Hypothetical Departures
the kettle is not
in its proper place
grains of rice
scattered on the
path
no birds pecking
this time
the cat on the fence
is keen
but helpless
leaves in heaps
there is no wind this time
i think about
burning
the curtains are
unmoved
dusts settle
layered
there is a story
to tell
the archeologists
are not bringing their
brushes
of history
even the winds
if you taste them
are bitter
when the gate opens
this time
no hand shall open it
again
a woman sits
staring blankly to a humid
morning
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Prisoner
A misfit who is old before his time
Poverty has turned him to crime
Boredom gives him too much time to think
He pours another drink.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
He wonders why his landscape looks so strange
Burger bars are home on the range
An empty bottle falling from his hand
He does'nt understand.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
A cork unlocks the door to other lands
Of battles won and destinies in hand
A half-remembered state of liquid dreams
Where things aren't what they seem.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
A naked savage dressed in shirt and jeans
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Afternoon Musings 6
(the time is 6: 02 pm
Philippine time)
imagine myself situate yourself
in my own place
i am writing a poem on the ground floor of this house
the brown curtain is laced and tied to a window
that opens beyond this red painted wrought iron fence
outside the mango trees are full of leaves
and the grasses are running wild
on mud where the earthworms are thriving
the sky is turning gray and the horizon turns
pale orange as the sun finally descends to
hand this total darkness on this land of mine
you hear the sound of the strong wind from the
sea moving towards the big mountains that i
see from where i am sitting and writing
i am telling you again, the sound is howling
and i am telling you again, i am just alone staring
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Time and Leaves and Heaps
time runs
leaves fall
the ground is filled with heaps and heaps of them
the world too
is thickened by the leaves of time
heaps and heaps of what man once was
we bury all of them
time
leaves
heaps of leaves
so many times
we fall too like leaves
the world is thick of those like us
fair enough.
fair enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pleading
I'm knocking at your gate again
Open up
Won't you let me in?
I'm standing
Waiting
Watching to see some recognition please.
Yes
It really is me.
Open up.
Won't you let me in?
I waited for you
Let the years pass by
I listened to hear
The
'It's all right.'
I'm knocking at your gate again
Bloody knuckles
Scraped skin.
Panic is gaining hold on me
Please
I whisper
Let me in.
I taste tears..
Who is crying and why?
My vision is blurred
There is stinging in my eyes.
I'm knocking at your gate again.
Waiting
For the gusty wind to carry me away
From this lonesome place.
I'm knocking at your gate again.
Why won't you answer?
Why won't you let me in?
I'm walking down the path again
Away from you,
Away from this thing..
Whatever binds us
Will eventually break.
The threads will give way
Perhaps then
I will have found my escape.
No shelter here
Nothing secure
you don't even bother to peak
Through the curtains anymore.
I'm leaving you,
battered and bruised,
To a new place
A better home
Somewhere safe.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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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 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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What Must You Do?
oh, those little things
like the brown grasses of summer,
a flower that blooms in the middle of those rocks
the worm that crawls its way slowly to the humid part
the black bird that stays alone on a branch
the tree that keeps on shedding off its leaves
the dry wind, the post in the middle of the rice field
a banana leaf torn on its sides
a concrete fence surrounding the university
these and those that people do not mind
are mine to write about
we make out our links to all these
we make our own definitions of the self
with what we also mean to them
the black bird staring, the concrete fence of indifference.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wait A Little While
Heres a sweet september morning, theres the sense of autumn on the rise
He steps into the wind and sadly sighs
Why does it always seem to be, theres a cold december wind in front of me?
The more he fills his empty evenings
The less he feels that theres a chance to find
Something that can bring a peace of mind
Is there a place where you can go?
A little something you should know to turn the tide to your favor?
Chorus:
Wait a little while to welcome what youre after
Give it the time to find its way to you
And soon as you no longer try, youll turn and find it standing by your side
Come and get it, when you let it, itll come to you
(instrumental break)
Chorus (with staring in your eyes)
When I run short on inspiration, I best recall what Ive known all along
n I remember sweet septembers song, there never really has to be
A cold and bitter wind in front of me anymore
Chorus (with staring in your eyes)
Just forget it and wait a little while, while, while
Wait a little while, everything will come to you in time
Wait a little while - everything will come to you in time
Wait a little while - every little things gonna come to you in time
Wait a little while - everything will come to you in time
Wait a little while - everything will come to you in time
Wait a little while
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Could Be The Wind
I want to be the wind blowing in forest playing their own song.
I want to be the wind bringing smiles for farmers.
I want to be the wind bringing rain, helping fireman in his hardest time.
I want to be the wind assisting plant to expand their kingdom.
I want to be the wind smoothly blowing over the sea and bringing fisherman home safely.
I want to be the wind covering the thing which ought to be left in past.
I want to be the wind clearing the mind of those with agony
I want to be the wind blowing in summer and tending to those without shelter.
I want to be the wind which bring happiness to the children taking their kite high up in the sky.
I want to be the wind removing clouds of torment and allowing sun to lay down its vital warmth.
I want to be the wind which remove thorn from path and help people to move forward.
I want to be the wind helping bird to take their first flight.
I want to be the wind which leaves versifier rapt giving him his divine words
I want to be the wind blowing all over place bringing happiness to people and vanishes stealthily, unnoticed.
I WANT TO BE THE WIND…
poem by Parth Gwari
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The West Side
SOMEWHERE - West Side Story
There's a place for us, somewhere a place for us
Peace and quiet and open air wait for us somewhere
There's a time for us,
Someday a time for us
Time together with time to spare
Time to look, time to care
Someday, somewhere,
We'll find a new way of living
We'll find a way of forgiving
Somewhere.
