Early Morning Happiness....
this morning
i wake up early
i see this hen
and her sixteen chicks
roosting
upon a strong branch
of the narra tree
i get a handful of
rice grains
and scatter them on
the ground
the chickens fly down
from the tree
and feed on
the scattered grains
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
What Is Natural Is Best
i built a chicken house
but the chickens still prefer
to roost
on the branches of the
kamuning tree
last night it rained so hard
the chickens are silent
all wet they
peck on grains scattered
on muddy ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Time For Roosting...
IT IS sad to see
chickens
when the hour of
fading light comes
when they all start
to look up
and find their
respective roosting
places
upon their chosen
branch of the
tree,
it is like
going home
after the day
of pecking
grains, and when
full
you find
solace upon
a chosen home
as the night
starts to
cover
everything.
it is like
death to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mutuality In Kindness...
the chickens
so many of them
make a music for him
who sleeps
on the haystack
he gathers the grains
to feed them
early morning
to the chickens
they found a master
at last
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Maya
little brown birds with grey beaks and a patch of black
on their heads
three of them
drinking water on a pond of water created
by the little rain this morning
as i go near them
they all look at me and then in a sudden
they all fly away leaving some ripples in the
muddled pond
i never think of them as my enemies
they all leave at once
i do not have a gun
or a club or a slingshot
what i have in my hands are rice grains, nothing but rice grains
yes, rice grains for all of them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Social Chickens
i wonder why the
white and red chickens
escape from their
house
tonight they roost upon
the branch of an old
tree
so high that they can
see
above our fence
the road
the red and white chickens
too of my other
neighbor's yard
roosting on the other tree
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Patience, Patience
the child with a black coat
on this cold day
sits there beside a brick
church of spanish
architecture
the yard is quiet except
for the sound of the flapping
of doves feedind on some
rice grains
the boy has a black hair
and his feet are stained with
mud his fingers dirty with
some sticky sauce
he spreads the rice grains
from his palm to the
muddy grounds
the doves hover and land
on the spot where the grains
are freely spread
he sits with them
surrounded
the doves are watching him
and he watches carefully each
dove that eyes on his grains
he likes to snatch just one
to bring home to mother
the doves are too careful
it is just the rice grains nothing more
eye to eye
both wait for what shall happen next
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Feeding The Chickens
the grains in your hands
you spread them on the ground
chickens come near you
making you feel like you are the
United States of America
and they are the countries that depend on you
those third world bastards
those colonies, those developing ones
the grains become your bombs
under your keeping
you think you are the only one who has that sole
divine right to keep these grains (yes the bombs)
inside your hands
Holy cow! Who are you? Who are YOU!
(repeat the question 10x)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freedom In A Metaphor Bird
the little bird
driven by hunger
comes near the place
where you are seating
because you
spread some grains
of rice
on the ground just
below the tree
without looking at you
it pecks upon a few
nibbling
and then in a few seconds
flies away
swims through the air
and leaves you
once again
feeling so fettered....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Calm Mind
beside the house
he sits on an inclined rattan chair
his feet rest on a graveled ground
his head focuses on
a rooster beside
a chicken leading its chicks
to feed on rice hulls
spread under the
mahogany tree
how many months pass
when the two were
put here?
oh the rooster has
fathered a dozen chicks
and proud perhaps
he crows loudly
announcing his
paternal joy!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Paternity
beside the house
he sits on an inclined rattan chair
his feet rest on a graveled ground
his head focuses on
a rooster beside
a chicken leading its chicks
to feed on rice hulls
spread under the
mahogany tree
how many months pass
when the two were
put here?
oh the rooster has
fathered a dozen chicks
and proud perhaps
he crows loudly
announcing his
paternal joy!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Soyinka On My Feet Going Somewhere Opting For Isolation
'When I first came out -
I spoke just now about this need for human company,
but after I first came out,
I remember that after a few days
I just couldn't stand so much company.
It became too much again for me
and I couldn't wait until
I could go away
and isolate myself somewhere.'
did i not talk about
my wish to have wings
and be with you
sitting on a tree
and be with all of
you in the field of
ripe rice grains?
did i not think after
that i need to be
alone and wish
that i have fins
to be in the silence
of the depths
of the sea?
did i not wish at the
end that i have always
wanted simply to be
a stone to be thrown
to the face of another
person?
did i not wish simpy
to be under a handful
of stars without
any syllable in my tongue?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Sense Of Home.....
