and have no words to say anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Agrarian Unrest....
my father is a landlord.
He sent me to a big university in the city.
I studied philosophy.
The university taught me about equality.
Compassion. We studied existentialism
The poverty of the masses.
The agrarian unrest.
The essence of man
The quality of life
Justifications of living
Explanations of death
After life.
I wrote a class report about a child who ate
only a handful of rice for breakfast
plus brown sugar as viand
and then a glass of water for his thirst
from the nearby river
and then he was left in the house
as his father works in the field
and his mother
sells vegetables in the market.
When i left the child, The
heavy silence of the world fell upon my shoulder.
One day father took me for a vacation in our land.
There are mountains. Lots of trees.
A beautiful place.
There is a house there
Dilapidated. A tenant lives there
There is a hungry child.
Drought. Long hot days.
I pity the poor condition. But i no longer ask for the cause.
Then the tenant asks me if i can give him land.
Or a part of father's land.
I have no answer.
I could have told him, I do not own anything,
I do not live here
and father is still alive...
And wants me to be firm and cruel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Let's Lynch The Landlord
The landlord's here to visit
They're blasting disco down below
Sez, "I'm doubling the rent
Cuz the buildings condemned
You're gonna help me buy City Hall"
But we can, you know we can
We can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord man
I tell them turn on the water
I tell them turn on the heat
Tells me "All you ever do is complain"
Then they search the place when I'm not here
But we can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord
Let's lynch the landlord
Let's lynch the landlord man
There's rats chewin' up the kitchen
Roaches up to my knees
Turn the oven on, it smells like Dachau
Til' the rain pours through the ceiling
But we can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord man
song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye To A River
(don henley/stan lynch/jai winding/frank simes)
The rains have come early, they say
Were all gonna wash away
Well, thats all right with me
If heavens torrent can wash clean
The arrogance that lies unseen
In the damage done since we have gone
Where we ought not to be
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Lakes and levees, dams and locks
They put that river in a box
It was running wild
And men must have control
We live our lives in starts and fits
We lose our wonder bit by bit
We condescend and in the end
We lose our very souls
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
The dirty water washes down
Poisoning the common ground
Taking sins of farm and town
And bearing them away
The captains of industry
And their tools on the hill
Theyre killing everything divine
What will I tell this child of mine
(solo)
I make a church out of words
As the years dull my senses
And I try to hold on to the world that I knew
I struggle to cross generational fences
And the beauty that still remains
I can touch it through you
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
Roll on
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Endless Walk
walking cold to the bone in the rain
wind cuts like a knife in my skin
water drips off my face i look around to see
it's just me walking in the rain, my mind is full of clouds
i start to wonder why does it rain, why am i walking, how long has it been raining, how long have i been walking...
i look at my wrist to see there's no watch
i reach for my pocket to feel there's no pocket
except strings of fibers, fibers are all thats left
from what used to be clothing
my skin looks pale and is full of scars
i fall down on my knees it terrifies me to see the reflection in the puddle of water this is not the face i remember as my own
i stand up only to realise the street is not there
it's just a dark floor
i look around there's a wall on both sides
i look up to scream there's no sound only water that fills my eyes
before i can make sense of it my body starts to move
i'm walking again, where am i going, why can't i stop
poem by Paddy Jansen
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Graduation
Splashing in the water
Dancing in the rain
Having so much fun
Feeling the drops on my face.
Making so many friends
Sharing the memories we all laugh at today.
Seeing our faces
Watching us grow up
And watching us walk down that stage.
Flashbacks of memories
That we've held on for years
All of that behind us
Ready to make new ones to share.
Reaching for that diploma
Our lives about to begin
Big smiles on our faces
Knowing were about to begin.
