Symbiosis
you are the glass
and on your open mouth
i am the water
i will fill every space
of your body
do not feel my coldness
you do not deserve it.
keep the thirst
i shall quench it.
do not be carried away
by my coldness
do not spill me
i need you as vessel
of my directionless fluidity.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Little Disturbed
at 2: 01 in the morning
you switch on the light
a little bit dim
not to hurt your eyes
and you get out of bed
naked
you open the door
towards the kitchen
and get a glass of water
you drink
you want to satisfy thirst
wetting your tongue
and gargling the coldness
swallowing it gently
feeling this creeping
coldness to your
throat down
to your abdomen
something is burning
inside
and the water is
not killing it
you sit and think
a while and stare
at the light
there is nothing there
except the glare
now you wonder
sleep is still nowhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Love Is Like Ice
For my love is like ice
Put it in your armpit
It will melt
And make you wet
Put it in the coldness
of the freezer
in your ref
It will harden
And even crack
Put it under the
Sun and it will
Evaporate
Put me in your
Mouth and let
Me melt in your
Tongue
I become the water
drink me
To quench your
Thirst and i will
make You live
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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282
For my love is like ice
Put it in your armpit
It will melt
And make you wet
Put it in the coldness
of the freezer
in your ref
It will harden
And even crack
Put it under the
Sun and it will
Evaporate
Put me in your
Mouth and let
Me melt in your
Tongue
I become the water
drink me
To quench your
Thirst and i will
make You live
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Earth And Myself...
as i lay my body
upon the grass
coldness seeps
in my garment
then to my skin
penetrating my
body
into the recesses
of my brain
it is the logic
and emotion conjoining
like twins
there is this coldness
that i allow
somehow
from the earth
to my spine
to my heart
it comforts me
that we are still connected
the warmth of my flesh
and blood
into the silence and
coldness of
this Earth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blocked
I walk slowly, letting the rain hit my face.
I try to zone out and stay in my own little world to block the coldness out.
BAM!
Coldness tries to bring me back to the other world.
BAM!
This time it takes me back.
I feel the coldness again and the sounds of yelling.
I plug in my headphones and try to go back, but the coldness is to strong and makes me
STAY
poem by Christina J. Williams
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She Brought Them All Kindly To Her Grave
of course i know what coldness is
apart from something that is cool
when mother died her hands were extremely cold
for my hold
i let them go
there was no sadness
there was that happiness of letting her rest
and giving myself a little space
for tomorrow
when coldness comes again in an empty room
with open windows
i know not what panic shall be
my hands are extremely cold these days
when i kiss them
my lips become frozen
they break like glasses
i cannot speak
there is no way that my tongue shall give in to
words
it cannot face coldness in the mirror
of my face
since you ask and you demand an explanation i open my hands
and i let your hands touch them
i cannot speak i am afraid i will be cruel
you must hold these extreme coldness for a long time
so you can all let them go
like white birds against a dark sky
so you can also experience what happiness
i had when i let go off
mama's fears
when mama closed her eyes
because what was important she knew
need not be said anymore
she brought them all kindly to her grave
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Temple Is Not A Temple Of Selfishness
this is my body
this is my temple
this is where my spirit lives
in flesh and bones
this is my face
this is my skin
these are my feelings
these are my hopes and aspirations
now touch me
now let your fingers run over my skin
let me feel you too
like i am no longer an island
a body of water
a river a sea where boats always sail away from me
where birds just pass and fly by
destined for another place to another shore to another bush
this is my body this is desire this is hunger and thirst and longing
feed me with your body
satisfy my thirst
fill my longings with your longings too
let your river chain my body
let your sea fill my land let your skies be above to wrap me
to shelter me to fill me also with more stars and moons and suns
let me not be all alone like a space without anything without a flicker
let me become a universe glowing and hushing and lushing with life
this is my body this is your body too
let us breathe let us touch let us push through
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Remembering Thirst
it was when there was not water anymore
when i remember thirst
i hold the glass peering carefully if there is still any water left
there is none and so i go on and on the usual way that was
everything still contained in the vessel of my childhood
the ordinary wants still unsatisfied sleeping the whole night in thirst
even so thirsty in dreams until
finally forgetting thirst
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Evening
one evening because the walls of the room
are shrinking,
feeling as if i will be crushed by its four corners,
i finally decided to close the windows and open the
door to try to see if there are stars outside
and if the stars can relieve me from such a
claustrophobic impending death,
i step out into the open and sleep on the grass
to feel the coldness of the earth
i lay my body my arms stretched as far as my hands
can do in creating distance between my feet and my
center of gravity,
what i see is a dark sky and infinite space
i feel like a grain of sand spilling from a giant palm
i agree
i am insignificant
that room becomes nothing compared to the fear
of incomprehensible choices
an ocean of freedom
continental responsibility
i feel so drunk drinking too much space from a glass of my gaze
to this vast universe
nauseous still
i stand back to regain my composure
i go back inside the room
and then the wind howled
outside like an angry master
back to the comfort of my blanket
i promise myself a good sleep.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Godly thirst....
