In This Lonely Island
In this lonely island
I will go
Where the hermit
Crabs
Dry their
borrowed shells
As they bathe
Themselves
Under
The sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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148
In this lonely island
I will go
Where the hermit
Crabs
Dry their
borrowed shells
As they bathe
Themselves
Under
The sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Borrowed
borrowed shirts, borrowed shoes,
borrowed books, borrowed thoughts,
borrowed bed, borrowed lover,
borrowed dreams, borrowed salt.
borrowed children, borrowed mothers,
borrowed study, borrowed lives.
borrowed God, borrowed heaven,
borrowed killers with borrowed knives.
borrowed flags, borrowed lies,
borrowed virtue, borrowed freedom.
borrowed bombs, borrowed bullets,
borrowed puppets, borrowed kingdoms.
borrowed soup bowls, borrowed numbers,
borrowed tents, borrowed bridge.
borrowed hope, borrowed survival,
borrowed till it's sacrilige!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Lonely Woman And The Sea
tonight the lonely woman sits beside the sea again
her feet are too small and her hands too gentle
she speaks about what is missing and she recalls what she cannot find
she likes the song of the empty shells
the hermit crabs are too clumsy for her
her hair falls on the rocks and she begins to shed some tears
the sea keeps on waving, signalling as though sending the message
' please don't i have so much salt inside my belly'
but the lonely woman keeps on crying and she cannot be stopped
the sea is mute and the lonely woman is deaf
the tree says they make a good pair and someone says further
they can, who knows, without a hitch, live happily ever after
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Hermit Crab
The hermit crabs life is all but exciting live all alone
and in the sahdows in the bottom of the teary sea
feelings no comfort and no love this crab is all alone
no friends and allways hurting everyone
he use to have friends till the day he found him self this shell of dark sleeping alone
and being alone this crab used that bad to fell worse
we the other crabs of life the ones that live a full happy life
need to find him/her and bring this hermit out of it's shell
show to the hermit that talking isn't all bad
but being alone is talk about your problems dont hide in a shell
Sailing The Sea Of Love
and so tired of the weepy willows,
ironic about the daily news of love
abandoned, lovers abscond,
about a love lost, lover betrayed,
you heave a sigh and for once
agree with your feet to stroll the
shores of love: the hermit
crabs finally exchanging
shells for love beds, the worms
giggling for new partners
setting aside hermaproditic
decisions, the seagulls mating
on air and on top of the roofs
of boats moving out to sea
wave after wave of love
you sail out to sea all alone still
wishing that on the other island
you shall meet your best find.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Time Clicks Upon A New Point Of View
if you think that poetry is free time,
that is, you only do it because you have nothing to do
you are wrong. It is at the top of the busy day
when pressure becomes too much
when you see the two hands of the clock
in a race
when not one hand knows how to stop
when it is about to have a broken knee
when the numbers become like
a gasoline meter
you stop a while
touch your neck
rub a little balm of balsam
or vick's vaporub
you massage what hurts
with the gentleness of your hands
you run your fingers
as though your vertebral column
is a piano
you make music now
so gently
you free your fingers from that tired body
face the monitor
free your mind
let loose the blue bird inside your mouth
and let it sing
now, you have it
it clicks
the words begin to come out
like hermit crabs from their borrowed houses
made of rugged shells
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Visit Malaysia Year Poem - Pulau Ketam (State of Selangor)
pincers, white fluffy flesh
red hot, spicy shells
under our white
plastic hammers
each leg, pincer,
carapace broken
licked clean
the two eyes
now jutting out of
the auspicious
light as flight
red orange shell
so cleaned up of life
so meaningless
and emptied
of existence
a loser of
the world
except for
its rich delicious
steamy white
vein laced flesh
the shells
stripped of all the limbs
straddle the table
play out the animals in us
some are upside down
some in upright position
some helter skelter
loose signatures of the
delicious triumph of a two legged
over a ten legged wonder
now only our hands are
crawling all over the table
grabbing parts, positioning legs,
pincer for hammers
we are nothing
more than dinosaur
when it comes to crabs
they are but fluffy, juicy, spicy,
pulpy, squeaky rich protein to
fill up the stomach
to build the muscles
of our own limbs
more customers coming?