the chickens in the backyard
are feeding themselves freely
on the corn grits
the hen are checking her chicks
and enfolds all of them with her wings
under the mango tree
the roosters roost up the tree
settling upon a big branch
it is getting dark and a flock of sparrows
arrive and stop to take their own place
on the coconut palms
they're all home now, and then
the silence begins to hover too inside the room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Seeing Tawny Frogmouths
At nightfall the birds known as tawny frogmouth come out in family groups of three or four
They do not have a song the only sounds they do make is a sort of a low pitched nasal snore
In the wooded parkland they fly from tree to tree in their search for tree insects and flies
And they return to roost on their roosting trees at the dawning just before sunrise,
Quite expert at camouflage in their colours of brown lengthwise on a bare branch of a tree
In the bright light of day they look part of the branch they are almost impossible to see
Disguised from the prying eyes of predators in safety they rest Nature never ceases to amaze
Of her so little we do seem to know we are strangers to Nature's ways,
Related to the nightgars nocturnal insect eating birds though frogmouths far greater in size
For better vision in dimlight the night birds 'twould seem than day birds have far larger eyes,
I have seen the frogmouths at nightfall in the park near my home almost tame to them I approached near
Of human kind so little they seem to know so of humans they show little fear,
From tree to tree in the parkland they fly these quiet brown birds of the night
So well camouflaged on their bare roosting branch they seem part of the tree in daylight.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freedom Metaphor (corrected)
the little bird
driven by hunger
comes near the place
where you are seated
because you
spread some grains
of rice
on the grass just
below the tree
without looking at you
it pecks upon a few
seeds
and then in a few seconds
flies away
from you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Counting
fifteen heads of buffaloes
grazing on the rice fields
twenty in all are the mounds
of rice husks
this harvest season
ten heads of men bowing
down to earth
sixteen heads of women
singing a summer song
a moon still up the crown
of mahogany tree
this early morning
a lone bird flies away
from me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm Just An Ordinary Tree
My existence
start from a little piece of seed...
First, I was bury on the ground...
Then, I showed my two cute leaves up in to world...
But it didn't end just like that...
I grow... more and more...
With love, hope and care,
I became a tree...
Tree with many leaves,
if you need some shady circumstance...
Tree with a strong wood,
if you need me to make a good wardrobe...
Tree with a tight root,
if you want to make a solid foundation...
Tree with a sincerely pray,
if you need a support...
Tree with an everlasting presence,
if you need a friend beside you forever...
Tree with a dry branch,
if you want to share your tears...
Tree with a pure dew,
if you feel thirsty...
Tree with a warm wind,
if you get cold and alone...
Tree with a full color's flowers,
if you feel your life so black and white...
Tree with many hopes,
if you lost your dreams away...
But... after all,
I'm just an ordinary Tree...
By: Tree
22 May 2007,7: 02 PM
Those Little Birds In The Yard
yesterday i did not report for work.
i told myself, i am fed up and i want to be left alone.
and so i stayed on the yard
taking with me a seat
for a companion and i focused
my gaze on the grass
until those little birds arrive
struggling to eat most of the
rice grains fit for
chickens
they were noisy and
seemingly on top of their arguments
and i listened
and then there was this orange cat with one eye
silently sitting on the
side of a tree
trying to catch a bird
for breakfast
how can these creatures be too like us?
astonishing, and then as predicted by your
usual experience,
i begin to write again
this time perhaps
an article
on sociology vis-a-vis
bird-cat
relations.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hour Glass
As grains start to fall, everything is new.
Nothing is known about what to do.
As the pile of grains continues to grow,
It seems easier to know which way to go.
When grains approach a quarter of the way,
Things appear less black and white versus an earlier day.
But the world is exciting and there’s plenty of time.
Any thoughts of the hour glass give way to the sublime.
Pleasure, money, power and love battle for share,
While the grains at the top become increasingly rare.
At half way flowing grains take on a resounding force,
Though few pay attention as they race on their course.
Mental and physical factors band together as reminders,
But many still prefer to continue using their blinders.
As the grains accumulate to their three quarters state,
The niave and unprepared are in for a sad, brutal fate.
They still act as if they have power over the grains and the glass.
Nothing could be more wrong as the last few grains pass.
For matter not the importance or the manner of any man
When his last grain falls, the hour glass won’t turn over again.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Think You Know What I Mean
a young man sits inside his orange car
puts his legs above board
wipes his face, sweaty, cleans his nose
idly, looks around
in silence
he gazes upon a vacant road
there is no car
no people,
from where i am seated
i observe him
he is contented upon his idleness
i can't read his mind of course
whether there is sorrow
or bliss
beside his car is a wall
enclosing a garden of cassava and papaya trees
there is a guava tree
laden with its fruits
beyond us is the calm sea
plain blue as coconut trees tower
like guards
or lighthouses on an early morning
contemplation perhaps
about what to do next after this gentleness
this calm
will it be chaos? will it be too much noise?
can pandemonium be not far behind
the white chickens arrive and pecks upon some grains of rice
upon a bowl of clay lies the water that can satisfy thirst
you know what i mean
life is a variation of everything
full of color, wanting sound, longing for scents
expecting some happenings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tree And The Branch
the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging
the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it
the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it
angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit
a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!