Muddy
The rice planters
Are all muddy
Except their dreams
of rain and songs
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The rice planters
Are all muddy
Except their dreams
of rain and songs
of summer loves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You rice-field maidens -
The only things not muddy
Are the songs you sing
haiku by Konishi Raizan
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Napping at midday
Napping at midday
I hear the song of rice planters
and feel ashamed of myself.
Translated by Robert Hass
poem by Kobayashi Issa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rural View Of My Village
today the women wearing buri hats are planting rice
on the muddy rice fields of Katipunan
the sun is up
the petals of white flowers are
still holding on to their dews
the finches are flying low
and hovering on the grass
the buffaloes are grazing on the field
the children are chasing chickens
and playing with the dogs
the amor secos are growing wild still uncut
as the some men are singing songs with their old guitars
a wooden sled filled with wood is hauled by a big spotted cow
the path is covered with stones that grate their sounds in the open air....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inspired by Issa - your rice field, my rice field
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our dreams in tokyo
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our sons in tokyo
inspired
your rice field
my rice field
the same green
-Issa,1815
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Epigram
To purify their wine some people bleed
A lamb into the barrel, and succeed;
No nostrum, planters say, is half so good
To make fine sugar, as a negro's blood.
Now lambs and negroes both are harmless things,
And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs.
'Tis in the blood of innocence alone--
Good cause why planters never try their own.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Mama
i never believe them
about the story. about the clinic and the
handsome doctor.
it was a remote possibility
that i could have been
born there
because i have always loved
the mountain and the sea
and i have always the feeling
that the dove
still hovers in my heart
how can a scalpel
be the source of my name
when i am but a seed
of the rice thrown
in the muddy fields?
they have destroyed your
face and your eyes bleed
some tears.the damage cannot
be repaired. when the coffee
spilt its hot liquid on the carpet
the aroma has escaped
our senses.
the stain hides on the dark
blue colors of its thickness.
there are new flowers
that i have planted in your
old garden. the rocks are kept.
and the pebbles. and the
little pond and the tadpoles
swim to be croaking frogs
this coming rainy season
for you mama. and i have
began to learn to love the
songs of the rain.to dance
under them. and be all wet.
i don't mind anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Songs About Rain
Well this town has closed down way too early and theres nothing to do
So Im drivin around in circles and Im thinkin about you
Today I heard you got a new last name
Sure didnt know it was gonna hit me this way
And the radio just keeps on playin all these songs about rain
Now theres all kinds of songs about babies and love that goes right
But for some unknown reason nobody wants to play them tonight
Hey I hope its sunny wherever you are
Thats sure not the picture tonight in my car
And it sure aint easin my pain all these songs
Like rainy night in Georgia
Kentucky rain
Here comes that rainy day feelin again
Blues eyes cryin in the early mornin rain
They go on and on, and theres no two the same
Oh it would be easy to blame all these songs about rain
Well I thought I was over you but I guess maybe Im not
When I let you go looks like lonely was all that I got
Guess Ill never know what could have been
Sure not helping this mood that Im in
And the radio just keeps on playin all these songs about rain
Like rainy night in Georgia
Kentucky rain
Here comes that rainy day feelin again
Blue eyes cryin in the early mornin rain
They go on and on and theres no two the same
Oh how I wish I could blame all these songs about rain
All these songs about rain
song performed by by Gary Allan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All These Songs About Rain
Well this town has closed down way too early and theres nothing to do
So Im drivin around in circles and Im thinkin about you
Today I heard you got a new last name
Sure didnt know it was gonna hit me this way
And the radio just keeps on playin all these songs about rain
Now theres all kinds of songs about babies and love that goes right
But for some unknown reason nobody wants to play them tonight
Hey I hope its sunny wherever you are
Thats sure not the picture tonight in my car
And it sure aint easin my pain all these songs
Like rainy night in Georgia
Kentucky rain
Here comes that rainy day feelin again
Blues eyes cryin in the early mornin rain
They go on and on, and theres no two the same
Oh it would be easy to blame all these songs about rain
Well I thought I was over you but I guess maybe Im not
When I let you go looks like lonely was all that I got
Guess Ill never know what could have been
Sure not helping this mood that Im in
And the radio just keeps on playin all these songs about rain
Like rainy night in Georgia
Kentucky rain
Here comes that rainy day feelin again
Blue eyes cryin in the early mornin rain
They go on and on and theres no two the same
Oh how I wish I could blame all these songs about rain
All these songs about rain
song performed by by Gary Allan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Even though you tread slowly over your rice field it will become muddy.
