On A Cemented Bench
on a cemented bench
under the talisay tree
dried leaves in heaps
a red ant bites
your foot on its territory
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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bloodline ***** MARCHAN BEACH
to papa romeo and to his 8 remaining siblings, uncle berto, ramon, gondino, jun-taks, adit, alexander, auntie helen and sergio marchan
here there's tree house
of course tossed up by the tree
the talisay tree
a parola like posting
over the marchan beach
well-ventilated
sorrounded by native cottages
overlooking Panguil bay
embracing Iligan breeze
slashing Ozamiz waves
against Maigo charcoaled shores
below are talisay leaves scattered
everywhere
like my biological papa's siblings
living here and there
as the fallen leaves
spread out and re -united
after sweeping sandy ground
not for burning fire
but for Marchan grand reunion time
some leaves are fallen too and
swept down to unite
like Bungkawel clan hails
from other nearby -tree branches
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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Hoping
with the hope that you are coming
i sit alone beside a table
with two cups of hot coffee
until everything gets
cold
while the leaves of the
talisay tree fall
because the strong winds
are passing
================================== ===============
sa pamasin nga moabot ka
naglingkod ako nga ako rang usa
sa usa ka lamesa
nga dunay duha ka tasa nga
kape
hangtod nga
ang tanan nabugnaw
samtang ang mga dahon
sa talisay nangahulog
kay milabay ang
kusog kaayo nga
hangin
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Tree Is Shedding Off Its Leaves
do not be surprised
to see this tree shedding off leaves
it is the season
for it to become a skeleton
it is like
that
giving off everything
what it gained
from the soil which gives it life
the tree is returning
heaps and heaps of leaves
for the wind
to blow and scatter to the earth
until what is left
is the bareness of it all
the one where we are now
a destiny into
emptiness
the glory of nothing
the splendor of being nothing at all
welcome! welcome!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Time and Leaves and Heaps
time runs
leaves fall
the ground is filled with heaps and heaps of them
the world too
is thickened by the leaves of time
heaps and heaps of what man once was
we bury all of them
time
leaves
heaps of leaves
so many times
we fall too like leaves
the world is thick of those like us
fair enough.
fair enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Determined Indifference
i like indifference
as a weapon, whether
happy
whatever carrot or stick
policy is used by the enemy
indifference sits on a bench
watches the big waves of the sea
unaffected
the wind wanders
the thousand eyes of the sand
look for a possible hint
on what is up to
they cannot find a thing
except the stare to nowhere
the calmness
amidst the sorrowful
leaves
heaps and heaps
on the ground
of emptiness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thinking It To Be Cemented
Dried dirt and water mixed,
Can and will produce thick mud.
Depending on the amount.
And making a leisurely walk through it,
An experience many will find unpleasant.
No one brags with a standing in quicksand.
Craving chocolate to taste...
Instead of a rope or a tree branch,
Held by someone to rescue them...
From a dire circumstance.
But then...
Who would blindly step into quicksand,
Thinking it to be cemented...
By the falling of Autumn leaves.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
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274
we were talking under the talisay tree
about our future
one summer
when the leaves are brown
and falling to the ground
where the red ants
are busy taking their food
under a heap of
dry leaves
we will be there
to reach our destinies
but we may not be there
together
there is always a season for me
and for you
the wisdom lies in the waiting
the goodness in the waiting
and the beauty that we will see
lies in the content of our eyes
the tranquility of the pond
where the moss begins
to grow again
in stones.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Were Talking Under The Talisay Tree
we were talking under the talisay tree
about our future
one summer
when the leaves are brown
and falling to the ground
where the red ants
are busy taking their food
under a heap of
dry leaves
we will be there
to reach our destinies
but we may not be there
together
there is always a season for me
and for you
the wisdom lies in the waiting
the goodness in the waiting
and the beauty that we will see
lies in the content of our eyes
the tranquility of the pond
where the moss begins
to grow again
in stones.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Boy And The Snake And The Tree That Cures...
a snake is bitten by another snake
it is bleeding and leaves and looks for a tree
to take some sap
for its own cure,
a boy sees what the snake is doing
waits and when the snake leaves
the boy bites the tree
to take the sap
the boy is cured of its long sickness
the tree had long been there near him
but it is the snake that points to him
the tree that can cure his own malady.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sea Is Very Calm This Morning
the sea is very calm this morning
the talisay leaves are not disturbed by the breeze
my mama is sitting on a bench
combing her long hair
saying nothing
under a tree
beside our little nipa hut
facing the horizon
on the other side is a big house
whose iron gate is painted red
a big man comes out
rushing as though
he is chasing someone
holding a stick on his hand
shouting at the child
playing with my small brother
inside the yard
of our house
the child of that man is frightened
and runs as fast as he can
back to their house
his father catches him
beating his legs
with the stick on his
right hand
i can still hear the cry of that frightened child
from the very beating of his own papa
what a mess!
