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
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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
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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
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Complaceny
from my hands
you little bird with a black beak
shall take the grains
i wait for time to grow you
strong wings so you can fly away and join
your family
and then you have wings
why do you want to stay still in my house
pecking the grains in my hands?
what is it
that you love on the lines of my palms?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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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
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I Love You More
I love you I love you I love you
I love you I love you I love you
I love you I love you I love you
I love you I love you I love you
I love you more than there are ocean grains of sand
I love you more than there are voices in the wind
I love you so I cant let go
I love you so I want the whole wide world to know
Its not unusual to feel this way
Sometimes I feel a bit insane
I will confess I deserve nothing less than
What youve given me so far
I feel a high when I am by your side
My lifes so bright like summer skies
I dreamed so long to have someone like you
And now youre here with me
And it feels so good
1 I love you more than there are ocean grains of sand
It must be love if I feel this way
I love you more than there are voices in the wind
Only love makes me do these things
I love you so I cant let go
Now that I have you
I love you so I want the whole wide world to know
I always thought you were my soulmate
And extension of my heart
The angels say its a spiritual thing
We will never be apart
Thats why Im high when I am by your side
My lifes so bright like summer skies
I dreamed so long to have someone like you babe
And now youre here with me
And it feels so good ooh
Repeat 1
I love you more than all the ocean grains of sand
I love you more than all the voices in the wind
I love you so yeah
Never let you go
I love you so I want the world to know
I love you more than all the ocean grains of sand
I love you more than all the voices in the wind
I love you so
Never let you go
I love you so I want the world to know
I love you more than all the ocean grains of sand
I love you more than all the voices I hear in the wind
I love you so
Never letting go
I love you so I want the world to know
Ooh boy I love you so
24/7 it wont get old
Ooh boy I love you so
24/7 it wont get old
Ooh boy I love you so
24/7 it wont get old
Ooh boy I love you so
24/7 it wont get old
song performed by by En Vogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The State Of Non-meaning
so many sands
long term plans
so many grains of sands
on the beach on the mind of man
oh, i guess
so many poems composed
each poem has become a grain of sands
so many grains
from my mouth
to my hands to my feet to the beach to the sands of time
in search for meaning
when actually there is none.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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GRAINS of SAND
Grains of sand
on which I stand
burn my feet
from the sun's intense heat.
I bury them quickly
to keep them cool.
The grains of sand
can be too cruel.
And now I know
I played the fool
for I left my sandals
where it was cool.
Afraid to move,
I see a child.
I call to him
as if I'm wild.
'My shoes, my shoes
please bring them here.'
He looks and waves,
then disappears.
And so I stay
and face the day
stuck in grains of sand.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Birds And Grains
in a relationship
the birds wait for the grains
whose meanings are
the birds to eat
the grains to be eaten
what a complimentary world is this
all in utmost pleasure
the mouth opens
another tongue fills in the void of hunger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Drying The Grains Under The Sun....
we dry the grains today
under the sun
they die.
they shrink.
we think that by dying
the grains can stay that long
and then
ready for the next steaming
delicious for our
mouths
filling our hunger
in times of drought.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Viva Mas
Drop Bars not Bombs
Make Chai not War
Baseball not Bombs
Books not Bombs
Make Love not War
Drop Tuition Not Bombs
Blondes not Bombs
Beats not Bombs
Drop Class not Bombs
Make Art not War
Flowers not Bombs
Food not Bombs
Make Levees not War
Drop Seeds not Bombs
Bread not Bombs
Beauty not Bombs
Drop Television not Bombs
Make Solidarity not War
Build Trust not Bombs
Bring back Food
Boycott Banks
Bring Life not War
Make Tracks not War
and this is the way the long road Ends Not with a bang but a whimper
poem by Jerome Moore
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Love Is Like Sand
I said it too,
Love is like sand,
It slips down through fingers,
But some grains stick with the palm,
And when it is bushed,
These grains pass through eyes
While journeying to the soul,
They often weep and wail
Lying in its secret channels,
But troubling a lot.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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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
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King's biography
Kings’ biographies are seeds sown.
Beggars’ biographies are grains eaten.
Millions of grains are eaten
Against a grain planted.
10.01.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sandpiper
The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.
The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.
- Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.
The world is a mist. And then the world is
minute and vast and clear. The tide
is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which.
His beak is focussed; he is preoccupied,
looking for something, something, something.
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Hourglass Sand
Through the hourglass
watching
grains of sand falling.
I see time slipping by.
To myself I wonder.
Do we pass with such ease
through the hourglass of life?
Like tiny grains of sand cascading?
When that sand has gone.
Does that mean time has stopped
until I turn the glass over?
And the sand again begins to fall.
Through our hourglass
as we pass like grains of sand.
How many frowns can we turn to smiles?
How much good can we make from bad?
When our sand has run out.
Has our time stopped as well?
Who will turn over our hourglass?
Restart our time renew our opportunities?
poem by Kurt Hearth
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The Crooked Ways Of The Tiny Birds 2
feelings are sometimes like the tiny birds
of summer feeding on a few grains
on the wide yards of the garden where the grasses
spread far
some do feel being smothered by the indifference of other
tiny birds
separated by the distance of the long lines of
parallel electric poles
imagine the image of tiny birds sitting in there
looking for pecking
one notices the vastness of the sky
the unfinished climb of the hill
the vanishing paths of trails long untrue
feelings like tiny birds fly away
but there is no reason to be afraid on the
facts of nonreciprocating birds
ah, the world is wide and too interesting
to be ignored
on a few grains one feeds upon
and having satisfied sits lonelier on the line of an electric pole
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Morning's Commotion
outside the house
the commotion starts
with the chickens
pecking each others'
feathers for
the lesser number
of grains.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bird In The Golden Cage
as i watch the bluebird
inside its golden cage i am somehow
carried by mysterious
pity
you hear it sing a very sad song
you hear it making a plea that you open the lock of its door
so it can fly away
touched i opened it so it may use its wings
but then this is the sadder part
it has come back
asking for grains inside my hands
now it is making another plea
to open the door of the cage so she can sleep back
soundly than it used to
before
ahh, look what habits are formed
by the prisons of our lives
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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