The Faith Of Abundance...
I DO NOT question this universe
about how poverty arises,
I do not have exclamations for
the system,
I LIVE here and I breathe
each molecule of air,
I am sent, and I am
situated, this place, I have
received and I have not worked
for what i am surrounded
THIS OPULENCE, this
body, this mind,
THESE ARE ALL given
I HAVE NO investment,
i am a fact, and there are theorems,
i am here,
I WATCH, I LISTEN A lot
i sleep and wake up and the table of the world is ready
the house opens its windows
and so are the doors
My feet are taking me to the river
my hands bathe me
The trees shade me
and the ripe fruits fall beside me
I have cooked rice within my reach
I have roasted chicken on my hand
ALL GOD GIVEN
I AM THE CHILD OF GOD
and I HAVE not worked at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Summer Days
love the summer days
a farm hut on the side of a hill
a bowl of fruits on the table
roasted chicken on banana leaf
upland rice on earthen jar
fresh water from the spring
a big mahogany tree for covering
your head on my shoulder
my hand on your hair
your feet above mine
under the night of stars
away from them all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ruben's Mansion
it is not a house
in fact, it is a white mansion
placed on a one-hectare lot
surrounded by a well-manicured
garden and flowering shrubs
and fruit trees
one that everyone cannot but
always admire
when they come
and watch
Ruben's mansion
taking 2 years to finish
and 12 million pesos
in expenditures
as you go inside
the glass door opens
leading you
to a living room
twice as large
as my own house
in a remote barrio
the furniture are carved
from molave trees
shining with shellac
and glistening
with opulence
the motif of this
house
the kitchen is huge
four times as wide
as my garage
accommodating only
my second hand car
and the garage
is one that can handle
a party for the night
of ten tables and
fifty chairs and
a hundred people
one wonders
why Ruben has to make
a mansion like this
sheer taste perhaps
or his money
simply searching for something
to buy and spend
looking for some
vents
did he remember
how as a child
the family was shamed
because visitors
from Bohol
in 1970 could not
be accommodated
and they all murmured
how poor they were?
it must be traumatic
for Ruben
as a child
and it must be some
trauma
that molded his dream
to build a mansion
like this?
(or am i just
jealous
of his ambition)
i need not ask some
more
his lips are sealed
he is dead
and he has no way
explaining
a sensitive matter as building
a mansion
while the rest still
thrives on
mediocre houses and
unfinished makeshifts
and no one lives
in this house anymore
perhaps some dreams
still live here
dreams unfulfilled
and once fulfilled
these dreams now
refuse to die
a mansion is still a house
and when no one lives there
need i say
that it is never a home
and after this party
tendered in the name of Ruben
we all go home
and then think for once
i must build a home
and for the meantime forget about a mansion
or just a house.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Edonia
Rest, pest, west, best, lest, nest, fest, quest, vest;
But, there is a job in my house for everyone!
So, get yourselves prepared.
The reward,
The authority,
He worked,
She worked;
But keep it clean and keep it lovely,
For, there are enough jobs in my house for everyone.
Teach, reach, preach, breach, leach, each;
A teacher,
A preacher! !
And to establish them before you;
For, the fruits of love are around you and,
You are closer to my house.
As a servant,
Humble yourselves;
Law, saw, draw, raw, braw, craw, Yaw, paw, flaw, jaw, slaw, maw, taw!
But, i am Edonia with the muse of my beautiful house;
And, as it is written on my walls,
There are enough joby in my house for everyone.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Those Ingrates.....
as guests the welcome is made
after the roasted chicken and
the rice, come the fruits on
a silver tray and the cups of
red wine,
the conversations link from past
to present,
laughter decorates the veranda of
the house
glasses clink and the sound of
happy sipping pleases all
ears
music is played, and a bed is
offered for the night's sleep
they left two days after and it
was perfect free accommodation
and entertainment for them all
they said when you come to their
place, just make a call,
and indeed on that sunny month of
May where you want to make merry
you come to their place and make
a call,
their cellphones are off, or that
they cannot be reached, or that
the lines are busy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Preparing Dinner
I watch the pot on the stove
Water is overspilling
The rice is cooking
With bubbles galore
I smother chicken in sauce
Sauce that is made up of green pepper, black pepper and onions
Accompanied with that is the All in one spice.