get ready the crabs
get ready the rice
and the hammers
how many of them please?
how many crabs?
ketam ketam ketam
plankwalk that make
our walk sound crab
and.....dinosaur
Ketam is the malay word for crabs. pulau ketam is an island 30 minutes away from port klang in selangor. port klang is about an hour by commuter train from kuala lumpur and the same amount of time if one drives in one's own car. the island is famous for its seafood. the wooden plankwalk to the numerous restaurants makes one's walk sound crab because it goes ketam ketam ketam.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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She was still innocent and fearless
The little girl
Played
With shells and crabs
Bathe in the salty water
On the seashore
Keen eyes waiting
To see more animals
And play with them
Dangerous or not
Was not her concern
Fear of getting bitten
The depth of the ocean
Did not bother
She treated all alike
She was still
Innocent and fearless
As god had sent her
Still not fully exposed
To the ugly realities
And crooked ways of life
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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F-Stop Blues
Hermit crabs and cowry shells
Crush beneath his feet as he comes towards you
He's waving at you
Lift him up to see what you can see
He begins his focusing
He's aiming at you
And now he has cutaways from memories
And close-ups of anything that
He has seen or even dreamed
And now he's finished focusing
He's imagining lightning
Striking sea sickness
Away from here
Look who's laughing now that you've wasted
How many years and you've barely even tasted
Anything remotely close to
Everything you've boasted about
Look who's crying now
Driftwood floats
song performed by by Jack Johnson from Brushfire Fairytales
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song: On Borrowed Time
We're all living on borrowed time,
Near the brooding sea and brine.
And we grow our primate's spine,
In every clime.
Since we crawled out from 'neath the grime,
And evolved to a species – prime.
We've been living on borrowed time,
On borrowed time.
On borrowed time. We feed and dine.
On borrowed time. In swill like swine.
On borrowed time. We sup our wine.
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
On borrowed time. In slow decline.
On borrowed time. No season shines.
On borrowed time. No reason rhymes.
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
We're all living on borrowed time,
Acting out our roles in mime,
As if you cannot tell that I'm confused.
We're all living on borrowed time,
And we're captured hook and line.
Enraptured lives entwine as minds unloose.
On borrowed time, by frantic chime,
Of doomsday clocks and scam sub-prime.
On borrowed time, we count the dime.
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
From that day of Eve's droll crime,
When dull Adam su*ked the lime,
We've been living on borrowed time,
On borrowed time.
On borrowed time. By dread defined.
On borrowed time. Knee-deep in slime.
On borrowed time. We moan and whine.
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
On borrowed time. To heights sublime.
On borrowed time. Statistics climb.
On borrowed time. Who reads the signs?
On borrowed time. On borrowed time!
poem by David SmithWhite
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iN dAKAK
We are here in this island
at the back the surrounding mountains
a little near the woods and bushes
we hear the birds singing this morning
it is eight o'clock in the morning
you walk along the coastline
as i watch you
i lay my body on a swing tied
between two coconut trees
under this big pitogo tree
i bathe in air and hear the hush of a
certain longing
it is so peaceful here
the clouds are bluer than in the city
do not ask me why
the sea is like a pastel blue blanket
spread in bed
the silence runs on the white sand
the hermit crabs run and stop and run
i can hear the crumpling of the castles in the sand
last night we built them
i put my buri hat hiding my hair and covering part
of my forehead
the leaves fall inside my mind
there are certain notes of sadness trickling
inside my heart
a cascading loneliness
my ears are hearing them
my arms till now cannot embrace
i do not doubt it
here is this paradise even with her
i still long for you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Around The Island
the trip around the island
takes us a day
it is dark and we are back
at this beach resort
lighted by shells and
torches
dinner is served
prawns, and crabs
and some lamb's meat
from the farm
and some slices of
pineapple
again, so sweet
to my tongue
crunchy to my teeth
beside you
the music from the sea
the breeze plays our songs
of silence
that only our eyes speak
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Crabs dig holes according to the size of their shells.
