In My Island...
there is no regret having stayed
in this humble land of my
forefathers,
there are no chocolates,
no green money,
nothing of those jumbo hot-dogs
and burgers and hams and sandwiches
no coffee or tea
nothing of those cakes and wheat breads
plain potatoes and dried fish
and staple rice
no earthquakes, no volcanic eruptions,
no tsunamis
i am not stuck in here
we live here
forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To The Land
To the land of bribes,
To the land of telephones,
To the land of corruptions,
To the land of trains,
To the land of shops,
To the land of thieves,
To the land of connections,
To the land of drugs,
To the land of trucks,
To the land of cats,
To the land of Banks,
To the land of dogs, To the land of footballers,
To the land of dragons,
To the land of hope,
To the land of ice-cream,
To the land of potatoes,
To the land of chocolates,
To the land of tomatoes,
To the land of apples,
To the land of coffee,
To the land of lights,
To the land of ships,
To the land of birds,
To the land of tigers,
To the land of carpets,
To the land of pillows,
To the land of lions,
TO the land of toys,
To the land of horses,
To the land of beds,
To the land of roses,
To the land of love,
To the land of passion,
To the land of romance;
I never new women do snore until i married one.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Do not expect too much
This is it, this is poetry
Written by this man
He is looking by his window
To the world like a little boy
Still wondering, scribbling
Some figures of man and
Superman, putting them wings
Imagining that soon they will fly,
Do not expect too much
I myself do not have wings
I do not promise you any
I am simply writing the view
The green ricefields I do not
Have rice for you to cook I do
Not have water for you to drink
I have these words, only you
Can convert them to steamed
Rice to cakes to bacons to ham
To fish to sea to clouds to sun
Or simply coffee for you to sip
When you still hunger for breakfast.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walk The Talk
where do you live?
i ask him
'i live there' he says,
pointing to a far place
it is a greenery, a forest opaque to the mist,
there is a path that leads there
on bare feet, and without any burden
to carry on
your back,
he says he is an honest man
and shall live with it for many years to come
he says he comes from a family of honest genealogy
and he thrives on simple living and word of honor
his face has a very gentle disposition
like that of the
common lamb
his words are soft
like a rose that you enclose with your hand
before he left for his intended journey
i had a bowl of rice and a
dried fish in my kitchen
i almost believe him
until my bowl of rice
and dried fish are all gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At The Farm
there is this world of farmworkers
riceplanters and coconut gatherers
they have a language of their own,
their dreams so earthbound and
so unlike our sophistications,
they talk about what to eat
only for this day, their desserts
plain sugar chunks, their main
dish just plain rice, their drinks
just plain water from the well
and their feast, a bowl of
extra rice and two pieces of
dried fish, and they talk about
their sunday dance with the
banana vendors and the
charms of the housemaids
at the north end of the barrio.
simple dreams of day to
day existences of what is
just within their grasp and
hold: just today and no
peeping about what
tomorrow may bring.
and yet, i see them, they
laugh the hardest in the
fields and talk about sex
without restraints, and
i must agree: they are
happier than all of us
on this earth combined.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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October Silk
I liked the rice candy
at the Chinese market
at University Heights
where the Chinese lady
with the blue-black bangs
wrapped Almond cookies
in cellophane packets
where Pork Fried Rice
came in square containers
with no.3 choice of chow mein,
as people lined up out the door
and into the street
Four lanes of heavy bags
of Jasmine rice and Plum paste
of Green tea and rice cakes
and I stumble into the aisle
You like cookies? the Chinese man
asks holding up the small bag,
leaning over the rows of Bok Choy
and loose-packed Snow-peas
The Chinese lady
moves in October silk
she gives me my Rice candy
and a sample of dried Plums,
the fragrant smell of Jasmine
and Vanilla Bean heavy in the air.
poem by Louise Marie DelSanto
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Race Persists in Food Habit
Rice came from the east, wheat from the north.
In south was millet already,2000 years ago,
As staple food of the Dravidian.
Food is the reminder of the race.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Stones Whisper Tsunami Warnings
cool breeze soft whispers
wise carved sacred words
in ancient spirit tsunamis
marker warning stones
whisper in hot sunshine
heated days summer passing
whisper in ice cold breezes
winter snows seasons passing
whisper in ears of farmers
whisper in ears of artisans
whisper in ears of descendants
whisper in ears of samurai
earthquakes tsunamis
haunt over centuries
flee risk earthquakes
flee to safe mountains
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Amen, Amen...
for the few grains of rice that i have given you
and for the slice of fish,
God has given me more than what
i have parted,
God has given me a house, a rice granary,
a thousand loaves of bread,
an ocean of fish
plus a book of poems,
plus the nightingale songs
My heart sings praises for Him.
For every grain of rice that i have shared with a hungry neighbor,
God has replenished me with truckloads.
FOR THE FEW cents that i have given as fare for the old woman
who wishes to go home,
God has repaid me money in bundles.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eating rice cakes is like chewing on a foam coffee cup, only less filling.
quote by Dave Barry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Varied Menu
Chicken and rice.
