I Have Seen Your Picture With Your Daughters In Kimono
i have seen a long time ago
you and your daughters in their colorfol kimonos
then there was this guitar that you play
and the english language that you teach
and the education you are giving them
there are other many people in this world
not just us,
we are not living inside walls and fences
there are other playgrounds out there
where you my children can
play
beyond colors beyond chinky eyes
are other possibilities with us
the firetrees here burn with loneliness
this summer
forgetting the color of your memories
Japan, the city of the sun
where you now live
has claimed the name of your soul
but i know
under the blooms of cherry blossoms
this spring your heart still beats for the fire trees here
you still love the scent of the champaca
miss the yellow ylang-ylang on the hill
and the dama de noche has more love stories
to tell for the dark nights
where fireflies still flicker
those that we have long forgotten
still exist
we shall meet somehow filled with stories those left untold
when we have busied ourselves
with what could have been so unnecessary
those that we see only after they have been taken away
and time shall sit in one corner of the garden's wooden benches
and ponder
was there something wrong with the past?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Then The Tears Shall Start To Fall
Another year has ended
Summer has come for us to bask in the sun
In sandy white beaches with friends,
But I must now take leave
My time has come
Alas, the ylang-ylang trees in our garden
Without me
Shall still bloom and spread its scents
When the wind comes again
Tonight
Then the tears shall start
To fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pruning A Very Long Poem
THIS IS A VERY LONG POEM AND I WANT IT PRUNED:
I used to like gardens, putting flowers on the row,
Tending the soil, cutting the grass,
Removing the weeds,
Pruning the lush greenery of trees
And making the flor-de-luna vines
Create a certain impression
Of a landscape,
A certain motif
A theme of gladness
Something to cherish
I take a good look around my
Little garden
And then I would sit under the shade of flowering champaca trees throwing fragrance
Sprinkling perfume
The neighbors say that the scent of ylang-ylang even reaches their houses
And the white sampaguitas so exuding
I used to dirty my hands putting soil on the flower pots
Designing landscapes of love
And patience, curves and hills,
And tend to all the colors mixing in space,
I used to
I am telling you I stopped
When I married,
My wife comes to my garden
And rearranges everything
She puts what she wants
And pulls what she
Thinks repels her
She cuts the flowers
Puts them on the vase
And uproots some species
That I love
And soon the garden has not become mine
Crowded, and strange
And what used to be my little garden
Green Bermuda grass and patterns
Red Anthuriums heart shaped
Pink Dahlias praying to the sun
Orange Gumamelas dancing in the wind
And yellow dancing ladies beaming with pride
Olive Palms waiving to passers by with all cheers
Violets so assuming
White lilies in pure dignities
Lotuses in meditation moods
Husky Cactuses confident with thorns
Finger Ferns so fine and cool
My garden
Now is a forest
The wanton chaos
My garden is gone
All the patterns changed
Drastically
And she asks me
She asks me
Why I don’t tend the garden anymore
She asks me
If something is wrong
If everything has gone wrong
She asks me if I still love my garden
She asks me if I can begin planting some seeds again
She asks me if I still love her,
AND THIS IS HOW I PRUNED IT:
I like gardens
I don’t tend the garden anymore
I still love her,
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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112
THIS IS A VERY LONG POEM AND I WANT IT PRUNED:
I used to like gardens, putting flowers on the row,
Tending the soil, cutting the grass,
Removing the weeds,
Pruning the lush greenery of trees
And making the flor-de-luna vines
Create a certain impression
Of a landscape,
A certain motif
A theme of gladness
Something to cherish
I take a good look around my
Little garden
And then I would sit under the shade of flowering champaca trees throwing fragrance
Sprinkling perfume
The neighbors say that the scent of ylang-ylang even reaches their houses
And the white sampaguitas so exuding
I used to dirty my hands putting soil on the flower pots
Designing landscapes of love
And patience, curves and hills,
And tend to all the colors mixing in space,
I used to
I am telling you I stopped
When I married,
My wife comes to my garden
And rearranges everything
She puts what she wants
And pulls what she
Thinks repels her
She cuts the flowers
Puts them on the vase
And uproots some species
That I love
And soon the garden has not become mine
Crowded, and strange
And what used to be my little garden
Green Bermuda grass and patterns
Red Anthuriums heart shaped
Pink Dahlias praying to the sun
Orange Gumamelas dancing in the wind
And yellow dancing ladies beaming with pride
Olive Palms waiving to passers by with all cheers
Violets so assuming
White lilies in pure dignities
Lotuses in meditation moods
Husky Cactuses confident with thorns
Finger Ferns so fine and cool
My garden
Now is a forest
The wanton chaos
My garden is gone
All the patterns changed
Drastically
And she asks me
She asks me
Why I don’t tend the garden anymore
She asks me
If something is wrong
If everything has gone wrong
She asks me if I still love my garden
She asks me if I can begin planting some seeds again
She asks me if I still love her,
AND THIS IS HOW I PRUNED IT:
I like gardens
I don’t tend the garden anymore
I still love her,
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I miss you
Here I am all alone again
Starring the sun until it’s down
I think of you all day long
Long before the ocean meets the stream
Long before the rain starts to fall
I miss you
Like a flower that blooms in spring
I miss you
Like the air that I’m breathing
I lay awake at night.