on the street of hairclips
buckets of pink crabs
boil in their shells
haiku by Jane Gibian
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Desi and I
Desi and I went to the beach
We found shells, crabs, and even a log
Then we went back to his house
And decided to pet Dodger his dog
poem by Kenny Microsoft
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Desi and I 3
Desi and I went to the beach
We found shells, crabs, and even a log
Then we went back to his house
And decided to pet Dodger his dog
poem by Kenny Microsoft
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Hiding Target Marked By Sex Pistol T-Shirts
not aware of world around us
even though life writing about
our most direct environment
implies limited deficient
interaction with reality
an escape into safer fantasy
teenage lost angels
wearing sex pistol t-shirts
fail to scare potential foes
ill chosen mask lacks threat
attracts instead of repels adversaries
satan mind sick grins attacks
hermit crabs discard outgrown shells
safety is often best found in invisibility
sex pistol t-shirts as a safe sanctuary
used to scare off threats
to self from hunting attackers
is not hiding safe from hurt
poem by Terence George Craddock
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There Is This Island
there is this island
a very small island where i once escaped
away from the death that the crowd has inflicted
there is this lonely island
where the only house i have is just an old chair
and throughout the nine full moons i simply sit there gazing
looking at the small tree the leaf of which is only one
its veins too tiny for my eyes to love
it gets lonely here most of the time but i owe all my life to this very small island
it saved me once from the death inflicted on me by the crowd
my body becomes a geisha of gratitude
my mouth becomes the kiss of the slave woman to the nth power of Abram
i live in this island and on the last dropp of the day
i become forever
there will be another north star in the heavens
and it shall have my own name
there is this island shaped like a heart and it sheds blood because it is real
i am but a white grain of sand
perhaps, but i have become this grain of gratitude and i have become a star
forever hanging on the heavens.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the island of my senses
In the island of my senses
You have come as a lover.
Last night you touch
With your fingers my
Softness and I wriggled
In such sweetness.
I touch you too with the
Sands of my shores
You do not really know
That I am here
In my flowers and
Shells. I whistle and
Sigh in my winds of
My islands. You do
Not know that I am
Here. In the island
Of my senses I lay
With desire concealed.
As I kiss you in your
Sleep, I am not even
A part of your dream.
In the island of my
Senses, you are
The boat that leaves
Me tomorrow. I am
Staying in pain.
My clouds bleed
In scarlet sunset.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Two Hermits
Upon a lonely mountain, there lived two hermits who worshipped God
and loved one another.
Now these two hermits had one earthen bowl, and this was their only
possession.
One day an evil spirit entered into the heart of the older hermit
and he came to the younger and said, 'It is long that we have
lived together. The time has come for us to part. Let us divide
our possessions.'
Then the younger hermit was saddened and he said, 'It grieves
me, Brother, that thou shouldst leave me. But if thou must needs
go, so be it,' and he brought the earthen bowl and gave it to him
saying, 'We cannot divide it, Brother, let it be thine.'
Then the older hermit said, 'Charity I will not accept. I will
take nothing but mine own. It must be divided.'
And the younger one said, 'If the bowl be broken, of what use would
it be to thee or to me? If it be thy pleasure let us rather cast
a lot.'
But the older hermit said again, 'I will have but justice and mine
own, and I will not trust justice and mine own to vain chance. The
bowl must be divided.'
Then the younger hermit could reason no further and he said, 'If
it be indeed thy will, and if even so thou wouldst have it let us
now break the bowl.'
But the face of the older hermit grew exceedingly dark, and he
cried, 'O thou cursed coward, thou wouldst not fight.'
poem by Khalil Gibran
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