Watch out for the toilet paper
The spices start talking
The chicken gets fried
The smell of breyani echoes through the house
I chop the potatoes as well as the carrots
I open up McCain veggies
And distribute it with the food
I put more spices in and the McCain veggies
Gets assimilated into the food
The pot is filled with colours
The steam fills the house
The brown chicken starts talking to the yellow potatoes
So does the carrots
The rice is strained
It rises to the core
I use tastic rice
Because it is the best out of them all
I set the table with plates
And it is ready to be filled
One by one they get dished out
First the rice (centered) and then the potatoes and chicken
Ice cream is served as desert
Coca-Cola is poured into glasses
The sweet taste bubbles in my mouth
The hot food burns my mouth
While the cold drink soothes its pain
I smother tomatoes and onions with vinegar
And serve them next to the food
The sauce gives the tongue extra kick
And goes down with a good drink
poem by Lee John Siebritz
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The Saddle Hook
A rise from early morning
Nook thou roasted body, hook
in the a combustible
Chamber ready to wake and fight
the last thirst
When sweat is gone the sweeter
of what will be is done,
As Worthless thing comes; for
an idle mind is gone,
Forever losing the sting of death,
dump in the pinnacle
Of eternal cloth
wake up dear little child,
fade the nocturnal hibernation
and take the yoke the delight
to live, where the
road of success, post no mercy
to work, be in the
vague of vacuum, as the lien
learn to stand by its
own two feet
poem by Antonio Liao
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Dust Child
Come child sleep here by my side
Come child breathe your lungs a little while
Come child sleep here by my side
Come child to your surrender
Sleepwalking angel
Travel through a lonely house
Inspire hollow
Sadly follow
Your way to find me here
Come child sleep here by my side
Come child breathe your lungs a little more
Come child sleep here by my side
Come child to your surrender
Let dust settle
As blankets for your sleep
The skin tremble form the cold
Slowly'll corrode
Rest while you can
Before the sun comes up
And they'll find you where they find you
Only hope says they'll find you right here
Come child sleep here by my side
Come child breathe your lungs a little while
Come child sleep here by my side
Come child to your surrender
Wander ghostly cherub
Let torrents of empty calm you down
Let the dreams that wait for you dampen your lips
Until you wake and breathe your darling lungs no more...
Come child to your surrender (repeat until fades)
poem by Daniel Oliveira
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Willing & Able
Said Im willin and Im able
Im ready 2 place my cards on the table
Ive been holdin back this feelin
4 far 2 long
Now that Im willin, its a fact
Is truly mighty strong
Like a child lost in the wilderness
till I reach my destination, I wont rest
Cuz Im willin (willin)
And Im able (able)
Im ready 2 place my cards on the table (table)
Theres some kings in my deck and a queen or 2
So u know there aint nothin,
Nothin that I wouldnt do (nothin that I wouldnt do)
It twas a long time coming,
But now that its here
All the non-believers better fear me
Cuz Im willin (willin and able)
And Im able
I got good and plenty cards
2 place on the table (table)
Been holdin back this feeling 4 far 2 long
(been holdin back this feeling 4 far 2 long)
Now that Im willing, (this feelin)
This feelin
Its truly mighty strong (truly, i... I)
Im willing (willin)
And able (able)
My vision is all clear, Im feelin kinda stable
U know I am, u know I am
Ready 2 whisper (whisper, whatcha say)
Ready 2 shout (shout, now whatcha say)
Ready 2 scream (scream, now whatcha say)
From the highest mountain top (whatcha say, whatcha say)
Lord, Im willing and able
I wanna dance and sing, somebody watch me do my thing
(willin)
(able)
(willin and able)
(willin)
(able)
(willin and able)
I wanna dance and sing, somebody watch me do my thing
(dance and sing, let me watch u do your thing)
(bring it to me)
Let me take a bite
2 see if ure ripe
Im kinda thinkin about
Takin a hunk, chunk
A piece of your love tonight
Well hello, mc t on a mello
Swing low to the tempo
As I flow on a roll
Here we go, willing and able
Start the show right
With that type of hype
Lay my cards on the table tonite
Dont take me light
My flow hits u just like a lead pipe
While Im clockin
U just say fess
About the boots Im knockin
It aint like that
[somethin to keep the jimmy so get] off my back
In fact u lack the knack
Step back before I show u how a fool acts, baby
Yeah
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aftermath
Now the radio stutters. snaps to life.
