Serene
A sea of cloth on an early morning
A wooden boat afloat
The cloth of blue and gray clouds
Still touching
Hands and Lips
A man wearing a straw hat
A woman on green skirt watching
Him sail back,
A child cradled on her arms
Serene in sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Eyes Blue
Green Eyes Blue
Waking with warmth in my heart and your golden body next to me
A smile on my face morning upon morning
Minds eye scanning memory of every touch, sound, sight of you
The feel of your arms around me, the sweet smell of your breath
And from above…searching me, are your Green Eyes Blue
Eager new flavors, smells and touches brings new joy
Desire for love and hunger for flesh bring these gloves off to touch you
Lips wet and breathes quiver and our legs tangled tight
I want for nothing but your Green Eyes Blue
This woman is awakened by your touch and inspired by your goodness
The fire once thought dead now stoked by your careful hands
Beautiful man of mine holding my heart as we are afloat in this life
I am safe with you beside me as we become lost in each other
My heart is lost in your Green Eyes Blue
poem by Ellie Cook
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Art of Cloth
From fiber, to spinning wheel
From thread, to weaving mill
From textile, to sewing machine
Cloth is continuous ceremony
Whether knitting, whether embroider
Whether patchwork, whether bead work
The beautiful batik, the intricate songket
Cloth is concentration lesson
The strata symbol, the politeness norm
The body art, the cover part
Wedding dress, black tie suit
Cloth is human civilization
From skin, to fabric
From corset, to mini skirt
From blue jeans, to legging
Cloth is history record
Classic style, replied fashion
Color play, motif trend
Mismatch mode, big bang accessories
Cloth is social adaptation
Conservative nerd, ethnic vintage
Religion veil, punk rebel
Costume play, Gothic Lolita
Cloth is identity crisis
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Cloth of Time
The concept of time is
Like a cloth
Waving in the wind.
The wind collides
And bounces,
Causing the cloth to sway.
We are the specks
Of dust
Nestled within
The fibers of time.
This cloth is where
We sleep and wake.
This wind is the result
Of our existence.
When the wind is still
The cloth of time
Hangs
Like a man
Whose time has run out.
poem by by unknown author
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Dumaguete boulevard earling morning
Many poems were written
By those who reached here
And made the walks
On early mornings
You can see the serene skies
Unmoved by the wind
You can see the boat sailing
Smoothly cutting the lines of the sea
You can hear the sound of the paddle
Slashing the sky blue sea
You can see the lush green moss
And seaweeds on the sea walls and stones
Along the boulevard
The street lights slowly die
Like the eyes of a woman closing
The morning starts to gain light
From the peeping sun
I am watching this unfolding
With so much joy
Sitting on this white bench
Alone as I watch her
Walking towards me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Seemingly Is Vis-a-vis What Really Is
at the shop all the while what you may see is that
the two are merely haggling on a piece of cloth
a woman customer quite long asking for the right color
always asking the man that she does not like this and that
she feels the cloth silky on her hands above the man's hands
between the sheet as their mouths keep talking about the price
their eyes are speaking about something else hidden beneath
what she is really after all, she at her 40's widowed for 2 years
he at his 20's looking for a a sugar-coated mama.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Boat To Sail
Youre up state, up late, and city fed
Im a california label
From the top of my head,
Forever, ah
See a lot of open sky
When the sun goes down
Theres a hot, lot of loving when you come
Around, to free me, ah
In a boat to sail, boat to sail, away, ah
All those letters mailed from a
Boat to sail, away ah
We are riding in a boat to sail
Bare foot, coconut and supermild
Jamaica take a look
At your own child
Forget not
Brian wilson songs are never left behind
Dont you worry baby, youre a friend of mine
For so long
From a boat to sail, boat to sail, away ah
All those letters mailed, from a
Boat to sail, away ah
We are riding in a boat to sail
We are riding in a boat to sail
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fishers
The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And before the sun comes out the sky looks gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are off fishing
They left quite early at the break of day.
They tow their boat to the ramp at San Remo
But only on a calm and windless day
And within sight of land they dropp their anchor
Where the fish might be schooling on the quiet bay.
For them a pleasant way to spend their morning
To fish with rods and lines from boat for three hours or four
Especially when the hungry fish are biting
A good morning's catch some twenty fish or more.
