Simple Blessing
3 p.m. we sit on a chair
the table has a tray of ripe guavas
four slices of toasted sandwich
two cups of coffee with cream
italian pasta and a nice conversation
lasting for a hour or more
the air from the sea blows and
refreshes our bodies and then
we try your new salad combination:
buco and durian chilled last night.
we gaze upon the passing of 12 years.
nothing changed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Oroquieta
hot summer
on a rattan chair
facing the
blue pool
under a coconut tree
sipping
coca-cola
the table is full
deep fried crabs
buco-pandan salad
steamed rice
red watermelon
sliced
into tiny mouthfuls
meeting old friends
embroidered memories
silence struts
tumbling laughter
reminiscing
golden treasures
of those
youthful days
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Young Lovers
I like sitting at this particular table in this lively Café
eating my cheese toastie and drinking black coffee.
At a nearby table, two lovers are kissing and making up,
but then after their last kiss they decided to disconnect
to take a deep drag from their shared cigarette
and to take a sip from their cooling coffee cup.
Placing the cigarette in the ash tray they cuddled back together
fitting like a glove with their arms around each other
totally preoccupied, giving no one else a second look.
After several minutes of holding, kissing and whispering,
and the occasional passionate tongue in mouth sucking
it looked as though they were here for the rest of the day.
Suddenly her chair flew backwards, as she quickly stood up
rocking the table, which spilled the coffee from their cups
and the ashtray to hit the floor, as she pushed him away.
She then slapped his face and shouted at him in anger,
but he sat calm and collected, and said that he loved her,
and she had misunderstood what he was trying to say.
With her hot temper cooling she decided to sit back down
and asked him a question, which caused her face to frown,
as he explained she dragged the chair closer to him again.
Picking up the fallen ashtray she listened to what he said
whilst others in the Café were drinking and being fed,
and outside it persistently poured with torrential rain.
She ordered two fresh coffees, with a deep sigh of regret
while he lit up another blue tipped cigarette,
which they both drew upon until none remained.
He held out his hands as they looked into each other’s eyes,
with a smile she touched his finger, as though to apologise
then dragged her chair closer and began kissing again.
I like sitting at this particular table in this lively Café
eating my cheese toastie and drinking black coffee
watching people fall out who later make up,
and it’s by no means unusual to see in this busy place
a few exchanged words followed by a slap across the face
and then a kiss and make up, over a fresh coffee cup.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Anger Of Old Men...
who am i then?
is there nothing left?
the splintered leg
of the coffee table,
the doorknob broken,
the place on the edge of the yard
where the dog likes to piss?
do old men's bodies
crumble into the shadows
of all the things they've died for?
how many plates filled?
how many cups poured?
how many fires tended
against the night?
how many hands held?
how many dreams buried
beneath the tree that stands?
how many conversations
with pictures on the walls?
lonliness breathes,
with a stink familiar...
the tv drones like gnats
flung against the bulb...
the world's gone mad,
and everything i thought i knew,
is buried on the hill!
even the name on my shirt has faded,
coffee cups stacked in the sink.
the hands fumbling with buttons,
are both cold, and alone...
and the body on the bed,
is no body at all.
the vine grown into the gutters,
rain water falling on pavement cracked!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pop LeRoc
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
To get the mood...
Like you know you want to!
And rock,
With poppa!
Let's make a feast,
By putting pieces...
Of some lox on top.
And then for fun,
We'll order pizza...
So very nice and hot!
That's what we'll do.
With green peppers too!
To move in the groove,
With pop the rocker!
Come on and eat...
Tasty pasta with me.
Pop LeRoc!
Your poppa.
Let's make a feast,
By putting pieces...
Of some lox on top.
And then for fun,
We'll order pizza...
So very nice and hot!
That's what we'll do.
Before this night is through.
Rock with pop the rocker!
Gonna rock with your poppa.
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
To get the mood...
Like you know you want to!
And rock,
With your poppa!
That's what we can do.
Before this night is through.
There's no ticking clock,
Around your poppa!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Childhood In The Village....
early morning
after the night's storm
i gather the
ripe guavas from
the uprooted
tree
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Coffee!
Coffee beans all ground up,
Coffee in my favourite cup,
Coffee black, coffee white,
Coffee dark, coffee light,
Coffee right, to start the day,
Coffee at work, coffee at play,
Coffee midday, coffee at night,
Coffee to sober, coffee to excite,
Coffee weak, coffee strong,
But maybe instead some Lapsang Souchong! ! ! !
TEA! ! ! ! !
