Taking A Bath
last night stains
of pretensions now gone
soap and water
on an early morning bath
less the whistle
just the pressure and then
anew you come out
of the bathroom
the usual day the usual
activity: always hoping
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So Unusual (Live @ Java Joes - 06.27.02)
This is the most unusual story, of a most unusual girl
she stood painting my picture, of a most unusual world
she can crawl out of frame while shes hanging on the wall
and shes calling my name
shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes mostly a ghost, the way she watches over me
she complains when i smoke, but then you do the same to me
shes controlling my brain activity, knowing when i go to sleep
she'll catch you when I'm falling hard
shes so unusual
shes not so usual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes not so hooked on the drugs like i thought she was
and never sucking on the lime, and hardly sipping on the wine
and dispite of her biopolar rollercoastering
i think i can try, she'll keep me singing differently
and its fine cause shes with me now, most all of the time
trying to saving the light, thinking not of her own
and always kissing me goodnight when i just need to be alone
shes so sweet, so discrete, shes exactly what i need
not even make believe
shes not so usual
so unusual
shes not so usual
so unusual
not so usual, and not to practical either
but shes not so mystical, but not to magical either
but shes not so outta control, and not so used to the flow
shes not so usual
nah, shes a natural
ohhh, shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes so unusual
shes so unusual
shes gonna use me ohhh
shes not so u...
shes not so u...
not so u...
not so....
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not So Usual
This is the most unusual story, of a most unusual girl
she's the paint in my picture, of a most unusual world
she can crawl out the frame while shes hanging on the wall
and shes calling my name
shes not so usual, wo
shes most unusual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes mostly a ghost, the way she watches over me
she complains when I smoke, but then you do the same to me
shes controlling my brain activity, knowing when i go to sleep
she'll catch you when I'm falling hard
shes so unusual
shes not so usual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes not so hooked on the drugs like I thought that she was
and never sucking on the lime, and hardly sipping on the wine
and dispite of her bipolar rollercoastering
I think I can trust, she'll keep me singing differently
and its fine cause shes with me now, most all of the time
trying to saving my life, thinking none of her own
and always kissing me goodnight when i just need to be alone
shes so sweet, so discrete, shes exactly what I need
not even make believe
shes not so usual
so unusual
shes not so usual
so unusual
not so usual, and not to practical either
but shes not so mystical, but not to magical either
but shes not so outta control, and not so used to the flow
shes not so usual
nah, shes a natural
ohhh, shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes so unusual
shes so unusual
shes gonna use me ohhh
shes not so u...
shes not so u...
not so u...
not so....
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What To Say To The Early Day...
four in the morning is usual
it is still dark in fact
and what surprises is that usual darkness has to offer?
the chickens are not making sounds
the pavements are empty of strangers
the road is wet with the whole night raining
there is this newness
of what to do for another day
and i say to myself, with all courtesy: good morning.
have i said it before? i must, but always to someone other than myself.
it is unjustified.
at this early hour i have no one to talk to.
darkness is always silent. Twilight is still far.
the morning is not saying anything.
but always time moves, darkness fades away
and so
we always welcome the light
it happens.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Heavy Rains....
the heavy rains come too
like the usual path of the season
but look
the yellow daisies keep their stalks strong
and tall
and not one is destroyed beside the
sunflowers always hoping for the
sun to come
as usual too like the paths of the seasons
and there you are
all wet taking the bath that you need
under the rain
and sky
wading through the vast air
with dew on your hair
with tongue licking the bland taste of
the rain
on your lips.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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As Usual
The sun was shining…
The breeze was blowing
As usual
The day was dawning
The dusk was falling…
As usual
The people were brisking
The people were frisking
As usual
You died.
My heart was grieving.
It was Durga Puja.