Looking back with no regrets....
poem by Chantel Braatz
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Hailstone Food
My father loved the rain
Rain with hailstones
Twenty years gone past
When green and blue
Was all I knew
No red of blood
Nor ‘supreme’ of white
Nor ‘beauty’ of black
Just green and blue and love
It rained with hailstones
White stones from heaven
My father knelt down
On wet September grass
His head to the sky
Few stones in his hands
My father said
‘‘Thank you Lord for hailstone food! ”
I recall less of other days
When it didn’t rain
Perhaps such days were spent
Patiently waiting to say
“Thank you Lord for hailstone food! ”
Twenty years long wait
Four hearts waiting, breaking
My father waiting, breaking
Waiting! ?
But every body waited for him
I think my father never knew
About the power within him
To make the rain fall
Down once again
And hailstones to scatter
His September lawn
I know now
He was a patient man
Yesterday I dug a hole
And I closed a chapter
With all my childhood’s tears
I put my father in the ground
Funny this:
As the body went down
The clouds began collecting
As the sand filled the hole
The rain began to fall
And as we left the site
White stones scattered the land
poem by LLM Mbatha
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Animal
I look out over this dusty ridge ~~ I look around me and wonder why I am alone all the time ~~ Even though I know I am not ~~ Wondering why I feel this way ~~ I feel as if a animal is tearing me apart on the inside ~~ I want to say something about the feeling of claws ripping though my chest ~~ I feel the wind pick up ~~ I notice the clouds ~~ I want the hurt in my chest to stop ~~ I look down into the valley of this place ~~ Knowing I am so far up, making the trees look like ants ~~ It starts to rain, as it rains I start to cry ~~ All I want to know is what happened ~~ Why won’t you let me know you after all this ~~I am soaked to the bone ~~ It is a cool rain ~~ The animal is still clawing me apart on the inside ~~ I tell myself that I can do something about it ~~ The more I start to realize what I can do to fix this ~~ The more the hurt stops, the animal stops for now ~~ My knee’s fall to the ground with a heavy thud ~~ The animal starts to pace ~~ I see the mixture of rain and mud clouds from it ~~ Then as more happens, as I try to fix it ~~ All it does is make the animal return ~~ The memories return ~~ My heart starts racing ~~ The animal is more fierce then before ~~ The hurt returns, along with all the heart ache ~~ The rest of my body grows weak as it start’s clawing in my chest ~~ My body falls the rest of the way to the ground with another heavy thud ~~More mud and dust clouds raise up ~~ The animal claws are like razors in my chest ~~ My face is now laying upon the mixture of mud and dust ~~ My limbs go numb ~~ I can hear the animal’s roaring in my ears ~~ I can feel my eyes slip shut ~~ I can’t see anything but black ~~ I know it won’t be long before I let the animal have it’s way ~~ All I wanted to do is know you ~~ I can feel the animal starting at my heart ~~ The animal starts to clam as I take my last breath of life ~~ Then I know is it all over, and I’m gone ~~ There is finally peace ~~
poem by Marla Smith
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The Thunder Cracks In The Gray Sky
The thunder cracks in the gray sky and the rain it is bucketing down
Above the high and dry and bare paddocks by the river that flows by the town
On those paddocks that need heaps of rain it has been awhile since they were green
This countryside is looking dry 'tis as dry as it ever has been
His feathers soaked wet from the rain the magpie flutes on the blackwood tree
From it's drenched leaves the rain drips and drips by the river that flows to the sea
To the river adown the bare hill the water in rivulets run
As soon as the rain will have stopped they will quickly dry out in the sun
The Summer has been warm and dry and the long range weather forecast is for a dry Fall
An hour of heavy thunder rain of little use though better than nothing at all
For months the farmers have been praying for rain their prayers in part answered today
But the sun shines across the brown hills and the rain clouds are clearing away
And the magpie shakes his feathers dry and no rain drops left to drip from the trees
And white butterflies flitting about in the sunshine and feshening breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Feels Like Rains
Here I go again
Hanging on to the bitter end
All alone
Nothing left to lose
Don't want to face tomorrow
I can't sleep tonight
Blame it on the weather
Till I get over you.