There's a place for us
A time and place for us
Hold my hand and we're halfway there
Hold my hand and I'll take you there
Somehow, someday, somewhere.
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Maple
is a system of posture for wood.
A way of not falling down
for twigs that happens
to benefit birds. I don't know.
I'm staring at a tree,
at yellow leaves
threshed by wind and want you
reading this to be staring
at the same tree. I could
cut it down and laminate it
or ask you to live with me
on the stairs with the window
keeping an eye on the maple
but I think your real life
would miss you. The story
here is that all morning
I've thought of the statement
that art is about loneliness
while watching golden leaves
become unhinged.
By ones or in bunches
they tumble and hang
for a moment like a dress
in the dryer.
At the laundromat
you've seen the arms
thrown out to catch the shirt
flying the other way.
Just as you've stood
at the bottom of a gray sky
in a pile of leaves
trying to lick them
back into place.
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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Morning Time
Wind was blowing through the trees
I could hear the rustling of their leaves
The morning sun sneaking through the clouds
Birds singing morning sounds
For i love this time i say
Morning of a new day
I wonder what the day has in store
In the distance i hear the waves crashing the shore
For it is morning time and all is a buzz
From the depths of the oceans
To the skies above
Good morning morning i always say
My your a beautiful day
Maybe you might rain today
Your still beautiful anyway
The sombre breeze that blows around
The birds singing
As i spread my blanket on the ground
So i lay here looking into the sky
Motionless waiting and watching the world pass me by
A few drops of rain speckle my face
I would not give up being here for any place
For Baby (For Bobbie)
Ill walk in the rain by your side
Ill cling to the warmth of your hand
Ill do anything to keep you satisfied
Ill love you more than anybody can
And the wind will whisper your name to me
Little birds will sing along in time
Leaves will bow down when you walk by
And morning bells will chime
Ill be there when youre feelin down
To kiss away the fears if you cry
Ill share with you all the happiness Ive found
A reflection of the love in your eyes
And Ill sing you the songs of the rainbow
A whisper of the joy that is mine
And leaves will bow down when you walk by
And morning bells will chime
Ill walk in the rain by your side
Ill cling to the warmth of your tiny hand
Ill do anything to help you understand
And Ill love you more than anybody can
And the wind will whisper your name to me
Little birds will sing along in time
Leaves will bow down when you walk by
And morning bells will chime
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meeting again [Revedere]
– Forest friendly and sincere,
How are you today, my dear,
For since I have seen you last
Lots of years have quickly passed
And since far away I've been
Half the world my eyes have seen.
– I do always what I know,
Hear the blizzard bringing woe,
Breaking branches in its race
Covering the waters' face
Snowing up the narrow way
Chasing all my birds away;
– And in summer, all the time,
Hear the doina, song sublime,
On the path where people mount
To fetch water from the fount,
Filling their jugs with care
Sing the women young and fair.
– Forest dear, with rivers clear
Time goes by and time comes near.
You are young, as people say,
But grow younger every day.
– What is time, despite its aches
Stars still sparkle in the lakes,
If the time is good around
The wind blows, the leaves will sound;
If the time is wild and free
Flows the Danube to the sea,
Only people change from birth,
Wandering upon the earth,
While we stay unmoved therein,
Peaceful as we've always been:
Rivers, oceans, sandy strands,
The world with its desert lands,
Moon and sun and other things,
And the forest with its springs.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Feels Like The First Time
I would climb any mountain
Sail across a stormy sea
If thats what it takes me baby
To show you how much you mean to me
And I guess its just the woman in you
That brings out the man in me
I know I cant help myself
Youre all in the world to me
It feels like the first time
Feels like the very first time
It feels like the first time
It feels like the very first time
I have waited a lifetime
Spent my time so foolishly
But now that Ive found you
Together well make history
And I know that it must be the woman in you
That brings out the man in me
I know I cant help myself
Youre all that my eyes can see
And it feels like the first time
Like it never did before
Feels like the first time
Like weve opened up the door
Feels like the first time
Like it never will again, never again
Feels like the first time, it feels like the first time
It feels like the very first time, very, very, it feels
It feels like the first time, oh it feels like the first time
It feels like the very first time
Open up the door, wont you open up the door? yeah
Feels like the first time
And it feels like the very first time
And it feels like the first time
It feels like the very first time
And it feels like the first time
It feels like the very first time
Oh it feels, it feels like the first time
Yeah it feels like the first time
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Early Morning
under the trees
you tread upon a heap of leaves
only a few feet walked on this path
the winds came and gave a hush
it has been this way
since
meanwhile some rays of light
begin to pierce crevices between
touchy
the leaves fall like a confetti
you remember
once when freedom first arrived
in the streets of the city
you hear the shouts of joy
for liberation
you remember opening hands
some fists
it is over now
and what you have are the sounds of footsteps
on the heaps of leaves
on this path
where no one likes to tread again
you are
alone again but stronger this time
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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Settle Down My Boy
Settle down, an eat your peas and gravy, my boy
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Stop wasting all your time with running around the town
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Knuckle down and find a job and take some responsibility
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
The futures something you should be thinking about
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Look around for a wife to start a family, my boy
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Listen toy our father and hell tell you the same as me
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Your words would go in one ear and out the other side
Dont say my head was empty and I had things to hide
And you better put something away for your old age
So settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down uh huh huh
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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