The gentle waves against the boat keep lapping
And the sun breaks through the clouds just after nine
It must be soothing for the nerves and pleasant
To sit and relax and fish in the sun shine.
The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And the sun at nine shines through the clouds of gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are out fishing
In their boat anchored on San Remo bay
poem by Francis Duggan
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When You Exhort On A Certain Reality
it is this early morning
when you begin to recall what you
want to say last night
it was something horrible so you
decided after all
to keep it within yourself as
another secret
but then like a smoke from the chimney
some things simply escape
from their form and shape and show
themselves to the open skies
this very early morning you write
what you refuse to say
and then things reshape themselves in automation
like clouds and then they drift away
floating and there
you let them go
you let them be themselves
and here you are unattached
like a button removed from its cloth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Latter day South Africa
The face of the old black woman
is plastered with mud,
a red cloth is wrapped around her head
and her feet treads burdensome
where she walks bare foot
on rocky roads
and every now and then
steps into a thorn
and almost fall over
while she removes it clumsily.
The child that she carries piggy-back
isn’t black,
nor white,
or yellow,
or eastern coloured,
he’s something of everyone
and is belted to her back
with a ragged cloth
and it’s difficult
since he’s restless
and the child is thirsty
and the hunger
burns from his stomach
to his throat.
In the distance
she hears people
gathering around a bon fire
drinking beer and dancing,
but she’s locked out
and the road is long
and she hobbles on
while the twilight is falling.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The trick of wearing mink is to look as though you were wearing a cloth coat. The trick of wearing a cloth coat is to look as though you are wearing mink.
quote by Pierre Balmain
Submitted by Simona Enache
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Daydream
A glimmer of sunlight on a silken cloth.
A snowflake that blankets a rose,
the call of the wild in echoing ears,
and the velvet of a soft woven robe.
Time before pity when nature drew course.
A stream of consciousness
that young lovers only know.
Back to the innocence of a small babe,
whose home was a blanket of straw.
Back to a world without complications,
where life was gentle and serene.
poem by David Harris
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And So She Decided To Make Her Own Sail And Leave
frail woman colored pale
by her own loneliness
people chide her as the
daughter of dullness and
how one day she finally gets
fed up, she gathers some
wood and palms and cloth
and decides to make a boat
and leave the place of her
birth and loneliness
she will be taking the
rough seas and look for
and island of arms and
hands to hug her and make
her feel happy these coming
years and the coming days
one day the radio brought
the news of a woman slain
by a monster who lives in
the sea
how her flesh were torn
how her bones were cut
into indistinguisable pieces
it is so sad but she will have
no regrets: i told her about
the strength of routine
i warned her about far
distances
i told her about sea monsters
i hinted her that there are no
arms and hands in the islands
but she did not believe me
she was fed-up and she took the risk
i guess she is brave
but people think she was never wise
and she was too hardheaded
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At the Harbour
The ships are in the harbour,
Some ship are small, some are larger,
The wavy waters blue and green,
Although blue and green should not be seen.
Saucy Jane was a little red boat,
Who bobbed merrily upon Squire John’s moat?
Her sail was white, her stern was mauve.
Han sail was white, her mast was new,
As she swam through the sea,
Of tranquil blue, with trickling bits of green.
poem by Claire Galpin
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Dianne, Mercy And John
i do not know how to describe this
since i am not a fashion designer
neither am i a make up artist or a
director of a cabaret show, but let me try
let me say, i do not know them in person
so i do not know their names
i got this picture somewhere and i claim
no knowledge about who and what
but let us pretend that the one in heavy makeup
is Mercy: thick red lips like red strawberries
i could have said apples, a huge neck like that
of a lioness, giraffe is sexier,
the cape is gray and silky so i will not say
that it is more of a sail for a boat
the breasts looks more like a chest
perhaps to make it appear buxomy
air is exhaled.
the one at the middle looks like a man to
me with a diminishing hairline, white polo shirt
with gray marks and a black undershirt
i think i once met him in the ship going to
the big city but i can't really remember him
completely. Was he the one who constructed a
dark yellow building in the town? Is he the
postmaster of Chicago? I am sure he is Filipino.
the third one is wearing grays stocking, a gray skirt
and lone hair. I sense it is a wig. The arm has muscles
and the neck has Adam's apple.