Chorus:
Feels like rain
Feels like I'll never fall in love again
There's a cold wind blowing every cloud my way
And it feels like rain today
Taking down every picture
Hanging on every wall
Broken dreams, painfull memories
Like the times I never listened
And the times I didn't try
It's gotta be the weather
'Cause you're not here with me
Chorus:
Feels like rain
Feels like I'll never fall in love again
There's a cold wind blowing every cloud my way
And it feels like rain today
Regretting every minute
Since I watched you walk away
Cause it's not the same without you
And now the clouds are hiding
Every sunny day
I guess I'll stay inside again
Cause it feels like rain today
Feels like rain
Feels like we'll never fall in love again
There's a cold wind blowing every cloud my way
And the clouds are hiding every sunny day
and the storm is coming so I'm here to stay
'Cause it feels like rain today
Yes, it feels like rain today
song performed by by Peter Cetera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After Rain
The rain of a night and a day and a night
Stops at the light
Of this pale choked day. The peering sun
Sees what has been done.
The road under the trees has a border new
of purple hue
Inside the border of bright thin grass:
For all that has
Been left by November of leaves is torn
From hazel and thorn
And the greater trees. Throughout the copse
No dead leaf drops
On grey grass, green moss, burnt-orange fern,
At the wind's return:
The leaflets out of the ash-tree shed
Are thinly spread
In the road, like little black fish, inlaid,
As if they played.
What hangs from the myriad branches down there
So hard and bare
Is twelve yellow apples lovely to see
On one crab-tree.
And on each twig of every tree in the dell
Uncountable
Crystals both dark and bright of the the rain
That begins again.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Aftermath
'The Tree Still Stands! '
Exclaimed the boy clasping his hands
To his Father who was walking the rear,
And to his Grandfather who was nowhere near.
For happy was He.
For standing there so straight and tall
Was the tree whose limbs He crawled
And the branches from which He played,
And the root where His head once laid.
And the many leaves.
Now the Father whom hearing His Son
Came to his side in a moment run
Then He stopped; for the tree He saw
Then the Father just stood in awe,
And uttered; 'my old friend'.
For standing there was His friend
From which before His youth was spent
By climbing and playing games,
And hiding under, from the cold and rain.
And the wind.
Then the Grandfather came strolling up
And He paused, in a moment hush
To reflect to a different year
When He was a Child, and He cried a tear.
And He clasped His hands.
For he was then again a Child
And then again He cried and smiled,
For He remembered His Father and He,
And how together they planted a tree.
And it still stands.
'Thank GOD the tree still stands! '
Cried the Grandfather clasping His hands.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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A Death-Parting
LEAVES and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All these fall, and my soul gives ear,
And she is hence who once was here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Ah! but now, for a secret sign,
(The willow's wan and the water white,)
In the held breath of the day's decline
Her very face seemed pressed to mine.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
O love, of my death my life is fain;
(The willows wave on the water-way,)
Your cheek and mine are cold in the rain,
But warm they'll be when we meet again.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Mists are heaved and cover the sky;
(The willows wail in the waning light,)
O loose your lips, leave space for a sigh,—
They seal my soul, I cannot die.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
Leaves and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All still fall, and I still give ear,
And she is hence, and I am here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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21
There will be rain here
We normally run for shelter
Who wants to be wet in the rain
And look like a helpless chick in the drain?
There will be rain
And we will be seeking shades under the trees
And run towards waiting sheds where the rain
Cannot harm our sensibilities,
There will be rain and more rains to come
In our lives, and we always run for secure
Shelters, and we always have umbrellas,
And raincoats, and closed cars, we hide to places
Where The rain cannot harm us,
But today, there is rain, and I will take
Another action, I will not run for shelter,
Or take shades in trees, or be in waiting sheds,
I will not even open my car, get into it and close it,
I am not afraid of rain now; I have no fears getting wet
And look like a helpless chick, I will run in the
Middle of the rain, I will play in the rain, I will
Be with the rain throughout its pouring,
I will be wet, and it will rain and rain,
Let it rain and rain and rain
You will not see, my tears falling, tears hiding in the rain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There will be rain
There will be rain here
We normally run for shelter
Who wants to be wet in the rain
And look like a helpless chick in the drain?