They were celebrating
As usual
(Dedicated to Steve Jobs. I miss him…)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Open Line Off Line
she pops up in my messenger window
i say hello
and she says she jsut got out from her bathroom
and i tell her
wow fresh flesh
wet body still filled with so much desire
and you said 'i look like a blank paper
got to have make-up and dry myself
and comb my hair'
and you ask if i have eaten my breakfast yet
and why am i not in church today?
then blackout, as usual in my place
on an early morning sunday
8: 39
offline.
i am thinking about what you just said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inside My Study Room
five o'clock, the usual time
but i already woke up at 3: 45
too early really
but i could not go back to
sleep
the words arrive
riding on the boat
such wind
hovering
disembarking in my
brain
i am surrounded by
glass walls
and light brown
drapes
books scattering
like garbage
on the floors and
tables
i smell the odor of
dust and
water inside a vase
unchanged
the red rose
had long wilted
no one comes around
to fix things
and keep all of these
in their proper places
the windows are still
closed and it
is still dark outside
though the crows
have already
sounded their
sad calls
the cocks keep sounding
it is already morning
and the windows
must not be opened
i write some lines
as usual and then
i'll wear my socks
and put on my
rubber shoes
and then i will take
my walk to the
woods
it will be cold
and i can see my breath
like smoke from a pipe
but i need this
my body craves
my feet want to move
the walls are too much
and the curtains feel
like they have to be washed
i open the door
and then i meet a new
world again
i know at first it will
still be cold
that is usual
i know after this
the sun comes again
as usual
and things will warm themselves
again
on promises
like what hope is all about.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bathroom Door
this early morning
you are depressed
you face the mirror
when she left
and you tell yourself
this cannot be true
you rehearsed yourself
again
to a line that you have
long wanted to say
years back
but just the same
you fall short of the courage
that all gentlemen
are said to still posses
you wash your face
with a handful of cold water
and slap your cheek
with that usual perfume
that makes her
love you more
you forget the lines
and promise yourself
to say it some other time
you give the mirror
your silly grin
and leave the bathroom
half-open.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Morning Greeting
good morning, my friend
hope you're fine like the smooth morning rays of the sun
on soft hands caressing the shiny brown skin of my face
did you sleep well last night? let me ask if you have dreams
that make waking up a regretful event
i am out now for my usual walk to see the usual rising of the sun
on the golden ricefields on the road leading to a group of nipa huts
i am asking myself today: is there meaning to this usualness
this routine that comes to us without any break?
is there something new to the sun that we always expect to shine?
is there a twist to the usual chirps of birds, the usual white color of their wings? is there something better to do than walk and think the usual
thoughts of how to make a living and be the fit person to survive
this war on boredome
this struggle for meaning
this monotonous routine of this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that
there is no stuttering here, nothing symptomatic of sickness
and even death, there is this boredom again that will make us
not sleep the nights
and make us uneasy and restless and asking some more
what is this life? what is it giving me?
what am i giving it? how long?
just asking, i am returning to the house from this short walk
there is no music in my ears
more questions popping
i will just take tea
i need really to pee.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fighting With Usual Ones
Usual cravings, as usual,
Come to me in plural.
For not enough defense,
For over offensive bad,
Shall I lose this pretty math?
Nothing I hate more than usual ones.
Like November that needs only December
To end one year,
Shall I give up my intense desire?
Together with usual theory,
To get the pass-mark solitary,
Should I sit this exam blowzy?
If there were a right map of life,
I would avoid those with unusual might.
But now, by riding a horse neither male nor female,
Shall I keep acting as a character stray?
I don't wanna be a king in usual custom paragon.
I don't wanna ascend already used throne.
If your heart is not new,
If your love is blue,
You will fail my interview.
Let my loner life live along
Instead of being in usual crowd.