They are all smiling. Mercy calls this a cross-over
Dianne says this is it. And John says this is fun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kiss or Kisses
The kiss, Alber knows,
is the sign of great love
or great betrayal. Juliette
presses her lips to his.
There is spittle there
Somewhere, but neither
cares nor senses any of that.
In between kisses she talks
of the pregnant black cat.
He remembers his first kiss,
that girl whose mother never
trusted him as a boy, gave
him his first joy. Where had
it been? he asked inwardly,
pressing his lips to Juliette's,
ah, yes, in the porch of her
parent's house, the moon
bright, stars out like sprinkled
sugar on an expanded black cloth.
And about their heads that
darn moth. Juliette saying,
funny how they have such
low bellies, pregnant cats,
and have so many. He moves
his tongue inside her mouth,
along her teeth, touching her
tongue, exchanging warm fluids.
He presses his hands onto her
buttocks, feeling the softness
through cloth. She silent now,
and there about their heads,
that big brown fluttering moth.
poem by Terry Collett
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Justice
Huts of childhood are in autumn,
Decayed hamlet; dark shapes,
Singing mothers in the evening wind;
At windows Angelus and hands fold.
Still birth; on green ground
Mystery and stillness of blue flowers.
Insanity opens the purple mouth:
Dies irae - grave and stillness.
Groping along green thorns;
In the sleep: blood-vomit, hunger and laughter;
Fire in the village, awakening in the green;
Fear and swaying on gurgling boat.
Or in wooden staircase again
The white shadow of the strange woman leans.-
Poor sinner longing away in the blueness
Left his putrefaction behind for lilies and rats.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Your MP3
7 incehes long is your MP3,
But the red wave came in and pushed us apart!
And like your modern roots to trace your village,
For the policeman and the police woman were watching the burglar! !
Jaw, saw, taw, paw, haw, maw, law, raw, yaw;
But it was like an act of imperfection!
And a blue cloth came and covered your MP3 because,
You need to wrap it well and keep it in a proper place.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Washing Windows
Your mother used to sit on the window
Ledge of the tenement building and
Wash the windows of each of the rooms.
She’d push back the shutters and just
Sit there with a bucket of warm water
And a cloth and wash away. You were
Always afraid she’d lean too far back
And fall out and down to the ground
Several storeys below with a heavy crash
And break bones or neck or maybe die.
But she’d just sit there her legs holding
Onto the wall beneath her and push her
Right hand holding the damp cloth
Over the glass while her left hand held
The metal bucket tight swishing the warm
Water as she moved back and forth like
Some lone trapeze artist on the high wire
Without apparent fear or knowledge of
Was going on in the street below with the
Passing of the walking dead as Father used
To say and Mrs Febrile sitting on her window
Ledge with her daughter watching gossiping
And nosing about who did what to whom
While all the while you were frightened of
Your mother slipping out the window waving
Her hands and arms as she fell to her doom.
poem by Terry Collett
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For A Poet
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold;
Where long will cling the lips of the moth,
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth;
I hide no hate; I am not even wroth
Who found the earth's breath so keen and cold;
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold.
poem by Countee Cullen
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Sail On My Boat
Im gonna sail on my boat and keep it afloat forever
Nobodys gonna tell me how it wont stay together
I got a waiting ticket wont you sail it
Nobodys whos staying asleep knows what Im saying
Im gonna throw out a rope and keep it afloat its granted
? ? ? ? ? ? independence
Im gonna wake and take us all to where oh
Nobodys gonna talk me down by stormy weather
Got to sail my boat
Got to keep afloat
I get the need to keep on when Im sailing
Ill sail across dont make it a choice Ill plan it
Nobody ever thought you wouldnt take you for granted
Ill tie the ropes that keep me afloat and sailing
Nobody ever taught me teach what Im playing
Gonna lift up my voice and sing you a song romantic
? ? ? ? ? ? ? independence
Repeat chorus
Hold on in love take it to where you never
Nobodys gonna tell me how it wont stay together
Ive got a freedom ticket lets go sailing
Nobodys whos staying asleep knows what Im saying
Repeat chorus twice
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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