That every time I close my eyes
All I can see is you,
I only get you inside my mind
You’re everything that I ever knew
I miss you.
Like a winter that comes for a while,
I miss you.
Like a summer, sky that falls in May.
Here I am talking on a wind
Hoping I could understand them
To say these words I wanted to
Wondering if you’re thinking of me too
And it was so impossible to do
I miss you
Like a rainfall that comes in season
I miss you
Like a river that flow back to the sea
Of all the things I ever see
In this world of odds and ends
That love appears over the horizon
I love chasing the rainbow in the sky
And it feels I m to close to you
I miss you
Like a love song that I used to play
I miss you
Like a candle lightened my soul
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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242
then the tears shall start to fall
Another year has ended
Summer has come for us to bask in the sun
In sandy white beaches with friends,
But I must now take leave
My time has come
Alas, the ylang-ylang trees in our garden
Without me
Shall still bloom and spread its scents
When the wind comes again
Tonight
Then the tears shall start
To fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You and Yellow Air
YOU, AND YELLOW AIR by John Shaw Neilson
I dream of an old kissing-time
And the flowered follies there;
In the dim place of cherry-trees,
Of you, and yellow air.
It was an age of babbling,
When the players would play
Mad with the wine and miracles
Of a charmed holiday.
Bewildered was the warm earth
With whistling and sighs,
And a young foal spoke all his heart
With diamonds for eyes.
You were of Love's own colour
In eyes and heart and hair;
In the dim place of cherry-trees
Ridden by yellow air.
It was the time when red lovers
With the red fevers burn;
A time of bells and silver seeds
And cherries on the turn.
Children looked into tall trees
And old eyes looked behind;
God in His glad October
No sullen man could find.
Out of your eyes a magic
Fell lazily as dew,
And every lad with lad's eyes
Made summer love to you.
It was a reign of roses,
Of blue flowers for the eye,
And the rustling of green girls
Under a white sky.
I dream of an old kissing-time
And the flowered follies there,
In the dim place of cherry-trees,
Of you, and yellow air.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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Play On Love
Now when you open your mouth, what comes out
Whats the first word, whats the first line?
When you open your mouth and love comes out
Then you know, you just sang the clear line
Ive heard people say it a thousand times
In a thousand different ways
Ive heard people play it a thousand times
And they know, they know thats the only way
To play.
You got to
Play on love
Play on love
Play on love
Play on love.
Now are you talking about what it is you know
Or just repeating what it was you heard
Someone told you just exactly what to say
And you know, you know thats only one set
Of words
You got to play on love.
Ive heard people say it a thousand times
In a thousand different ways
Ive heard people play it a thousand times
And they know thats the only way to play
You been a reading it without living it
Now thats the golden prison we can always find
Living in stories and living in books or
We can live and leave all the stories behind.
Its up to you and its up to me
Come down yelling timber through the
Burning trees
Whos been telling you about perfection
And how did he get in here, thats the question.
He mustve
Played on love
Played on love
Played on love
Played on love.
Ive heard people say it a thousand times....
You got to
Play on love
Play on love
Play on love
Play on love.
Reading it without living it...
You got to
Play on love
Play on love
Play on love
Play on love.
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Music Is My Life
I am just sitting here,
Making love to my guitar
Strumming out music,
My love doesn't stray too far.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Hugs and kisses come easy,
From the strings that I caress.
There is nothing more pretty,
Than my guitar in full dress.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
I am carried into ecstasy
With each note that floats out
Feel the music within me,
It's busting its way out.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Play the music with me,
Sing and raise your voice.
You will feel the love of Music,
Your heart will have no choice.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Life cannot deny me love,
Or the music that's inside me
The melodies are my heart and soul,
And it will always be my decree.
REB (FEB 2012) Dedicated to Twig Sullivan, because music is her life
poem by Rik Bertrand
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My Music Is My Life
MUSIC IS MY LIFE
I am just sitting here,
Making love to my guitar
Strumming out music,
My love doesn’t stray too far.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Hugs and kisses come easy,
From the strings that I caress.
There is nothing more pretty,
Than my guitar in full dress.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
I am carried into ecstasy
With each note that floats out
Feel the music within me,
It’s busting its way out.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Play the music with me,
Sing and raise your voice.
