The Bamboo Fence
my view
is divided between
the rotten bamboo
fence
and the
blue sea
on top of coconut
trees
are black crows
stopping
for rest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At The Balcony
from here
i see the blue sea and the old bamboo raft floating in the water
over there is a mountain of stone
with patches of green resistant grass
the coconut trees are tall and thin
and the wooden boats are docked
the men are drinking their tequilas
away from their masters and the owners of their fates
the women are doing their laundry on the river
and the children are splashing in the shallow water
some dogs waggle their tails afraid of the water
i am alone here with a camera on hand
my cell phone is turned off
i am out of reach, i am not lost, i am trying to find a way
back into my heart
feeling what my soul wants to say
i feast on the view that this balcony is giving me
i savor what God is giving freely.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evening Coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
Atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
It really dont matter much, which way I go.
But remember to pull over in the storm.
Have you seen the evening coconut
Bobbing on the bay?
Standing on the waters edge of stone
Someone there besides you
To hear the words you say
To show you things your eyes have never known.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
While atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Divided By Zero
(two divided by zero, zero)
(two divided by zero, zero, zero)
Lets not go home, well catch the late train
Ive got enough money to pay all the way
When the postman calls, hell deliver the letter
Ive explained everything; its better that way
(divided by, divided by) I think they heard a rumour
(divided by, divided by) or someone tipped them off
(divided by, divided by) its better to go sooner
(divided by, divided by) than call it all off
Well catch a plane to new york, and a cab going down
Cross the bridges and tunnels, straight into town
Tomorrow morning well be miles away
On another continent and another day
(divided by, divided by) lets not go home
(divided by, divided by) or call it a day
(divided by, divided by) you wont be alone
(divided by, divided by) lets run away
(two divided by zero, zero)
(two divided by zero, zero, zero)
(d...d...d...d...d...divided by)
(divided by, divided by)
(z...z...z...z...z...zero, zero)
(divided by)
(turn of that noise...)
(divided by, divided by) someone spread a rumour
(divided by, divided by zero, zero)
(divided by, divided by) better to go sooner
(divided by, divided by) lets run away
So why hang around for the deed to be done
You can give it all up for a place in the sun
When the postman calls well be miles away
On a plane to new york and another day
(divided by, divided by) I think they heard a rumour
(divided by, divided by) or someone tipped them off
(divided by, divided by) better to go sooner
(divided by, divided by) than call it all off
(divided by, divided by) someone spread a rumour
(divided by, divided by) and someone has to pay
(divided by, divided by) lets not go home
(divided by, divided by) lets run away
(divided by, divided by) lets not go home
(divided by, divided by) lets run away
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dreamt...
i dreamt...
i was dead,
and they'd buried me
on a hill with
a small stone marker.
and i watched
as seasons passed,
one by one,
in constant rhythm...
the years went by.
and no living being
ever visited my graveside,
except for black crows...
again and again,
black crows!
the caw of the crows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hot Summer Night
Hot summer night
Soft breeze blew
Full moon bright
Dreams set sail
Paradise to pursue
Hear you exhale
Kiss your coconut
Images of bamboo
Near the oceanfront
Beach honeymoon
Alluring seashore view
Be there soon
poem by Charles Hancock
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Two Old Crows
Two old crows sat on a fence rail.
Two old crows sat on a fence rail,
Thinking of effect and cause,
Of weeds and flowers,
And nature's laws.
One of them muttered, one of them stuttered,
One of them stuttered, one of them muttered.
Each of them thought far more than he uttered.
One crow asked the other crow a riddle.
One crow asked the other crow a riddle:
The muttering crow
Asked the stuttering crow,
"Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?
Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?"
"Bee-cause," said the other crow,
"Bee-cause,
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause."
Just then a bee flew close to their rail: --
"Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ."
And those two black crows
Turned pale,
And away those crows did sail.
Why?
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.
"Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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A Windy Afternoon At The Beachfront
under the coconut trees
a nipa hut
a boy on a swing
another boy pushing his toy cart
the little girl on the bamboo stair
hugging her doll
the mother is burning the dry leaves
the father is mending the nets
such a happy family
perhaps, who knows? i do not even know them
i am just passing by
trying to breathe trying to take so much salty air
inside my lungs
on this windy afternoon at the beach front
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Crows
THEN, suddenly, I was aware indeed
Of what he said, and was revolving it:
How, in the night, crows often take to wing,
Rising from off the tree-tops in Drumbarr,
And flying on: I pictured what he told.