there is this
thirst in me, not in the tongue
the mouth denies it
there is this thirst
that water or wine or
juice
cannot quench
it is a thirst that forever
stays
a dropp of rain
a dew from a leaf
a word from my Creator
shall satisfy it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The coldness of a friend and the coldness of linen -- they never lasted long.
An Empty Glass
an empty glass on the table
we stare at each other tonight
and i theorize on its emptiness
is it fed up with water?
was it drunk the other night and
would not take any liquor?
we stare at each other tonight
my hands holding on my chest
i bite my lips with my teeth
something seeps inside my mouth
i hesitate to swallow it
there is still this fear about substance
something that is alienating
my heart is quenched of its fire
there is only the coldness
of tranquility
something to drink from an empty glass
something that caresses
i shall take it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Let Them Be
let the shoes come and accommodate your feet
and the gloves your hands
and your shirt and pants let them all come near you
and wear your body
let all of them come
let them be let them be
let them have you
the shoes will take you to the door of the house
the home you are longing
the stairs meet you
and the windows open like eyes looking out to another face
the floors and ceiling give you a space
where you can sit with the chair
that opens its arms
a glass serves you milk
or orange juice, tell it what you want
to quench your thirst
a saucer, a plate, a spoon and fork
they all come before your hands
some muffins and jelly
they all come before your mouth
they all come to feed your hunger
this is your home now.
Destiny is waiting.
You do not do a thing.
They all do it for you.
There is no worry.
Destiny does it for you.You see.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem For A Cold Woman....
gradually i feel the coldness of
your touch
your words are sour
the change is noticeable
i do not beg for affection
i do not force myself in your coldness
you need the warmth of the sun
i am not the sun
you must need someone
other than my begging which i do not have for now
i know where to go
i go home
and my home is myself
you have become a stranger
an alien port where my boat cannot dock
perhaps
this is what goodbye is all about
a ripe fruit
which is not for my picking
it is now all yours.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Web
As I walk through the coldness,
You feel the savoury warmth.
Your sweet engine will turn my tumours into gold.
The world has an illness.
It is a disease called man,
Crawl into the bitter skies of youth again.
You deserve better.
You deserve more.
I deserve nothing,
Arachnid shelter.
Images of paralysis.
Melancholic abrasions melt my nerves
I cherish the way you cleanse my troubled eyes.
Sever my memories.
in an abyss they freeze like my love
we have reached the pinnacle of infinity too soon.
You deserve better.
You deserve more.
I deserve nothing,
Arachnid shelter.
Arachnid shelter.
Now all I can trust is pain.
The clusters of pain feel so real,
Maybe one day I'll feel the heat of your sun again.
Slowly I suffocate.
stitch up my lungs and leave me sober,
I'll be thinking of you whilst aching for my last breath.