You will feel the love of Music,
Your heart will have no choice.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Life cannot deny me love,
Or the music that’s inside me
The melodies are my heart and soul,
And it will always be my decree.
REB (FEB 2012) Dedicated to Twig Sullivan, because music is her life
poem by Rik Bertrand
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Dear Friend
i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,
i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests
and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence
as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)
there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,
please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:
write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Heart Still Beats
You're holding me
I close my eyes
You're whispering
And I start to cry
You feel so good
So beautiful
For as long as you live
Don't let me go
Just hold me
Touch me
Feel me
As long as you love me
Reach for me
And need me
If you could trust me
And teach me
Never let go of me
Because you're half of me
My heart still beats
Looking in the eyes
The eyes of love
I hold your face
And I see the sun
And I taste your kiss
You touch my soul
I'm feeling things
I've never felt before
Just hold me
Touch me
Feel me
As long as you love me
Reach for me
And need me
If you could trust me
And teach me
Never let go of me
Because you're half for me
My heart still beats
I am feeling
What they call pure love
I never know
Feelings like this
Could exist
Inside of me
I'm soaring
Emotions exploding
I don't wanna live
Another day if you're
Not here with me
Just hold me
Touch me
Feel me
As long as you love me
Reach for me
And need me
If you could trust me
And teach me
Never let go of me
Because you're half of me
My heart still beats
Because you're half of me
song performed by by Destiny's Child from Survivor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Letter Dated July 1,2008, To Me, It Is Poem By Itself
I wonder how many more poems related to me I've missed.
I also wonder if you're a mind-reader.
Every springtime when the cherries bloom,
I do think of fire trees dotting Mt. Makiling
and lining the highways of Los Banos.
When wisterias bloom here,
I think of the jade vine in Makiling forest.
The pink, red and white flowers of azalea are pretty when they bloom in April to May,
but they can't compare with the explosion of colors of bougainvillea flowers trailing over the terraces of the buildings of IRRI where I used to work years ago.
I wonder if they are still there.
I did ask my father to plant ylang-ylang or sampaguita years ago,
because in Dipolog,
I can hardly find them anymore.
But father preferred palm trees, orchids, and anthurium.
Yes, I'll always miss the land of my birth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gambol (a ghazal)
Received and given, preening doves
in courtship sway, they play for love.
Children bouncing balls off walls,
a ricochet they play for love.
Sculptors stories live in folds
of molded clay they play for love.
Gamblers stake to make or break
in rash parley they play for love.
Newlyweds on feather beds
in hideaways, they play for love.
Chiropractors whack the cracks
on vertebrae they play for love.
Glissandi slip from fingertips,
a strummed segue they play for love.
Scrabble rivals settle scores
in worded fray they play for love.
Shady names inflame with games
in sobriquet, they play for love.
Players love and lovers play
I love to play, I play for love.
poem by Diane Hine
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A Long Term Memory I Have
A Long Term memory I have
Holding tons of shocking stories
Inside my heart
A long term memory I have
The memories of poison and blood I have
Running inside me
A long term memory I have
The memories that holds
Some faces of blood eating
Monsters that lives near my heart
A long term memories
Of hate and hating
Myself
A black heart I have
Pumping poison into my body
Restlessly every time
All the happiness is sucked by
A blackhole of bad memories
All the love is vanished by
A tornado of hate and loneliness
All I have now is
Memories of
poem by Shyama Mohapatra
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So I Ask You...What Of The Children?
Who will teach our children?
Who will teach our children? I speak not
of the lessons of school, but those of
life, living and those of God.
Who will teach our children, that in
war no one wins and all humanity loses
a part of who we are.
Who will teach our children, that God,
morality, honesty, love and respect are
the corner stones of the civilized world.
Without them, mankind will crumble and
disappeared forever more.
Who will teach our children of compassion
for their fellow man and respect for anothers
God, or color or creed?
Who will teach our children, all these things
and more?
The answer is whispered in your love...beating
in your heart....and echoed in your soul.
Who will teach our children? ...It must be you.
SONNET: But things suit me?
There is a smile on the lips of children;
There is a look of innocence, always;
They seem to forget and to forgive when,
Adults display a wretched, gloomy face!
Oh, how they play about and love their play!
Oh, how they long for love and words of praise!
Oh, how they dream of presents from a fay!
And how they fall asleep or cry always!
But, does this world not ill-treat children?
Do children have their freedom, entitled?
Are elders kind, giving them tender touch?
Many a time, their hearts seem anguish-filled!
How can this world deny children their needs?
What kind of trees develop from ill-formed seeds?
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: on children
There is a smile on the lips of children;
There is a look of innocence, always;
They seem to forget and to forgive when,
Adults display a wretched, gloomy face!
Oh, how they play about and love their play!