The crows that shake the night-damp off their wings
Upon the stones out yonder in the fields,
The first live things that we see in the mornings;
The crows that march across the fields, that sit
Upon the ash-trees' branches, that fly home
And crowd the elm-tops over in Drumbarr;
The crows we look on at all hours of light,
Growing, and full, and going these black beings have
Another lifetime!
Crows flying in the dark
Blackness in darkness flying; beings unseen
Except by eyes that are like to their own
Trespassers' eyes!
And you, old man, with eyes so quick and sharp,
Who've told me of the crows, my fosterer;
And you, old woman, upon whose lap I've lain
When I was taken from my mother's lap;
And you, young girl, with looks that have come down
From forefathers, my kin ye have another life
I've glimpsed it, I becoming trespasser-
Blackness in darkness flying like the crows!
poem by Padraic Colum
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I’m going to Paint my Best Picture Ever
As soon as I wake before my coffee
I’ll grab that canvas brush and oils
To paint a fantastic sky,
With a couple of crows squawking in the blue
Then a mountain with snow on it top
An’ the sun shining on it
With a little road at the bottom,
Now for a bus stop with a little boy waiting
With his dog on a lead, then a little puddle
For boys love to jump in em’.
Just finished lots of black and white cows
Feeding in this huge green paddock,
With horses frolicking fresh from the stables
Running and kicking chasing, hope I get it right
Better paint a fence near the road an’ add a few sheep.
Now let me see ah....Trees lot of trees green as green
To the left and to the right with birds flying all around,
Oh in the distance near the foot of the mountain
I’ll paint the school bus coming down the road
That boy has been waiting for ages.
I think that’s it, oh I’ll add a couple of butterflies,
No flowers its winters end and
They are still pushing up underground.
Now let’s look at this picture and see
What the mind can see.
poem by Ken e Hall
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The Progress In The City
life was so simple
then: papa plowed the field
mama cooked sweet potatoes
water was inside a bamboo pole
plates were banana leaves
we rode on carabao backs
picnicked on nearby rivers
climbed coconut trees
no one minded us
whether we were right or wrong
we were happier then
then everything changed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hotel
On de uber side ob de island
Deres a sky so clear and blue
Can see, cross water, to de mainland
New life for me and you
Lets buy a hotel
Lets get a yacht
Well get a golden island
In the sun made of coconut
Lets buy an old car
Well crash in a hut
Well feed the food to the ford
And well live off the coconut
Well theres a big black mama
In a tree
Shes gonna cook us
Shes gonna call up the rest of the tribe
And it looks like the ghost of tarzan lied
He went over to the other side
And he rang like a bell
From tree to tree
They never ever let you go
They never ever let you go
We get american menus
With all american men
Were getting sick of things american
We ate our way through half the pentagon
We had our share of big palookas
Yankee go home
Yankee go ho ho home
They never ever let you go
They never ever let you go
Yankee go home
Yankee go ho ho home
Lets buy a hotel
Lets get a yacht
Well get a golden island
In the sun made of coconut
Lets buy an old car
Well crash in a hut
Well feed the food to the ford
And well live off the coconut
Well theres a big black mama in a tree
Shes gonna cook us
Shes gonna call up the rest of the tribe
And it looks like the ghost of tarzan lied
He went over to the other side
And he rang like a bell
From tree to tree
Tree to tree, tree to tree
They never ever let you go
They never ever let you go
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful Balmerino
Beautiful Balmermo on the bonnie banks of Tay,
It's a very bonnie spot in the months of June or May;
The scenery there is charming and fascinating to see,
Especially the surroundings of the old Abbey,
Which is situated in the midst of trees on a rugged hill,
Which visitors can view at their own free will;
And the trees and shrubberies are lovely to view,
Especially the trees on each side of the avenue
Which leads up to the Abbey amongst the trees;
And in the summer time it's frequented with bees,
And also crows with their unmusical cry,
Which is a great annoyance to the villagers that live near by.
And there in the summer season the mavis sings,
And with her charming notes the woodland rings;
And the sweet-scented zephyrs is borne upon the gale,
Which is most refreshing and invigorating to inhale.
Then there's the stately Castle of Balmerino
Situated in the midst of trees, a magnificent show,
And bordering on the banks o' the silvery Tay,
Where visitors can spend a happy holiday.