There will be rain
And we will be seeking shades under the trees
And run towards waiting sheds where the rain
Cannot harm our sensibilities,
There will be rain and more rains to come
In our lives, and we always run for secure
Shelters, and we always have umbrellas,
And raincoats, and closed cars, we hide to places
Where The rain cannot harm us,
But today, there is rain, and I will take
Another action, I will not run for shelter,
Or take shades in trees, or be in waiting sheds,
I will not even open my car, get into it and close it,
I am not afraid of rain now; I have no fears getting wet
And look like a helpless chick, I will run in the
Middle of the rain, I will play in the rain, I will
Be with the rain throughout its pouring,
I will be wet, and it will rain and rain,
Let it rain and rain and rain
You will not see, my tears falling, tears hiding in the rain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sounds
i heard the sound of the clock ticking
some things come
i am remembering these some things
burnt, and melting in my forehead,
i like the sound of the ticking of grandfather's
clock at night, i hear footsteps
and drippings of water
from the gutter to the floor
the window is closed and the wind makes
the sound of someone caught between
door jambs, creaking sounds creeping
on the wall, something is terrible, really terrible
and i turn my body to the left side,
there is this storm, and the strong rain comes
with the grunting wind, and trees are falling
unto each other, i hear leaves and twigs,
and the roof wanting to leave the house,
something is terribly happening on this night
of the suicidal darkness, the shimmer of the river
looks like a stainless knife
who's there? i ask the door. The mirror on the other
side answers, how dare you?
it is nobody. it is just myself, my mouth answers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For A Friend Who Is Also Struggling Out There
it is still 3 o'clock in the afternoon. iT is raining heavily
outside as we still keep busy with our own business
inside this courtroom.
two lawyers arguing on a point. I am listening.
the accused sits there, his life is at stake.
the mother is tense. two mothers.
THE mother of the complainant
who cries that her daughter is a victim
of rape.The mother of the accused who rebuts
that his son is just framed-up by the real
culprits who are still-at-large.
the glass windows of the court
muted the sound of the heavy rain.
but the way the trees are swaying to and fro
like a pendulum of a grandfather's clock
very well tells that there is a bad weather
outside this courtroom.
a river of faces faces me. i look at the eyes
of the room, the windows cased in glass
as the rain is maimed wanting to get in
as though trying to say that it has also
something to say about the matters
discussed inside this closed room.
the world is always asking, what is the truth?
it reminds us, there is only one truth and the
rest are lies. I keep on trying to learn from it.
the argument has always been:
everyone is a victim, and no one wins this game
of a legal play. sometimes the guilty is set free
and the innocent is put to prison.
there will be cries of the wind. In a closed court
like this, one cannot really hear the sound of its cries.
I am trying to figure out. Each word. The words of the
wind and the muted sounds of the rain.
THE hammer shall fall and it shall fall heavily.
Can this poem help me? Are emotions aids?
Many mouths shall shape the words. Each lip makes
a reading of itself. There will be whispers and murmurs.
There will be calls and cries and hounding sounds.
I sleep at night soundly. My conscience shall be my pillow.
There will be dreams handed to me by the gods.
As i write this, think also of my own journey, my own sorrows.
