Bliss Remembered....
a rose
in a white porcelain vase
on top of
a glazed
wooden table
showered with
the early morning light
from the laced
window
while you were
still sleeping soundly
in bed
two yellow birds
chirp
on the sill
of the window
i am at
peace
beside you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inside A Crowded Room
inside a crowded room
are litters
waste papers, mongol pencils
on the floor,
crumpled sheets of bond paper
paper glasses, and used plastic spoons
a chicken bone
dried catchup and
morsels of bread that the ants
start to take away
light has entered the slits
of the walls
this early morning
it is humid and dark
and i am bringing this white
porcelain vase
put it some water
not filling it to the brim
i have this red rose
that i pick from the garden
i put it there
i open the window
what is it? my friend
i let delight enter the crowded room
and i want it to stay there for a while.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Sunrise's Entrance
sunrise is such a lady
with a fashion sense
clad in rays of light
slim between the
shadows of the trees
jeweled with diamond
warm like a lover's hand
sunrise dramatically
arrives full of hope for
another brand new day
there is a fruit tray by the
window
five shiny red apples
there is a base of white
magnolias inside a
golden vase by
the window
there is breakfast on the
table: smiling fried egg
tasty hot dogs, pearl white
rice, brewed coffee and
a slice of ripe yellow mango.
poetry in bliss
music from the breeze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Purification
high fever
your eyes losing sight
of some images
crisscrossing your
mind
you speak names
they hear
you mumble some
facts
they understand
you don't
you are on fire
you are burning
with so much heat
your hair
smells of burnt ashes
you are charred
almost to death
that is how the
feeling goes
on this purification
you wake up
the following morning
naked
and pure and very simple
you face
the window
and greets
some birds
singing on the
window sill
your eyes meet
and they chirp
seeing
the new you
you stretch
your arms
and close your eyes
this is the beginning
of your
happy moment
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tale Of Another Selfish Giant
you ruffian, Oscar,
what are you doing
on the wall
of my garden?
do you not see
the warning signs all over?
Sir, I’ve done what
I need to
and I’m climbing over
to jump back to open space
on my side of the earth
you scoundrel, Oscar,
you surly boy -
did you pluck the flower
the red red rose
so precious and rare?
Sir, I did indeed pluck
the flower
the red red rose
so precious and rare;
and I slipped
through your daughter’s
window
and stole a kiss
as she lay sleeping
and put the rose in the vase
on the side table by her bed;
and I feel now she awakes
and glowing with joy at seeing
the red red rose
so precious and rare,
she blows me a kiss
in this morning’s cool air
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Wind And Window Flower
Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.
When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the cagèd yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,
He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
To come again at dark.
He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.
But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.
Perchance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.
But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.
poem by Robert Frost
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In the White
In the white, early morning
I hang my face
over her head
and kiss the flesh above her brow.
I hang my neck, a bow in the air
and kiss the tiny, tickling hairs above her brow.
In the white light of morning
I hang myself over her
and kiss the flesh of her skull
Her white skull
sleeps in the early morning as I hang myself
to kiss her.
I hang myself to kiss her
as she sleeps in the white, early morning.
She does not wake to my touch.
I hang myself above her
on the white bow
of early morning.
She does not wake to my hanging.
The window is cracked and taped.
The outside air is cold, forceful.
I bend myself
above her sleeping body
to kiss her, gently on the brow.
To kiss her gently on the brow
I hang myself.
poem by Chavisa Woods
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A Boring Day
as he opens the window
there is only the shadow of leaves on the trees
on a gray background
it is twilight, midway between night and day
sounds of a cold wind from the forest
the rooster crows and some chirping birds
you sit and gaze through the window
light comes in
this happens everyday and there is nothing significant
after 49 years, and this time a hole is bored inside your heart
you fear that love is gone.
that the birds do not chirp musical notes
the wind much colder now and you shiver
light seeps in trickles like rain on your wrinkled skin
it is the same morning, and it will be same mornings all over again.
you do not move. You let time go and your hands are frozen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Window
All night long, by a distant bell,
The passing hours were notched
On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell,
And the spark of life I watched
In her face was glowing or fading, -- who could tell? --
And the open window of the room,
With a flare of yellow light,
Was peering out into the gloom,
Like an eye that searched the night.
Oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and why do you fear?
"I see that the garden is crowded with creeping forms of fear:
Little white ghosts in the locust-tree, that wave in the night-wind's breath,
And low in the leafy laurels the larking shadow of death."
Sweet, clear notes of a waking bird
Told of the passing away
Of the dark, -- and my darling may have heard;
For she smiled in her sleep, while the ray
Of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word,
Till the splendor born in the east outburned
The yellow lamplight, pale and thin,
And the open window slowly turned
To the eye of the morning, looking in.
Oh, what do you see in the room, little window, that makes you so bright?
"I see that a child is asleep on her pillow, soft and white,
With the rose of life on her tips, and the breath of life in her breast,
And the arms of God around her as she quietly takes her rest."
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Outbreak of Peace
I awakened this morning...
So early I was shakened!
Did I hear someone say...
'There's been an outbreak of peace!
A recipe of peace is in all ovens baking? ! '
Did I hear this correctly?
So I went to the window to see!
And sure enough...
I saw Morning Doves!
Morning Doves at the base of a tree!
I opened the window,
And they chirped and moved on!
Leaving me with a 'song'...
To carry with me all day long!
Something perhaps I reflect,
And can be detected by others...
Who will take and pass it on!
I know something felt different...