You deserve better.
You deserve more.
I deserve nothing.
Arachnid shelter.
Your sweet engine will turn my tumours into gold.
We will gulp 'til we are old,
T.H.C. brain,
Gold.
song performed by by Inme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tumbler Of Glass
Take it my daughter
this tumbler of glass
fill it with the flame from the hearth
close to your being
in a tight clasp
Keep my daughter
this tumbler of glass
Even if its glow, tenderly
seeps out
let no one ever know what it was
the glass must'nt crack
your gait mustn't flag
filled to the brim
don't let it overflow
don't let your thirst
spill across
Take it my daughter
this tumbler of glass
poem by Harbhajan Singh
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The Insomniac Who Drew The Head Of A Sheep Wildly On A White Paper
the insomniac's heart is bleeding. she is in pain tonight like the other past night.
she thinks she is dying right on her own bed. changing positions. finding the right way to sleep. she could not find it. she is lost in the darkness of this loneliness. she goes naked towards the refrigerator to get a cold glass of water.
ice cubes. water rushing to the glass. clicking sound of glass and another glass.
coldness rushing to her esophagus. Coldness multiplying in her burning heart. her blankets burning. She could not sleep tonight. She gets a white paper, a pen and begings to scribble her life: wildly, some lines run. Shaping the head of a sheep. one. two. three. four. five. Five eyes. She stops. She needs five eyes to see everything. Awake. The ceiling where the lizards grow to become alligators on the plywood swamp. No grasses but cobwebs of sleepy spiders.
Five Jacks are hidden on the ears. On the ears are hairs of corn. Blonde. On the nose are paper clips. With them, she is cruel. Then she hides a bull inside her pharynx, the one that shits inside her mouth. She stinks. The bull makes a call for desire. For lust. She closes it with the prison wall of her teeth and gums and lips. Her lips are sealed now. All the five eyes are open throughout the night. Looking for love. Love is not found. Her heart bleeds. Stains of blood penetrate the white paper.
She had not slept for five nights. She will add another five eyes. She knows
if this happens again and again, she will die. She pretends that she is strong.
She will not forget these nights. Preludes to her death. She writes some hieroglyphics all over the empty spaces of the white paper. She will not forget
what each line and curve and sharp edges mean. She codes them. She writes the date 9.2.2008.
She does not put her name. It is enough that no one knows and remembers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Trying...
if your coldness at dawn
cannot tackle the
morning sunshine
try some amount of
time convincing yourself
that you also know
how to outstrip that coldness
that you also know
how to win sometimes
that your love for sunshine
is a prize that you have to win
because if you do not
then who will?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Primera Luz
you wake up only to find out
that at this hour you are confused with
what to do first
you rise put on propriety
you walk towards the fridge
you open it to
have a cold glass of water
to drink and feel
the coldness of this
still gray hour
there is no difference
it is the same cold moment
like last night's
old temperament
when you had problems about
what to do
with your life when you took off
propriety
and lay your self naked against
light of the ceiling's
indifference
there is simply no one that fits
the one that you dream: so sweet
and enduring
the eternal goodness that you
still hope for
there is no one,
no one
perhaps there could be good news
on a primera luz.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On To Something More Concrete
i
i check on the word 'grass'
not in the wikipedia
i check that word outside
i step on the lawn where grass is
i sit upon it and lay my head upon its softness
the grass is cool and comforting
early this morning
ii
i like to check on something more concrete
than what the word signifies
the puffiness of the clouds
the blueness of the skies
the coldness of water
the salt of the sea
how the waves travel and arrive at the shore
i lay my body on the sand
open my eyes to the sky and trace the paths that clouds travel by
i swim to the coldness of the sea and taste with my tongue its salt
i touch the waves
i wait upon the shore and let my hours pass away
iii
this is the earth where i live
where i step upon
it is real, it is never fake
it is as concrete as each word signifies
iv
i speak now to You
Let me thank You for all these
I am alive.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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