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
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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
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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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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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A Poem Of Syntax
A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree
The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue
The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog
I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue
I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lessons from a Woodpecker
The woodpecker will not give up,
Until the hole it planned is made!
It walks upon the trunk upside,
Its clawed feet holding bark firmly!
It pecks and pecks while turning head;
It bangs and drums upon the tree;
It hammers, chisels, saws and files,
The sharp beak digging circularly!
The pecking actions cause echoes
In air surrounding bird on tree;
With great a force, it pecks each time,
But does not mind feeling giddy!
It pecks and pecks as wood chips fly;
The bristly tongue helps it to clear;
The beak keeps hitting edge of hole,
As head of bird, then goes deeper!
It takes a month to make a hole!
The woodpecker will not give up;
It comes back to the hole each day,
And deepens it some more, some way!
The woodpecker has taught me how
Hard labor, perseverance clicks;
And lo! The nest is filled with love,
As noisy cries come from new chicks!
Yes, Mother Nature teaches all,
Such golden lessons for no fee;
Oh, listen to her daily call;
Success will smile on you, may be!
When one has aimed to do something,
Come in the way, don’t let a thing;
Work till the job is fully done;
Nothing in life, you leave half-done!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-15-2010
poem by John Celes
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A Lonely Bird On The Electric Wire
this afternoon i take a walk leading to the farm
it is harvest time
and i see the harvesters cutting the rice stalks filled with golden grains
they would group what they gather at a certain place
mounds and mounds of rice grains this time of a bumper year
on the other side are carabaos grazing
lots of grass to graze adding the recently cut rice stalks
i look at the clouds white and blue and shades of both
my attention is however caught by a single bird perched on the electrical wire connecting two poles about 30 meters apart
it is alone there
and i move closely to see whether it is really a bird
indeed it is one of the sparrows in the ricefield
but so unlike the rest it
it is sitting there alone.
our eyes met.
and i tell my wife about this lonely bird.
she says i am just making a metaphor
i sit alone in my garden now after dining
and i wonder if the bird flew back to its nest or to some territory of its own
where their species also live
and i wonder if the bird must be also telling the other birds that it saw
a man walking alone on that path leading to the farm
and unlike other men he prefers to walk alone
and i also think that perhaps the bird would also take issue about the fact that indeed
our eyes met
and i know the other birds would say
that it is nothing but also a sort of metaphor and to the least that
it is nothing but a kind of fable.
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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Inspired by Issa - Cycle of births
the cycle of births
from my hand, a pigeon pecks peas
grain by grain
inspired by
grains of rice
pecked by birds...
my futon
-Issa,1814
http: //cat.xula.edu/issa/
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Leaves Of Rice
leaves of rice
with feet
like soldiers
aligned
and stiff
and disciplined
learning
to live
on poisoned
atmospheres
to give
you better grains
a whiter rice
glutenous
on your
empty plate
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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The hoopoe
Every time that I mow the lawn
he waits in a tree
on me to finish
and there are times
that he gets impatient
and his hoopoe resounds.
Just when I walk away
he flies fluttering down
and pecks everywhere
to get worms
and insects
and I see his orange brown quiff
standing up
and it’s as if his body
glows shimmering orange
and there are black and white stripes
going to the points
of his wings
while like a woodpecker
he hits his bill
here and there into the ground
and like a chicken
pecking up seed
picks up insects from the ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hunger, The Pang
Our mother earth gives
For one good grain sown
Hundreds of fresh grains
For our food in return.
How many sweet fruits
For a life time she gives
For one seed she takes
As one tree it grows?
Any animal on the land
Or any bird on the air
For its morrow's food
Does it take all the care?
For the food on the ground
How a crow makes a sound
Of 'caw' to call crows around
Just to share what it found?
When big cooked rice balls
An elephant in its mouth takes
A part of it on the floor spills
That feeds hundreds of ants.
But when a have on this earth
For his self, the food he hoards,
Doesn't the have-not's mouth
Go unfed for days countless?
The food in a pompous feast
A junk of it goes as rubbish.
If this goes to the poor atleast
Will that not fulfill God's wish?
The worst pain in the world
Is what the hunger gives
But this can be solved
If all follow the crows.
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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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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Listen to The Song of Invisible Bird!
Listen to The Song of that invisible bird,
The Song of great singer several souls heard,
Sings sitting on tree of life, hidden under every leaf,
Its song go unheard by those pretend deaf,
Ever tuned to that great music,
Everytime it sings same song,
But with different lyrics and different words,
Autumn may come followed by spring,
Leaves may fall to make way to new,
Each leaf has that song, the bird flies under cover of green leaf,
When old yellow one fall,
Green leaves should learn from the fall of the old!
One can wait flowers to bloom,
Or can reap all fruits mature,
or remove immature buds or raw fruits,
The tree of life spread to several worlds,
One parallel to other,
Makes one world happy by another,
some may cross and intersect,
only to give or take life!
Come an sit near a flower,
Look at frog waiting for insects to come,
The invisible bird sings its song,
May it be heart of the flower,
It is flower for you,
source of nectar to insects,
place where frog gets its food!
It is cage for that bird ready to fly,
enters as nectar into insect,
and it enters frog as insects,
and moves along food chain,
It may be invisible to these eyes,
Yet it has its flight can be seen,
Look at your heart, the same bird sing,
Who knows when and where is its next flight?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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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
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Brown Grass: Doom
brown grass, no signs of rain,
ripe grains of rice spreading on the ground
the dust reigns like triumphant ant
soldiers, the sun is up, the earth is heated,
the leaves are shedding, the rocks are cracking,
drought comes and stays for months,
under a cave, a dog rests,
smelling death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Birds Nest
Have you not seen the bird
flying far, again and again
collecting straws to weave a nest-
a home- for its young ones to be.
As eggs are hatched
out come the young
chirping or crying, to be fed,
the bird flies again, and again
collecting grains
to feed the young
who cannot fly
It chews the grain but does not swallow
beak to beak it feeds young fellow
caressingly and lovingly
so all are fed properly.
Young get wings, by and by:
and coaxed by the mother bird;
attempt to fly.
Then suddenly one day
the young one flies far away
It knows not where: and
The nest gets barren,
Lonely...
The bird DOES NOT GRIEVE
OR DOES IT
We humans, we do not know.
The hunger
the hunger thinks the rice
can chew both skin and bone
the hunger thinks it's nice
to eat although forlorn
the hunger thinks the corn
can swallow ears and eyes
deaf blind hunger born
self eaten within it dies
the hunger thinks the food
is just a body's unfair breath
the hunger knows the interlude
no food the body eats itself
the hunger thinks the body rotten
is just a place to survive and eat
the hunger of the lost and forgotten
makes its way to the last heart beat
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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To a Sleeping Child
Lips, lips, open!
Up comes a little bird that lives inside
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.
All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings.
Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away around the world, while nobody can see.
Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home;
Round the round world, and back through the air,
When the morning comes, the little bird is there.
Back comes the little bird and looks and in he flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.
Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird’s away,
Little bird will come again, by the peep of day;
Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sweet Harmony
There is no wind blowing
The tree stands green, serene.
It enjoys the bird's singing
And wonders: 'What does it mean? '
Blessed by this soft rain
Both the bird and the tree
Keep singing tunes again
Flooding the earth with glee!
The bird's chants soar above the tree
This one feels nurtured by them
Its leaves dancing onto the sea
Where the bird goes and treasures them!
poem by Maria C. Costa
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