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Coffee Dream
Although it’s only one hour till lunch -
my stomach won’t wait.
Non-stop growling for the past two hours
has gotten the best of me.
Besides, my taste buds
are ready to murder for a cup of coffee.
Should I say ‘murder’ in a courthouse?
I discovered myself in the eating lounge
with a coffee machine that still doesn’t work.
How unfair that I can’t leave the building
for a quick cup of coffee till lunch.
So, I resort to having the small salad and orange
that was to be my lunch.
Still, I want that coffee!
I’ll take it boiling hot
right out of the pot.
So now I look forward
to when then release us for lunch.
I plan to run down the street and get
a very large cup of coffee -
maybe two or three.
I desperately need my caffeine fix for today.
So you are back reading this poem again
I see you sitting alone in a coffee shop
Two cups of coffee now, just to pass the hours away
Waiting for nobody
You pretend
Busy with your wireless laptop
Typing some words
Looking at the road beyond the glass walls
Cars keep passing by
Not one is stopping
Shall you pretend some more
That any of those cars is the inspiration
Of your write-up for today?
Okay, you are into advocacies for women
For the underprivileged
For the kids
For those who do not know how to smile
But let me suggest
As you read this poem
Back to my arms again
This time
Take more time with me
In this game
Of loneliness this passion for boredom
Have compassion to both
Of us-lonely souls searching meanings
In laptops in coffeehouses on more
Cups of coffee
I am taking the mug, it is bigger
And its holding effect is a little longer
And some cigars this time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Chair
We sat at the table talking
when we noticed from the corner of our eyes
the door seemed to open and close again.
No one took much notice of it;
each thinking it was a draft that had caught it.
Then we watched amazed
as the chair at the far end of the room
began to move on its own.
Each time it caught our attention the chair stopped.
Turning back to our conversation
from the corner of our eyes,
we watched the chair move again.
Each time it inched closer
towards the table where we sat.
Our guests and we were hypnotised
by the spectacular of the moving chair.
We had lived here for many years
and nothing like this had ever happened before.
We all watched intently the chair
with not a word being spoken.
Whatever was moving it
could clearly not be seen.
Someone smiled and said,
“That is a neat trick you must tell us all
just how you’ve done it.”
I shook my head and replied,
“It is not us doing this.”
Faces paled at the thought
of the chair moving on its own.
The chair then stopped
and the outline of a figure appeared,
its eyes were flaming red
and it stared intently at us all.
“Who are you? ” Someone asked.
“Who do you wish I be? ” The reply came
from a voice that seemed to surround us.
You could see the fear begin to inherit everyone’s eyes
as the eyes of whatever looked around at everyone.
A crackling laughter then arose.
“Who are you? ” I asked,
“You are frightening everyone.
I tell you now you were not invited;
your presence is not welcome here.
Be gone I say, be gone and leave us in peace.”
The flaming eyes stared at me
as if to devour my soul.
Outside a lightning bolt struck,
its explosion made us jump.
When we looked back,
the chair was where it should be
and the flaming red eyes were gone.
Was this an hallucination
or did we really see a ghost.
Whatever, when we returned to talking,
we abandoned the conversation
of strange phenomena we were discussing
before our encounter.
15 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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So in our pride we ordered for breakfast an omelet, toast and coffee and what has just arrived is a tomato salad with onions, a dish of pickles, a big slice of watermelon and two bottles of cream soda.
quote by John Steinbeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poke Chop Sandwich
(about lightnin hopkins drummer who used to keep a porkchop sandwich on his floor tom, for snacking during the breaks. recorded with hopkins drummer, spider, present in the studio.)
Poke
Better watch that
Poke chop sandwichwaitin in th? sack
Ridin a tom tom, a double fat back
Got my poke chop sandwich? /p>
Layin on da drum
Poke chop greazyIm gonna get some
Get some a? dat poke chop
Poke chop sandwich
Poke chop
Poke chop sandwich
Yeah yeah twenty five
Louisiana back beat and th? texas bop
Do a hollywood shuffle jes? cant top it
New york turn around and
Th? london stomp
African good luck combination
I know that ya want
Poke chop
Poke chop sandwich
Poke chop
Double poke chop sandwich
Play on
Spider & lightnin hopkins got
Th? big bad beat
Aint no question what they gonna eat
Spider wanna a bottle,
Lightnin? wanna a can
Theyll take in a bucket
cause they dam well can
A poke chop
A poke at dat chop
Cut dat poke chope
Poke chop sandwich
Feel like, I feel like a poke chop sandwich
Give me dat sandwich in wax paper
Pork chop sandwich
song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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5: 31a.m.
