Let Me Write You A Happy Poem
after ten years
you are inside a bus
going back home
bringing the bacon
your mother hugs you
your father kisses you
surrounded by brothers
you take the pictures
dinner time is joyful
your favorite lasagna
and red wine and
roasted chicken and
jasmine rice
at night you all sit
on the grass
telling more stories
watching the stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Hunger And Thirst Of The Mountain
on a Sunday of a hot summer
i went to the far mountain
where my father used to spend his
youth
i was met by his followers of long ago
and they were telling me
stories as i waited for them to cook
the rice and fry the fish
that i brought for them
then we dined and i listened to their
conflicts about land
their problems about food, and water
their hunger and their thirst
some of their women offered their
ethnic dances with
the younger men
the sounds of gongs reverberated
and echoed on the walls
of the mountains
we drank native wine until the light
of the day faded
until the stars arrived and the moon
reigned and floated in the nearby
silvery river
there were more stories about my father
his love and his wife
my mother and some of my other brothers
and sisters
we became one people
and then we were so tired
we slept and then we had common dreams
i am their new leader now
and they are as always my father's people
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Mamma's Baked Chicken And Rice
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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MAMMA'S BAKED CHICKEN AND RICE...by Talile Ali
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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Lasagna
La-la-la-la-lasagna
You want-a some-a lasagna magnifico
Or a-maybe spaghetti
Ay, you suppers a-ready now, where you go
Mama mia bambino
Mama mia bambino, samatta you
samatta you, samatta you
You should-a taste my lasagna
Ay, you no like-a lasagna
Thats okay too
How about-a calzone
Some-a nice minestrone, ats good for you
Have-a some marinara
Have-a some marinara, I know-a you like
I know-a you like, I know-a you like
La-lasagna
La-lasagna
La-lasagna
Would you like some-a zucchini
Or-a my homemade linguini, its hard to beat
Have-a more fettuccini.
Ay, you getting too skinny, you gotta to eat
Ay, mange, mange
(gargling)
Ay, you-a pass the lasagna
A-dont you get any on ya, you sloppy pig
Have-a more ravioli
You-a get roly poly, a-nice and-a big
Like you cousin luigi
Luigi, luigi, capisce paisan
Capisce paisan, capisce paisan
La-lasagna
La-lasagna
La-lasagna
La-lasagna
Hey
Hey
(laughing)
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dilema Of Going Home
Two decades now
Have I lived in America
And my mother
Calling from far away Africa,
Also my little sister
She propably was told of America
They all weap in my
dreams these days,
They want me back in Africa
To build the threshold of my father
That is far gone in decadence.
.
Home, I am coming home
To see my mothers face again
And my little sister Franscisca
She must be a woman by now.
But tell me brothers;
How could I ever go back to Africa
When I yet do not have wings for flight?
.
What would I say to the hungry
eyes of my mother, my sister?
What would I say to friends I left
behind my Africa ten years ago?
What would I say when they asked:
What have you brought for old
buddies you left behind ten years ago.
.
Ten years is long enough time
to be away from home,
And yet have nothing to show
for the labours.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Summer Days
love the summer days
a farm hut on the side of a hill
a bowl of fruits on the table
roasted chicken on banana leaf
upland rice on earthen jar
fresh water from the spring
a big mahogany tree for covering
your head on my shoulder
my hand on your hair
your feet above mine
under the night of stars
away from them all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yard Sale
We are having a yard sale today.
Hold the door open for me, Mother says
As she carries a box out onto the driveway
And the cats scramble out for fresh air
While Father paces out back, scratching his head
And my brothers sit inside, sipping Pepsis
I follow Mother out into the cold
And ask her if she needs help
She smiles and says, Oh Jamie
You were always the one who wanted to help
Then sets the box down before me and asks
Could you make sure we got everything?
Before she runs inside to yell at Father
There are grey clouds in the sky
And I too, am a darker shade of grey
As I begin to sift through my childhood...
The soccer ball my brothers and I lost
Religiously, once, twice, thrice a week
Over the backyard fence and into
The neighbor's yard, where the dog awaits
I ring on Mr. Ryan's doorbell in shame
Like I've just murdered the President
And Puppy covers me with slobber
My corporal punishment, I guess
The old phones we used before the new ones
White and bulky, trailing tangly cables
That I curled around my finger as I
Listened to my grandfather speak to me
Across thousands of miles of water
You don't have to reply, Father says
He can't hear you, his ears are bad
But I yell into the receiver anyway
The vocabulary book Mother made me study
In preparation for standardized testing
For so many hours I could swear I had lost
A part of my soul, memorizing diaphonous
Until it literally lost all its meaning
So I take revenge on her by using big words
She doesn't understand, like fastidious
Mother, why must you be so fastidious?
The cap and gown I wore five years ago
On graduation day, when it rained
Even though Father said it wouldn't
So all his pictures came out bad
And as the sky fell upon our field
We threw our mortarboards up in defiance
Announcing our presence in this world
And at the same time, our weight...