Within me.
Yet in my heart it kept singing
Stronger until it longed
To belong.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Descriptive...
the window is open
beside the garage where the white
pick-up is parked and below it
is the white poodle
sleeping soundly
it is 4: 07 in the afternoon
in my house in Katipunan
where the road is empty where
the trees are still
where the wind is as silent
as the grass
well manicured at the
center of the
yard.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Optical Illusion
Optical Illusion
It was an old rabbit, glass eyed and stuffed, that sat on
a window sill it also had a bald spot on top of its head,
petted by children who knew it was alive. The window it
sat by faced the woods and on a day when window was
open, and it was a day in May, it vanished. Hunters had
seen it jump through the air fast as a midnight shadow.
A rich man bought the woods chopped down trees and
filled in the tarn, where it often had been seen smiling to
its own image. This so he could get a trophy on his wall
and be famous as the man who shot the phantom rabbit.
He went insane all he could find was a yellow plastic duck.
A stuffed rabbit sits on the window sill it has glass eyes,
a bald spot on top of its head; snowing outside it deeply
sighs good to be indoors on a day like this.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Still Summer Melodies
What a glorious morning!
The sun's brightly shining
The trees we see from the window-sill
Don't move, they stand still.
A nice yellow kitten
Amidst the trees hidden
Watches vigilant a swallow
He'd like to follow...
Green bushes well-trimmed
Freshly watered they seemed
To spread their fragrance
We breathe around the space.
From that wooden flute
No longer mute...
A sweet melody can be heard
Enchanting us and every bird.
September,2011
poem by Maria C. Costa
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My Little Pill
Whats a single woman with no real man 2 do?
Tryin 2 raise your kid when he couldnt give a damn about u
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
Everytime I pop my little pill
A pixie does my laundry and the universe my will
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
Everytime I pop my little pill
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morning Morgantown
When morning comes to morgantown
The merchants roll their awnings down
The milktrucks make their morning rounds
In morning, morgantown
Well rise up early, with the sun
To ride the bus while everyone is yawning
And the day is young
In morning, morgantown
Morning morgantown
Buy your dreams a dollar down
Morning any town you name
Mornings just the same
Well find a table in the shade
And sip our tea and lemonade
And watch the morning on parade
In morning, morgantown
Ladies in their rainbow fashions
Colored stop and go lights flashing
Well wink at total strangers passing in
Morning, morgantown
Morning morgantown
Buy your dreams a dollar down
Morning any town you name
Mornings just the same
Id like to buy you everything
A wooden bird with painted wings
A window full of colored rings
In morning, morgantown.
But the only thing I have to give
To make you smile, to win you with
Are all the mornings still to live
In morning, morgantown
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Does It Feel To Fly
from a walk early morning
you enter the door
of your house
you see a glass vase
with a red rose
alone in the
living room
you go near and smell
the rosiness
of the rose
and gaze at it
as though it is the only
rose of your
home
you feel
a heart with wings
you fly
like a very light feather
on the wind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Still-life
Through the open French window the warm sun
Lights up the polished breakfast-table, laid
Round a bowl of crimson roses, for one -
A service of Worcester porcelain, arrayed
Near it a melon, peaches, figs, small hot
Rolls in a napkin, fairy rack of toast,
Butter in ice, high silver coffee-pot,
And, heaped on a salver, the morning's post.
She comes over the lawn, the young heiress,
From her early walk in her garden-wood,
Feeling that life's a table set to bless
Her delicate desires with all that's good.
That even the unopened future lies
Like a love-letter, full of sweet surprise.
poem by Elizabeth Daryush
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At My Window
Birds fly up
And down spinnin round
Flyin all around
From my window
A little brown sparraw came
Flutterin down
Le moineau est venu
Se poser ma fenjtre
He came to my window
And as I watched him
I found myself reelin and turnin around
And the faster I ran
I ran out of breath and I fell to the ground
(poof)
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh
He came to my window
He came to my window
He came to my window
From their eyes
The people must look like miniature toys
Do do do do do
Do do do do do do
Fly away
Fly away
Fly away
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Light Through The Morning Window
THE LIGHT THROUGH THE MORNING WINDOW
The light through the morning window
The small leaves of the light green tree
The pale sky waiting behind everything
The night which is gone now.
All these failures one after the other,
Other names other destinies, greater than mine
The single singing I cannot hear
The great prophecies I will not realize.
Others who are more to me
Even than I am to myself.
The morning
The morning again
Words again
Trying to live again
A poem again perhaps.
In a life of many days
In which each small day
Its own struggle
And each night
A night which ends
With morning light.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Im Only Sleeping
When I wake up early in the morning,
Lift my head,Im still yawning.
When I m in the middle of a dream,
Stay in bed float up stream.
Please dont wake me,no dont shake me,
Leave me where I am, Im only sleeping.
Everybody seems to think Im lazy. I dont mind,
I think theyre crazy.
Running everywhere at such a speed.
Till they find,theres no need.
Please dont spoil my day, Im on my way.
And after all, Im only sleeping.
Keeping an eye on the world going by my window,
Taking my time,lying there and staring at the ceiling,
Waiting for the sleepy feeling.
Please dont spoil my day, Im miles away.
And after all, Im only sleeping.
Keeping an eye on the world going by my window.
Taking my time,when I wake up early in the morning,
Lift my head,Im still yawning.
When Im in the middle of a dream,stay in bed,float
Up stream.
Please dont wake me, no dont shake me, leave me where I am
Im only sleeping.
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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