The White Herons And The Black Buffaloes
the harvest season is over
the women had gone to their homes
with their men and children
around the table of wood
dinner of fish and rice
the family eats as one
how close can a family be
in love and friendship
last night the rain poured heavily again
flooding the rice fields
this early morning before the sun rises
the black buffaloes graze and
then wade in the muddy waters
above their heads the white herons are flying low
gracefully hovering and landing
at their backs
some stand beside their thick skins
pecking for lice
how close can these creatures be
on friendship consistently
symbiotically designed
by nature's hands
sometimes i wish
we can be like all these
on a friendship without vested interest
on love platonic
in sickness and in health
......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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N2
listening to the softness of the rain
at dawn
opening the mind
for the seeping of understanding
how the rain falls on the roof
like a caress
how is the water redirected on the
gutter
towards the canals
of our limitations
canalized we survive the rigors
of what the laws expect
no overflowing
not a shortness of breath
at the middle of the hour of sorrow
we shall hear the festive
songs of the frogs in the rice-fields
the sun is up
but the rains do not stop
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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The Day I Hate Rice
The day I hate rice
Is several rare day in a year
When I don't eat rice
I don't want to eat rice
I don't want to see it
Because I hate its taste
And I hate to think about it
If I have the day I hate rice
Then you'll know that I don't feel well
I'm bored of this procession
I want to run from this life
Because I begin to hate myself
...just a little while
And everything will be back to normal again
That's the meaning of
The day I hate rice
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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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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Rain, cold rain
Rain, cold rain
collects and runs
Curb side- gutter
Brush leabes and cigarette butts
With bits of paper in a heap.
Bodies with faces hidden
By umbrellas
Walk into rain from rain;
Rainbow oil stained muddy
poem by David E. Patton
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MuDdY......... wAtEr............! !
MuDdY......... wAtEr............! !
Pouring muddy water?
I clean my self
Again he throws
Muddy water
I throw him out again
There walks a new person
Sprinkles little mud around
I dust them here n there
And I walk towards life
He stops me there
I turn back at him
He splashes the muddy water
I wash them again with
With waters of tears!
Words of apology
Gestures of forgiveness
He takes my crying face
And paints me again
Again with muddy water
No tears this time
Its blood I use again
To clear the muddy water
And I limit the days I want to live
In distress he pats my pats my back
With his right hand
But alas he was staining me
With his left hand
Muddy water was it again
I clear my seat
I tidy myself
Painstakingly not with
Brush nor broom
But with scalpel and knife
Cutting and chistlling
Callous and critical
Every inch of my individuality
But still he would silently take me
Take me to the corners of love
& again teem me with muddy water
There I attempt to kill myself
& he pacifies me again
With explanations of muddy water
Now I know scrubbing and scouring
Will never help
Virtuous and untainted
Spotless and shipshape do I wannu be
But its muddy water this lfe
So i`l go beneath heaps of mud
Cause however much of muddy water
Muddy water he pours
I`l be mud all the time
My blood minced in mud
My bones decayed in mud
My flesh sink in mud
Every cell of mine
Crumble into the muddy mud! !
poem by Dr DHANA LAKSHMI
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If You Love
Chorus
If you love
You know youre gonna feel the hurt
See the flowers
Growin from the muddy earth
You never see the sun
Youre never gonna feel the rain
With your life under glass
In the middle lane
Youll never feel the joy
Never feel the pain
Chorus
Try to build a house on top of the highest tree
Its dangerous and a bit risky
But what about the view
See the clouds and the mountains too
Chorus
Get your hands dirty
Get a little insane
Come out and play with me
Barefoot in the rain
If you love
You know youre gonna feel the hurt
(feel the joy, feel the pain)
See the flowers
Growin from the muddy earth
(you see the sun and then you see the rain)
You never see the sun
Youre never gonna feel the rain
With your life under glass
In the middle lane
Youll never feel the joy
Never feel the pain
If you love
You know youre gonna feel the hurt
(feel the joy, feel the pain)
See the flowers
Growin from the muddy earth
(you see the sun and then you see the rain)
If you love
You know youre gonna feel the hurt
Growin from the muddy earth
(feel the joy, feel the pain)
Never feel the pain
(you see the sun and then you see the rain)
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rice Fields
Diminutive rice paddy's cry
Villages copulate with war
Shedding all but the soul
We tremble like dying leaves
Sacred soil of our ancestors
Sacred sky of all the gentle
Thatch huts burn in the night
Flags fly like charred flesh
Now the wind has new visitors
Ghost that walk main street
Ghost of children’s dreams
No silhouettes in candlelight
Where is the moon for her daughter?
Eyes of endless rain
Tides driven by guns and fire
She stares at the rice fields
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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