As they view the castle and scenery around
It will help to cheer their spirits I'll be bound;
And if they wish to view Wormit Bay
They can walk along the braes o' the silvery Tay.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Summer
summer is an ancestral house
surrounded with antique trees
blushing leaves
rainbow flowers
nearby the blue sea
white sticky rice and
grilled tangigue
fresh buko juice and
straw hat and a swing
between two coconut trees.
and silence and sea breeze.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Big Black Crows
big black crows
keep following me
everywhere i go....
and this morning i heard
the trees whsipering,
as we rode down the road......
drifting clouds, and vacant buildings,
people walking, heads bent down.
children's faces staring out frosted windows,
old dog lying in the sun.
shadows forming faces,
then dissolving back to shadow.....
memories hang like nails on the wall,
that the Painter's brush cant quite hide.
the scent of perfume, wind devils and rust....
big black crows and ashes drifting,
from a heart set on fire!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Way To Live
a little fish rises from the
water to
eat a bubble of
air
from the tree a
kingfisher with an eye
for fish
swiftly dives and
with its sharp long black beak
catches the
little fish
a boy with a rubber sling
aims at the blue kingfisher
hitting it with a
stone crushing its
round head and
sharp long and black beak
to the ground
a ripe coconut falls
from a tree and
hits the head of the
boy below
the lizard that climbs
the coconut tree
looking for brown beetles
at the top
does not notice how
all these events
happen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Rained So Hard In The Mountains
it rained so hard in the mountains
and the water ran
together toward the blue sea
a conquest
between brown and blue
i am looking.
the sea is parted.
brown is about fourteen meters.
and blue is driven away.
the trees are bald.
a coconut falls.
we wait. we see how
brownish things murk
the bluish shade of this world.
i am this Filipino.
I am brown. I am what
is this murkiness all about.
we parted.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At The Seaside, A Solitude
the seaside is peaceful
the sky is blue with white cumulus clouds hanging there
slowly they move and change shapes
like the air is painting and mixing the colors in space
gentle hues graceful strokes
the white sands extend to some miles
the coconut trees are like handshakes
their shadows restive and steady
i lay my body weary of the years
i look at all these lines and circles and spheres
i like to give up thinking and just be a spectator
i let them talk and i merely listen
the seaside, the seagull, the clouds, the coconut trees, the white sands,
the circles and spheres and lines extending
to nowhere.
i cover my eyes with a straw hat. I cease.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Madness of Deforestation
Natures Majestic Trees still, mighty,
Clawed feet grips mother earth deep,
Together holding ground as their own,
Reaching tall breathing out for others life to keep,
Vying for canopy rights, claiming the high blue sky.
Morning sunshine paints its mascara tints,
Shading green, lighting brown glinting green,
A pleasure to see the sea of leafy glints,
Amongst this growing life stands a dead giant
Like a floundering sailing ship in the cruel sea
Now a wonderful perch for the crows choir singing
“NO TREES NO ME, NO TREES NO THEE, ”
Stark dead arms reach out leafless, fingers pointing
Death comes slow to the giant that held the earth together.
Crows cawing out their signature song piercing the silence,
With their timeless silhouettes of black feather.
“Look what do you see besides this dead tree,
Caw caw, caw caw caw!
Uproot them are all for a mirrored vision of thee,
You cannot play with Mother Nature’s law.
After dearth there is no earth!
poem by Ken e Hall
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Crows for Konstantin
Crows.
The noise of conflict dies away.
Those left alive will now depart.
Only the dead allowed to stay,
they have no further part to play.
The warring sides in full retreat
The crows tonight dine on fresh meat.
Though neither side claims victory.
The crows will feast quite happily.
Since man first slew another man.
It seems to be Dame Natures plan.
The crows will feast on the remains
The scavengers alone will gain.
While warring sides must count the cost
of fighting men that they have lost.
Perhaps one day we’ll realise
In war there are no victories.
Bar for the crows who do not fight
but satisfy their appetite.
On those who do who in their view
Choose to fight. they don’t need to.
Although in death they feed the crows.
I don’t suppose the crows oppose.
The idea that men come to blows.
Nor do they care I must suppose.
The only winners are the crows
who feast until they’re comatose.
On what is left of those who chose
to risk their lives exchanging blows.
Sunday,09 May 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Rainy Day
Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the
forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads
against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are
silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river
is haunted by a deepening gloom.
Our cow is lowing loud, ties at the fence.
O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.
Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes
as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain-water is
running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who
has run away from his mother to tease her.
Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.
O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry
is closed.
The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the
water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home
early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.
The evening lamps must be made ready.
O child, do not go out!
The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is
slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo
branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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