i could have told you once again about the peace
and the calm and the quiet of the sea on a morning like this
but it is not true anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On A White Bench
at the plaza of this town
fronting the cafe
where i am now writing this poem
i see a white cemented bench
beside a mahogany tree
three men are sitting
they are talking
and i cannot hear them
i am walled
by this glass wall
one wears a white cap
holding a radio
blue faded jeans
and rubber shoes
the second one
a brown subanen native
wearing a white shirt
with a political ads
to vote for mayor dong
the third one
already left before i finished this poem
i could have described him
but i fell short of time and sensitivity
i ask someone beside me
what these three men are up to
they are waiting
they are looking for a job on this hard times
when the price of rice has gone high
together with the gas
i know you want something more than this kind of write
did i keep you waiting too?
tell me did i keep you waiting too for something that you want me to tell you?
i have nothing to tell you
how does it feel to wait, hours perhaps, for something that does not come/
how does it feel to wait
for nothing? tell me, tell me, if you understand now, how is it to sit on a white
bench beside a mahogany tree, in the plaza, in front of an internet cafe
where i write a poem
and nothing nothing really happens
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Morning
the rain just stops showering.
the leaves are wet and some dews are staying.
the sun peeps.the petals of the flowers open up.
some buds follow. some fruits hang heavily on the mango tree.
a pig is tied under and starts burrowing the muddy ground.
some leaves fall. orange in color.
soft winds from the sea come.
the twigs sway. a ripe papaya falls.
a stone receives it.
a cat comes to check if there is any fish.
a dog barks.a bystander runs to the other side of the road.
the canal is full of rainwater. some leaves clog.
moss thickens on the side of the cemented drainage.
a cockcroach runs away and hides on a crevice.
a rat looks over a railing on the roof of the camarin.
an ylang-ylang flower gets caught on the tin roof.
the white sampaguita opens up finally to the
sunny sky. a butterfly hovers. a bee buzzes near my forehead.
my hand makes a snap. it escapes away.
some fruitflies find a new territory on the rotten apple
which i threw last night in the garbage can.
i start the engine of my car. and then to the office i am gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Haunted Haven
Beyond the woods
The branching oak and canopy of leaves still abide
The bench is there
The leaves still fall
The cree still flows beneath the trees
The difference is
The oak is baren
The shiny bench is covered in moss
The leaves now lie beneath my feet
The place now lacks the presence of life
Though our laughter still echoes
Haunting the place of our childhood haven
poem by Humna Hamid
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The Road On The Other Side
first there is the glass jalousie window
misty, that is what they are,
no one opens it
but soon i will to see the bushes
and then beyond this is the road
a cemented road constructed by
a Korean Company
the name is Hanjen,
and then i hear two things
the thumps of a buffalo's feet
there are four
because it is tied to a big tree
and then the sounds of leaves falling
and this is a feat
of awareness
hearing the sound of the wind
interacting with the veins of the leaves
the stalks vibrating a sound
to the leaves
on the ground
the songs of the ants
love calls
of the robin on the twig of the gemelina tree
its roots slowly crawling
against the light
seeking refuge in the hollowness of the soil
hearing still the silence of the worms
asleep and full.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Cat and The Apple Tree
A house in the garden
Un-robed compound
Dried leaves stretched out
Under an apple tree
Ripen apples fell down
And on the tree like bulbs
Being rotten lied on the floor
Making a quite picture
Leaves fall one by one
Letting to be naked
Surrounding nature gets ready
To warm up the winter
Through a side opened window
An old cat was sitting on the sill
Saying something to ins and outs
On one cannot understand
Postman comes and puts into the box
On one comes to open it
A rain with a rough wind last night
Ruined the apple tree
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Views From Here....
the afternoon sun
leaves its last light cast upon the dusty leaves of the mango tree
the sea is calm and from a distance it hardly moves
as though it has given all its waves away to the passing winds
a red truck parks beside a cemented fence
below it so much of gravel and unwanted fragments of rocks
as i finish another work deciding upon the
liberty of this man wrongfully accused
of a crime which he denies as always
as not having committed it
i am pondering now how to see the truth beyond all these
views.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When It Bites You
The love bug is a funny creature
with no shape or form,
but you know it
when it bites you
because your head goes in a spin
and leaves you never knowing
where you’ve been.
You go weak at the knees
and are putty in its hands.
There is no prevention
and no way to make a stand.
For when the love bug bites you
it really does it hard
and sometimes leaves a scar.
Invisible to the naked eye,
but you know its there
embossed on your heart.
24 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Liu Ch'e
The rustling of the silk is discontinued,
Dust drifts over the court-yard,
There is no sound of foot-fall, and the leaves
Scurry into heaps and lie still,
And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them:
A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
poem by Ezra Pound
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And I Waited
And I was still alone, under our tree.
Yet another Evangeline.
My tears having dried like spiderwebs
across my sunburnt cheeks.
Cheeks sore from laughter.
And I waited.
I waited where we always met,
day after day.
But then the sun hid behind a fleet of clouds
and crystal insects pelted the leaves
in a torrent of cold tears from the sky.
The fallen leaves lay on the ground before me.
But I stayed.
And my hair clung to my neck
and my cheeks burned like Hell
and I waited.
When the clouds parted, our tree was bare.
It shivered in the breeze,
dancing with me to the Waltz of Loss.
And I waited.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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