In the battles outside and inside us, a closed room vis-a-vis
the outside cries of the wind and the rain, i want to simply tell you, , ,
keep moving on. We move on too, with our own busy lives.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Believe
The sky can lie and betray as any person can invade
The space that is my own and a sunny day so they say
Today would be, although
I believe I felt raindrops touching my naked arms-It is the New Year and
I don’t want tears falling from my eyes
As they did the first day of
Last year and every year before me-
I wept because I believed that God had forsaken me,
Brought me into a world which was not safe for me to live in-
I am lost in the woods but not as lost
As I am in the city surrounding-
Upon this sunny and rainy day- the people who
Dwell in this planet earth I do not trust-
These people are walking behind me
Only to steal away my dreams-
I cannot ignore their sinister glances-
Upon the face of a coin it says
“In God we trust” and that is just
One more untruth and I once believed there was a god and
I was a saint- now I am a pauper who is alone
In this world not believing a word that has been spoken-
“I am a believer, ” so are the words to a popular song-
I only believe in my own thoughts and the voices
That speak to me from my mind and
I only feel while my own heart beats-
Nobody hears these voices or my heart beating
Out of control- the rain is falling hard now-
I have been deceived and it is a new year again
God wipe away my tears, I don’t care to always be the enemy-
I hear birds chanting and wind blowing the leaves upon the trees-
Unwelcome footsteps behind me are closing in-
I have a spirit that dances in the wind, therefore
It hardly matters anymore that I was born into this world that
Is a fraudulent place- I can run marathons and other people’s minds
Have become my literature- I have faith in my thoughts and
I can carry on with a tune- “I am a believer”- and as long as
I believe in my own strength and my spirit keeps on dancing,
Knowing someday my dreams shall become alive and the sun?
The sun is hidden in the clouds and the rain just keeps on falling but
It is the rain that gives me water so I will not be thirsty and it is
That rain- that washes my tears away-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Teint Neutre
WIDE downs all gray, with gray of clouds roofed over,
Chill fields stripped naked of their gown of grain,
Small fields of rain-wet grass and close-grown clover,
Wet, wind-blown trees--and, over all, the rain.
Does memory lie? For Hope her missal closes
So far away the may and roses seem;
Ah! was there ever a garden red with roses?
Ah! were you ever mine save in a dream?
So long it is since Spring, the skylark waking
Heard her own praises in his perfect strain;
Low hang the clouds, the sad year's heart is breaking,
And mine, my heart--and, over all, the rain.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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At The Rural Side Of This World
when i step out of my door
i see a road lined with mahogany trees
an empty wide road
but not that muddy really
at this rainy season of the year
i hear the chirping of birds
and the hushing of the wind
greeting me with the coolness of
an after rain,
the grasses are still wet with dew,
the paths still dappled with water,
the pebbles glistening
to the sunlit view of
the hills which are so green and vibrant
the distant mountains shaded blue
tall and huge their tips almost touching the sky
there are no cars here just wooden sleds
pulled by the cows
of the working men
at the other side of the river nearby
some water buffaloes are restive on
cool wade in their mud holes
their tails whipping their butts
to drive away the gnats
i am waiting for the bus going to the city
the only bus for the day
and it will pass by here at eight.
on the bench opposite where i am seated
three girls are giggling
a handsome boy riding on a horse whistles
at the one with the long black hair
the sun is shining brightly on an ordinary day like this
on the rural side of this world that i have chosen to visit
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Agrarian Tenant
eddie is the guy
he used to be a lover of women in the town
when his father Toldo died
he inherits
tenancy, and so he married early
got six kids, wife ligated, and lived a
simple life beside a
ricefield, on the empty
fields he can see the black crows
and the sparrows
and the scarecrows, for year and years
he
tilled the land left by my forefathers
as we finish our courses
this time i come back to see him
how
old has he become, emaciated, deep brown skin
dry long hair, cracking lips,
gnarled fingers,
i though he too would not recognize me
we had a talk about the farm and the rice
produce, the cost of fertilizers and pesticides
and the chinese cartel
and the massive importation from vietnam
killing all of their dreams
i have not done my duty, but here he is
surviving on few grains left
on salted fish
all his children gone
domesticated in other homes of the rich
few in Hongkong
one in Dubai the other one opens her parlor
in Vigan
at the end, there is only the two of them
his ligated wife and himself
unbending.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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