Some sour song that sets it right.
And when London falls
He'd like to call
But the stars collide.
They're beautiful and much maligned.
In a universe where you see the worst,
And it's up to you to fix it.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
It's easy to dismiss the "what's it all about" crowd.
There is no doubt. it's this, here, now.
And you close your eyes.
He's not coming back.
So you work it out, overfeed the cat.
And the plants are dry and they need to drink.
So you do your best. and you flood the sink.
Sit down in the kitchen and cry.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
Now the universe left you for a runners lap.
It feels like home when it comes crashing back.
And it makes you laugh
And it makes you cry,
When London falls
And you're still alive.
The radio stutters,
It makes you laugh
And the aftermath,
Open up your eyes.
You're so alive.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
How you've worked it out
And you see it all
How you've worked it out
And you see it all
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Outside My Picture Window
It has been said that there is a world outside my picture window and
Beyond the trees I see everyday and the sky, sometimes overcast and
Other days, when the sun rises early- I can see the sky and have often wondered if
There exists another world within our universe- I know that
There exists a world inside of my mind and
My pupils are the windows into which
People would look if I were to venture outward?
Beyond the sky, and beyond the sun-
Beyond that world inside my mind,
I would never know where there exists a place for me-
Last night outside of my window
I could see the stars- stars mean different things to different people as
Does the sun, the trees and this whole world outside-
The world inside my mind revolves about
The sun that shines upon my own horizon and
As for this world outside, all I can do is look- and to
See a tree, perhaps a single cloud and the grass that grows-
I have shut my mind to the people who live beyond
The trees, clouds and the grass that I can see-
That window opens to the world inside of my thoughts-
I have just shut and pulled the curtain to discourage all intruders-
I am lying by my window in total darkness now as I place my hand over my eyes,
Shutting out reality and now I can see mountains, flowering trees and
A creek flowing in which I can see my reflection and
I am running upon the grass that grows beneath my feet-
I believe I heard music playing inside the fortress of my mind-
It has been said there is a world outside and I have pulled the curtain
To the window once opened to veracity-
Darkness has never looked as beautiful as I am safe here in my solitude-
Even when the stars are shining and the sky is such a magnificent sight to see-
No place is as exquisite as the creek that runs through my inner space and
The sun inside the world of my thoughts that shines upon my horizon?
The stars are far away and all that is real, though just outside my picture window
I perceive as too far away for me to reach- I would touch the stars and I could be a dove
That can lift my wings and fly away from all that threatens, but only inside my dreams-
Children sing songs and read fairy tales and they believe and I believe that
The sun shines light upon their worlds and
Someday their dreams shall blossom as has mine and shall become their homes-
Home is the safe place inside a person's mind, not within the madding crowd that
Exists outside my picture window- even if the stars are always there- and
That unique and special sun shall just keep on shining upon the world of my dreams….
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Following No Rules
...is like going towards a house
on a mountaintop
the trees there have
ripe fruits for the picking
lots of jack
fruits spreading a map
of smell
and you focus your gaze
and you do not know
which way
you follow a scent
a view
and you bow down
to a thick grass
finding your way in there
you are not lost
you are tired
the house is still there
the fruits are about to fall
no one has gone there yet
in your wild
imagination
a native tells you frankly
sir, it is only the top of the mountain
nothing more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Denial
Here I am in a house full of doors but no exits
In a light that is grey like the stain on my windows
All of this is a gift, such a painful companion
Inside of me
Its just something I know, the answers not there
It comes and it goes and it frightens me
Its just something I know, the answers not there
It comes and it goes and it frightens me
This feeling inside me cant confront the decay
To fall down on my knees and resume this charade
Believe me, this distance, its not what I need
Inside of me
Its another story, some of it is blurred
I tried to understand him, I tried so hard
Time worked so well upon us inside of me
Inside my soul, inside my soul
Time worked so well upon us
Inside of me, inside my soul
Inside of me, inside my soul
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Varied Menu
Chicken and rice.