It is starting to rain now.
Hurry Jamie, Mother yells
Bring the box back inside
She holds the door open for me
And I run through as fast as I can
To find that Father is singing
And my brothers are laughing
And Mother is smiling
Some things are not for sale
poem by Derek Ouyang
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Ode to Life and Death
To breathe
To laugh
To tear
To cry
Mother’s kisses
And father’s hugs
Sisters’ talks and
Brother’s cries
Day and night
For fourteen years
I remember when I was down
I said to myself and made me happy
Ode to water, ode to food
Ode to me, and ode to you
Most of all,
Ode to life, and ode to death.
Life.
Live it. Love it. Enjoy it while you can.
Death.
Stop it. Look back. Regret it you know you can.
TICK TOCK. TICK TOCK.
Time is ticking, hurry up and make your move
I did what I had to do
Now…IT’S YOUR TURN! !
poem by Cynthia Onukwugha
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Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Prisoner Of War
he waited from night to night
he waited till the son started peeling over the horizon
he waited till he heard the morning birds chirp
he waited for a long time
he waited for his father
his father lost at war
his father he knew since he was born
but as time grew
the boy felt so weary
the boy waited and waited and waited
his mother giving him the same face
the same face when his father left
and the same face when he didn't comeback
but the boy did not notice this
the boy never knew his dad has been lost
but until
until he strayed up one night
a night he would never forget
he saw his father walking about in the streets
his uniform on but he noticed something else
his father had many medals
but he knew nothing of them
all that he cared about was his father was home
the boy waited 10 years
his mother fell asleep in tears
for all those years
but then he finally came home
this poem is dedicated to all POW
poem by Montana Hohensee
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This Evening
this evening is another lovely evening
i see stars. i think of some memories. sticky ones. sweet ones.
mouthwatering ones between us. in the room dim and cold. warmed by our
two bodies.kisses. hugs. touches. caresses. whispers.
indeed, this is a lovely evening.
i have a glass of mild wine in my hand. an orange. an apple. some spices
of mint and chili. to make me feel hot on this lovely, cold night. the wind blows
from the sea. i hear the waves. but they are sounding so gently
reminding of a boat where we ride. kisses. hugs. touches. caresses.
whispers. making love. the boat stopped in the middle of the ocean.
both of us.
indeed this is a lovely evening. i have another glass of wine. an orange.
some chili. some pepper.
i like it hot. these memories. i have your picture in my hand. your last letter.
i have the picture of you and your husband. and your children. they all have
grown up. your daughter looks just like you. some smiles. hugs. kisses.
embraces. your family on your last wedding anniversary. in maryland.
indeed this is a lovely evening. an honest one.
everything is accepted. everything is true. and i wish you all the happiness.
for indeed this is a lovely evening. with myself. still strong as ever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Louie Armstrong (What A Wonderful World) A Dedication!
He lived before my time
His voice unique
His songs so sweet
He was a legend of his time
But by far my favorite of all
Was ‘What a wonderful World'
Everything was so pretty back then
The air we breathe
The stars at night
The new dawn and sunsets of old
‘And I think to myself'
What a wonderful world
Everything was so breathtaking back then
The mountains high
The river deep
The endless waves of time
‘And I think to myself'
What a wonderful world
Everything so innocent back then
A cry of a new born child
The laughter of children in a playground
The sigh of lovers walking hand in hand in a park
‘And I think to myself'
What a wonderful world
The essences of being just you and me
Hugs of a mother
Stern words of a father
Fond farewell kiss to a friend or family
The merriment of laughter as we joke with family and friends
Fond memories stir in my mind
As I think to myself what a wonderful world
(OMG I had neil and not louie..ops sorry)
poem by Kaila George
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Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-1)
At schooltime, my father left me at house gringo!
Yet I Kept my tender heart at home of lingo!
When I quested, for fate “he is right as rain.”
Tender tears exploded like MISSILES yet in vein;
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
While I missed mother’s love and father’s stories
All the night I stood without sleep with many worries
I asked the god, why two legs and hands!
Why not two bodies and two souls for errands!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
Sugarcane Juice, peanuts and berries!
Our green fields, summer holidays and holy tours!
When thousand memories flashes in mind, now,
How much I miss mom's care! How much I miss dad’s love!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
The small buns you bought for me still smell good,
The grapes brought, coming from city is still my favorite food;
The fruits you brought me with roots; are they heaven sent?
Yet I didn’t pay any rent pay as you are my parent!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
Do you know who my MAHATMA is? Oh, my brother!
He is not Mandela, nor Gandhi but my father
Who taught me A to Z rather?
What to do and what not to do, I gather!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
When I think of all the things you gave to me:
Your sacrifices in food; love and affection are some to name,
............................................. ................................................. .....
*A big NOTICE BOARD: Oops! Sorry the poem is NOT completed. This is just break time! Now continue Your reading in part 2 the poem.
Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-2) contin'd in part 2.. Read it.