Fish and rice.
Rice and chicken.
Rice and fish.
Varied menu - 'ish!
Nice jungle place.
There's plenty of space.
Fresh clean air
But that dietary pair,
Fish or chicken
.....Not again!
So more trekking with a frown
Back to Georgetown.....
poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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Many of America's historical cornbreads were staple breads for people who didn't have many other options.
quote by Jeremy Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Savoring The Silence Of Privacy
actually we learn more
from ourselves by not talking much
words are assuming
the sounds of rain
sometimes unnecessary thunder
everything still
like quite quiet
words become to crowded
on such a limited space
words that are meant not
to be uttered
because they are too precious
in our privacy
not to be shared
and we learn more from this
respect for stillness
for the poplar state
no wonder how God has not
put mouths to this earth
which when it speaks
shows its tongue in tsunamis
its screams in volcanic eruptions
its fears in quakes
i am studying in my lifetime
the art of silence
the beauty of words unspoken
on my lips
are embroidered tendrils
of climbing
morning glories
on the trellis of my mind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Is A Box Of Chocolates
love is a box of chocolates,
white chocolates,
milk chocolates,
dark chocolates,
mixed chocolates,
each chocolate gives you a different experience.
poem by Keelie Morgan
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Lazybone...
is there a place in earth where
happiness exists like a mountain
of chocolates and a sea of
brewed coffee?
(Translate as: a happy place
do you still like chocolates? or coffee toffee?)
if such place exists, perhaps i want to go
there and spend some time there
and then i will send you a letter and tell you
that you are not a liar.
(What is the idea really? what is the point?)
you want to know? Figure it out.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lunch
America’s corporate souls
have just finished eating
at the buffet trough, ingested
noon day blues. In their bellies
burgers and fries acidify
into atomic shit particles
to be gassed out into commodes
into bayous and oceans
to feed fish which get ground up
to feed other fish and then cows
hormonized to make more burgers and fries.
Yesterday a postal clerk said to me
as she reloaded and unloaded her glock,
“I’ve given these SOB’s my ovaries
but they will not have my soul,
not my soul. I am a woman
not some damn fish.”
poem by Charles Harvey
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Civilization Cyclic Changes
pacific decadal oscillation
song craft introspection
earth rich sonic textures
seed powerful varied forces
future echo fury devastation cycles
storm ecstatic melancholies
remarkable golden civilizations
spectrum sonic sung experiences
beautifully crafted melodic songs
erupts volcanic tsunamis waves
tornado thunderstorm supercell storms
mega earthquakes chaos collapses
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Man with Three Wives...
you ask,
how can did he manage to
have three wives?
well, he always buys things
in three sets:
three kilos of sugar
three bags of rice
three pieces of fish
three pinches of salt
three sachets of native coffee
three coffee mugs
three dresses with same design
and so everyone is happy
ever after.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poverty
he is arrested today on a charge of grave threats
against his very own aunt who owns a store selling rice and salted fish
and sugar and coffee and eggs and mongo beans
he has nothing to eat and hurt his back and cannot really walk straight
like an ordinary man
yesterday he asksed a little help from his aunt for he was so hungry and had not eaten his breakfast as last night it rained so hard and his lamp went out andcould not catch the american frogs on the pond that taste like chickens for his supper with his mother and two other siblings who are very hungry too and there are no more bananas and potatoes in their farm which did not yield a good harvest of rice as the cost of fertilizer has gone more than twice their price last month and they have nothing to spray to kill the army worms
and the clerk asks if they have no chickens and there is none as all died
because of bird flu that came too early this year
and he was too angry because his aunt would not give them a little rice
or at least let them borrow for the meantime that they have no work
because the municipality is laying off all the casual employees that dig
the ditch along the muddy road
and so he threatened his aunt as he was so hungry and he took the chupa of
rice and a cup of mongo beans and a piece of salted fish for home
and so he is arrested today not just for grave threats but also for theft
he is the thief
that hunger and anger have successfully molded before our very eyes
that know no pity no compassion, and we shall now ask:
what is the verdict your honor? is he guilty as charged?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Childhood
At the height of sun-pressed summer
the tar on the seaside pavement
stuck to the Start-Rite sandals
with a sound like half-dried glue.
Gg-luck, went each step. Bliss.
Life needed nothing else.
Because we have not yet lived our life
we do not know - to grasp, or hoard -
that this - to live in the present with every sense,
without a thought, without a care -
is a totality of happiness
we may yearn for later
but may remember
properly
without sentiment,
without regret;
and thus,
forever.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Mother Nature
Often I marvel at Mother Nature
And its unique adventures
It has in stock for us
I have to say Mother Nature is the boss
Everyone has DNA-like life experience
Sometimes it can be monotonously intense
But Mother Nature is supreme
And Mother Nature is extreme
Often I ponder on why Mother Nature
Is sporadically insane with jealousy
Committing many a time unspeakable atrocities
Tornados, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions
It showers, making its necessary modifications
Tidal waves are its trademark of destruction
Of natural and artificial creations
But Mother Nature always makes up
With multiplication and replication of the living!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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