Oh, how they long for love and words of praise!
Oh, how they dream of presents from a fay!
And how they fall asleep or cry always!
But, does this world not ill-treat children?
Do children have their freedom, entitled?
Are elders kind, giving them tender touch?
Many a time, their hearts seem anguish-filled!
How can this world deny children their needs?
What kind of trees develop from ill-formed seeds?
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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384
how i wish the world is blind to see me naked and broken
they always say
ever since i was small
this little boy is ugly
he will not have a promising future
(did they think that i better be thrown
to the sea and be eaten by sharks
or to the forest so i can be the prey
to those predators?)
they let me live, however,
thanks, nonetheless, and i have grown to be what i am
ugly
learning to live this way
ugly
time however has told me a different story
about the ugliness that lies only on the surface of
things, and living memories have grown in me
the seeds
some possibilities
for beauty
like i can grow a mind of my own
like i can be cultivated like a beautiful flower
of my choosing
in my own garden
like i can have the possibility of
a sweet scent
or i can be a slender plant that will bear
some luscious fruits
to feed the world and make it feel
that i can
quench its thirst
or satisfy its hunger
i have learned patiently
how to be a better possibility and long time ago
when i undressed myself
removing some layers of sadness
and confusion
skin upon skin upon skin
i was once afraid of everything
the windows
the cracks and the crevices
i was once afraid of the hundred eyes of this world
those walls barring me
those writings on the fences of my existence
shouting that
i am ugly
(that i do not have the right to live
or anything to live with)
i go naked again
time places another mirror at the center of my
thoughts,
to see another me
i am beautiful
in my nakedness
now, i do not wish anymore a blind world
so it can see the unfolding
the coming of my
thousand possibilities like some kind winds
white sea caps and gentle sands,
i am beautiful and i really know it now
by heart
this confident soul undressed and still so beautiful.
that you, my lovely world,
must start to see.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Four Seasons Of Loneliness
4 Season of Loneliness"
I long for the warmth of days gone by,
When you were mine,
But now those days are memories in time.
Life's empty without you by my side.
My heart belongs to you, no matter what I try.
When I get the courage up to love somebody new,
It always falls apart 'cause they just can't compare to you.
Your love won't release me,
I'm bound under ball and chain,
Reminiscing our love, as I watch four seasons change.
CHORUS:
In comes the Winter breeze,
That chills the air and drifts the snow.
And I imagine kissing you under the mistletoe.
When Springtime make it's way here,
Lilac blooms reminds me of the scent of your perfume.
When Summer burns with heat I always get the hots for you,
Go skinny dipping in the Ocean where we used to do.
When Autumn sheds the leaves the trees are bare,
When you're not here,
It doesn't feel the same.
Remember the nights when we closed our eyes,
And vowed that you and I would be in love for all time.
Anytime I think about these things I shared with you,
I break down and cry 'cause I get so emotional.
Until you release me I'm bound under ball and chain,
Reminiscing our love, as I watch four seasons change.
REPEAT CHORUS.
This loneliness, has crushed my heart,
Please let me love again.
'Cause I need your love to comfort me and ease my pain,
Or 4 seasons will bring,
The loneliness again.
song performed by by Boyz II Men
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How I Wish The World Does Not Have A Hundred Eyes To See Me Naked
how i wish the world is blind to see me naked and broken
they always say
ever since i was small
this little girl is ugly
she will not have a promising future
(did they think that i better be thrown
to the sea and be eaten by sharks
or to the forest so i can be the prey
to those predators?)
they let me live, however,
thanks, nonetheless, and i have grown to be what i am
ugly
learning to live this way
ugly
time however has told me a different story
about the ugliness that lies only on the surface of
things, and living memories have grown in me
the seeds
some possibilities
for beauty
like i can grow a mind of my own
like i can be cultivated like a beautiful flower
of my choosing
in my own garden
like i can have the possibility of
a sweet scent
or i can be a slender plant that will bear
some luscious fruits
to feed the world and make it feel
that i can
quench its thirst
or satisfy its hunger
i have learned patiently
how to be a better possibility and long time ago
when i undressed myself
removing some layers of sadness
and confusion
skin upon skin upon skin
i was once afraid of everything
the windows
the cracks and the crevices
i was once afraid of the hundred eyes of this world
those walls barring me
those writings on the fences of my existence
shouting that
i am ugly
(that i do not have the right to live
or anything to live with)
i go naked again
time places another mirror at the center of my
thoughts,
to see another me
i am beautiful
in my nakedness
now, i do not wish anymore a blind world
so it can see the unfolding
the coming of my
thousand possibilities like some kind winds
white sea caps and gentle sands,
i am beautiful and i really know it now
by heart
this confident soul undressed and still so beautiful.
that you, my lovely world, must start to see.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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