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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The Brown Out And The Brown Barking Dog
yes, the last poem was saved
from a sudden brownout and yes the brown dog did not stop barking
on the road lined with pruned indian trees where a stack of leaves
are left to dry
on a very hot noon day in my poor country
until the knock on the door is heard and finally the maid opens
the door to the stranger: your brother gone abroad
for work to save money for his six children
to feed and send to school and he brings you some gifts
toblerone chocolates
and californian red wine
hugs and hugs and warmth
and some stories to tell about the united states of america
chicago in particular
and las vegas at the end where one of your cousins made a good fortune
where some invitations are extended
where you may stay for three days and enjoy the casino and the
moving lights and some parties
the brown barking dog now lays peacefully by the door with big ears
listening to a conversation between brothers: one who likes to stay
forever in one place
and one who seeks his destiny somewhere else
some snacks no smoke no lies now just stories and
missing and a promise to be good
to offer prayers for our dead parents
mass tomorrow morning and a coming party for the relatives
little joys, bitter memories, some expectations and hopes for a better future
slice the cake and sip the soup
some thoughts that better be left inside our minds
silence and in between words that like to lurk
inside the walls of our mouths
what do you really expect from me? from what i write, well,
well, sometimes, there is nothing to say, except to tell you
the brown-out is still here, and i am working on a standby power
rushing with my lines
keeping with my word
to save my last poem, and it may not be the last after all
just finishing it
for you, trying to tell you that sometimes in our lives we say nothing on
purpose but just to be descriptive about what is happening
between us
no judgments, no choosing and telling which is wrong which is right
just watching and savoring ourselves and not commenting anymore
just living together sometimes even better with each other on some distance
so when we meet
we say we miss each other: just describing and watching and telling and
yes writing
using some other powers: the standby power till it is finally exhausted and gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Weep For The Past
When I would go running to father for hugs
and admiring Nan's collection of teacups and mugs,
When I would pick daisies from the lush garden grass
and go with my mother to morning Sunday mass,
When I stored collections of shiny coloured stones
and the dog collected and buried his long juicy bones,
When brother would kick his football all day
and I would sit happily in the garden to play,
When I would paint pictures of my childhood and me
and now I weep back to where I loved to once be.
poem by Pensive Phoenix
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A Proof Of Love
you tell me that love cannot
exist if i have no time for you
time seems to be
love's way of proving that love
loves love the way love loves
true love
a time for both of us
sailing in the river under the moon
a stroll on the grass
under the sun
a candlelit dinner
a serenade of violin music
a dance of tango
a glass of wine for two
a slice of sweet cake
i may agree with you
and be with you
like the way you need time with me
but what i know really my dear
as handed down from my father's father
their marriages solid and smooth and surviving
all those years inside the same old ancestral dwelling
that true love knows no time-for it is timeless
that true love knows no price-for it is priceless
that love unlike our finite bodies., is infinite
that love unlike our temporalities, is eternal
that love so unlike us, knows no beginning and knows no end.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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These Walls
If these walls could talk,
I wonder what what would they say
Would they thank me for being painted
Or will they ask me, to wash the paint away.
Would they tell me of the pictures
That once hung upon them their
Pictures that once adorn those walls
Or I wonder would they even care.
Would they speak upon the stories
That was heard within these walls
That no one else even knows about,
That is if the stories these walls could recall.
Was there children laughter all about
Or any secrets heard and being told
I wonder what have they listened to
And I wonder if anyone will ever know.
These walls inside this house
That for years have stood alone
With the stories that was told and heard
While this house had became a home.
The Sadness that they might had seen
And the worries and sorrow that they felt
Maybe they don't want to remember it at all
And maybe they too keep it bottled upon their self.
Were they painted to cover up secrets
Was they battered as to protect someone's lies
Or were they wallpapered to cover up the truth
And did they hear the whispers and the cries.
These walls they are still standing
Through the years of the days and nights
While listening and knowing all done and said
In the darkness and also in the light.
I look at these walls just one last time
As I head home from my walk,
How I wish I knew what they heard and know,
But that is, if these walls could only talk.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Contrasts
cemented pavements
green grass
sounds of motorized cabs
songs of birds on the trees
towering skyscrapers
tall old mahogany trees
neon lights on city escapes
stars on moonlit skies
watching the mountains half covered with
morning mists
busy on TV for the serial stories
strolling on the white sandy beach
observing the behavior of seagulls
window shopping at the malls
watching 3D movies
eating deep fried chicken wings
licking very sweet strawberry ice cream
peeling the ripe mango
savoring the yellow juice feeling the pulp
watching the sunset from a high mountain
reading a best seller novel inside your room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Twist
did i tell you that in all the days
of my life i have always been thinking of you?
that no matter what i do
your face always wears a smile
inside my head and that i always want
to go home early just to see you and
be with you as we eat dinner and drink
the red wine on the porch beneath
the stars that i had all the nice time holding
your hand and kissing your lips
and dancing with you
under the rain?
(i still have to tell you
tonight before the moon vanishes
into the darkness of the night
that all these are not true) .
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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