My heart wishes unusual heartbeat sound.
poem by Aung Si Myanmar
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Into Another Reality
after the usual lengthy
lecture in the university
the usual hour after
something like 8: 45
on such usual evenings
i take the usual drive
from the city to my
urban homesomething like
fifteen kilometers alone
but this
time it will be different
i'll have the loud sounds
of some Queen songs on the DVD
and I'll join singing with them like
I'm going slightly mad
I was born to love you &
I wanna break free
and to All Fat Bottomed Girls
this is your Good Old-fashioned Lover Boy
Let's Get Down Make Love
Headlong
Heaven to Everyone
In the Lap of the Gods...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From You......
an idea always comes from
all of you, a chat early this morning
the wind outside is cold and the rain has
not subsided it
the road is empty and the leaves scatter
there
jimmy is starting the engine of his motorcycle
his girlfriend met an accident last night
my window is open
since last night and some rain came in but i did not really mind it
i look at myself in the mirror in the bathroom after i have taken my bath
of hot water
my body is another wasted material
my face is like a sinking boat in the water
my eyes like a drowning child
time has judged me like an unforgiving father
to a prodigal son
i have freed myself from some shackles but i have never used
that freedom too well
there are stories of murder and regrets after
and they shall remain always ready to be told
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Art....
it is just a matter of having it in
and it gives the usual
pain or joy, no choice, the feelings
are always there
and the sense of knowing and
being too analytical seemingly destroys the
beauty indescribably
setting
she gives a sigh
when nobody seems to be clapping hands
when no one is bowing
or saying a name at least that one makes it right
and rhyming
'at last, i do not really care'
this is autonomy
of indiscretions of feelings and all these are but
streams
of consciousness the usual candle tears taking shape
in a bowl of cold water
'we let it go'
we tell ourselves mutually about the release of what had been kept
for years
and we know no one understands what is these all about
a sewing machine
a pillow, a veil, a pin, an injecting sting,
a rope, a blanket,
an authority, a cushion, a bluffer,
a clown, and so on and so forth
you are finally misled about all these things
a scissor, a triangular cloth,
an umbrella,
a starfish,
the usual moon resting upon the trees
the sun peeping between two mountains early morning
the kid in town
finally planting the rice seeds
and the buffalo still enjoying the day in mud
there is plane that lands at the airport at 2 o'clock in the afternoon
when you are still taking your siesta by the verandah
and you are irritated and you tell yourself
'oh yes! ' this is all about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That Little Boy
last night
that little boy of yours
for the first time
has learned
to whistle,
he wants to
make the stars dance
with his
new art
but as usual
not a single star heeds
his wish
this is not funny
but i was once like him
just recently.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Freedom To Choose
early morning
one rubs his eyes
upon waking up
one goes to the
rest room for
the usual beginning
and then finally
looks at himself
in the mirror and
in there he sees
the wide ocean of
choices in his eyes.
he washes his fears
with the cold water
inside the cup of his
bare hands.
Now
is another day of
freedom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poem from Deserted Land
Same usual young morning
Same usual old winter’s step
As I hope, let the dark night moon
Left on the sky dying
Looking back I have walked
There’s uncountable footprint
Don’t know what I should
I look to the right, to the left, and to the front
Then I watch the feet, snow melted on my heel
On the sky gray snow cloud flying by,
between spring fog and storm
Seeing that sparkling crystal you hear, don't you?
My poem from deserted place
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Get Up
Here's to the morning
Think that I'm bored and crazy
Yes I have been to get up when I give in
I need my second wind and I just cant take it anymore
I just cant take it when your lying on the floor
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up
Cause I'm bored (ya)
Come entertain ya
So stupid its contagious
Mess that I've been
I get up when you get in
It makes more sense to win
I just cant fake it anymore
I just cant it and I heard it all before
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up
Cause I'm bored
Ohh dont be so dramatic
I know you almost had it
Wohhh
I tried to show you but you wont go down to her
(Get up, get up, get up, now)
Get up off the floor
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored (ya)
song performed by by Unwritten Law
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Early Morning Walk
the night is gone
the rains stop
to start with
i take a walk
to greet the early
morning with the silence
of my heart to listen
to the songs of birds
high on those trees
as i tread the grass that
covers the path where some
friends used to walk
someone so active has
succumbed to cancer of
the colon the other with
a white beard gave in
to a coronary defect
the old couple still take
their walk here and when
we meet we smile perhaps
thanking the Lord that we
are still here talking
our usual walk on an
early morning waiting for
the sun to shine upon our
weary minds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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