i am again listening to the sound
of the cock crowing
the silence of the jalousie window
still closed from the morning light
the faint sound of the radio in
the kitched where the housemaid does
the cooking and the cleaning
the sound of the broom
cleaning the garage and the sliding
of the rags wiping the car
the little brown dog arrives
from a kitchen door that just opened
letting it in and here it comes
as i write this
licking my lap and wagging
its short tail
i am feeling like i am the master
of my world and i am not letting
it go like some sand slipping
through my fingers
i will take a bite of my own day
like the way i take the slice
of the sweet papaya
laid on a glass table
beside a toasted sandwich
a slice of bacon and a hot
black brewed coffee.
inside a chocolate porcelain cup.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Even For The Meantime....
in this world of chaos
where brother kills brother
where buses are bombed
and innocent civilians killed in numbers
i take refuge on a chair beside the window of my house
still awed by those ripe guavas hanging on the tree
fronting me,
fresh air from the sea, silence from the meadows,
self in isolation, a retreat from the street,
evils in society temporarily forgotten
we need this sometimes
even for the meantime.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Undone
I smoke a fag,
with a coffee mug,
The morning is mad.
It as corked head,
The room is a mess,
and broken chair.
The table undone
With crumble buns
and slices of ham.
The book shell
is a mess as well
of a picture holder
of dusty folder.
The walls are warm
the heater is on.
The fish are sunk
in the square tank.
Raining day
the cat stays
on the bad undone
leaking his paws.
The pillow wrinkle
and the sheets crinkle
the pyjama lay
on the bad end side.
My laces are undone.
This is a the last one
So I tie my shoes,
while I wait for you,
poem by Luca Menin
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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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That Sandwich
as you take that sandwich
i remember 1971
the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious
that is not how i saw it in the 70's
you were too young then
to know the connotation of the word
or the metaphor of being sandwiched
between two warring forces
who wanted to win by killing each other
they were all civilians mind you
sandwiched between the armed and dangerous government
and the armed and more dangerous rebels
the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious
in the 70's they were not delicious at all
they were maimed, and bloody, killed on the streets
and public plazas bombed and brains scattered
on the hot cemented pavements
people kept in hog wires and secret
detention places
brothers all but so insensitive to the
the roots of humanity
Cains and Abels
the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious
when all i need is simply a bitter tasting coffee
without the sugar and cream
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Séance ordering…
Séance ordering…
There is, there is
This ice curtain
Of silent conversation
A séance ordering…
Watch and you'll learn.
{Understanding, unspoken}…
How it works I've no idea.
I speak to her in thoughts,
Your coffee is going cold. Dear.
And then she picks it up.
I think of a Merlot red wine
Punctually the glass arrives.
I then picture a sandwich
Promptly, I'm asked.
Cheese or ham my love.
I think of a friend's name.
They're mentioned in passing…
I think soon what I shall buy.
Then it's Googled in a millisecond!
There is, there is
There is an ice curtain. Dear.
That only applies, when we speak!
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Oh friends, don't tell me farewell
The last time we met
Why did you press my hand so tightly?
Why did I see tears glittering in your eyes?
Why were you so silent when I opened the backdoor?
Don’t tell me farewell
I will take the hue of night
When I disappear in darkness
But I will be back soon
Some night when you put cups on the table
On the verge of pouring strong coffee
I will be back
Don’t tell me farewell.
poem by Asadollah Keshavarzi
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Questions......
lady, (lady in black
gown, black hat, and
hand-gloves)
why do you want your
coffee black?
why do you always want
bitterness?
why always alone
sitting on a chair facing the sea
and drinking the salt of
the breeze
with your black coffee?
why sip bitterness
when
to my mind, coffee would be
better with cream
and honey
with someone beside you
facing the sea and
savoring the salt of the sea
with that black coffee of yours?
lady, why mourn
when joy is just around the bend?
why can't we be alone
together?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Literato
Reason was left out
shivering in the cold
And a can of daylight was opened
and left unused on the counter
A container of afterthoughts
lay spilled on the coffee table
Newspaper sandwiches, dictionary bread
and commentary juice
were brought out on a tray
And we nibbled on bits of conversation
and politely left some verbs
and vowels on each napkin,
lest the host think we were crude
I crossed my leg and left my
participles dangling,
tersely speaking of the future tense
teasingly so about a past perfect
I watched my P's and adjectives
making sure not to mix my plurals
poem by Midnights Voice
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