Fish and rice.
Rice and chicken.
Rice and fish.
Varied menu - 'ish!
Nice jungle place.
There's plenty of space.
Fresh clean air
But that dietary pair,
Fish or chicken
.....Not again!
So more trekking with a frown
Back to Georgetown.....
poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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Our Progeny....
there are so many things that we cannot really have
sometimes we complain, feeling the injustice, disgruntled over
an unfairness,
when we were young, we wage a rebellion,
about a system that did not satisfy our longings, that give us pain
many died, the system is cruel, many suffered, because they are
too unforgiving,
those who still live, spend their dignities in prison cells
hidden from the light of the sun, the promises of the day,
we who live in the silence of our disgust have chosen the silence
we too suffer,
we die so many deaths everyday
we want to bury ourselves
but our progeny stopped us
now we are attuned for all the other things that we cannot have
we embraced more silence, we have become numb and we claim some slices
of this wisdom
in our hearts we cultivate this culture of indifference
like rats deprived of our fields, we transfer from one hollowness to
another
the things that we cannot have have become more real
as real as our tired hands, our fed up brains, our decimated human
existence
we have worked so hard, yet the things that we cannot have
still remained hanging above us like ripe fruits beyond the reach of our calloused hands
we begin to accept these things that we cannot really have
we bowed to their being unreachable, we focus our sights on the ground, soft, dry sands,
we take a handful, and all of them slip from the hold of our palms from the slits of our fingers
we have so much of these things now, and they have become innumerable.
our young who have become bold and brave shall come in, to repeat
what we have started, and unless they win
we still can never have them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Small Town America
just an old southern
mill village.... cotton mills
on one side of the road,
furniture factories on the other.
momma worked there,
my sister worked there,
my brother worked there,
and i worked there....
$1.90 an hour, loading trucks
by hand, stacking rolls of cloth
eight feet high without a lift...
putting brackets on beds, or
running bandsaws....
hard hand work, paid every week.
all those buildings empty now....
windows boarded over, signs
falling.... rats run across haunted floors.
even the old gas station
down at the end of the road....
is closed.... no more gas,
no cigarettes, no cold beer.....
and the Sons Of Jesus,
and the Elk's Club quit sharing
the old dance building on the corner....
no one lives here anymore.....
no one lives, no one dies....
and the bum on the corner
that looks like your brother
has no name.... in
small town America!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Rice
On table plateful cooked rice,
Still the steam emits.
On chair I did cling,
Waited my wife curry to bring.
Beyond the plate, I behold
The farm wet with solicitude
Where the peasants
Sow the seeds.
Hot rice brings to the mind,
The paddy plants pined,
And the debt cankered peasants,
Whose sweats the balm to welted awns.
Held the rusty scythes,
And bent like the scythes,
The darkened women sang throat opened,
And the folk song my core vibrated.
Cooked rice still steamy,
And white purely,
As the mind of farmer,
The climate and price fall boiled ever.
Born to toil in the soil,
Farmers return to the soil,
To feed the worms,
Hanging on a rope hopeless.
When my dear curry brought,
I painfully thought:
No life without rice,
And without the peasant no rice.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Home Sweet Home
sunday on a home sweet home
from the city
to this little nipa hut
on top of a hill
that father built
where the guava trees are filled
with ripe fruits
where i climb and gather and taste
the sweetness of its pink flesh
where the carabaos rest
in the coolness of mudholes
where i take my ride on them
in the river nearby
on crystal clear waters
where some fish swim on shallow waters
inviting me to fish and catch them
for lunch of pearl white glutenous rice
and with banana leaves as plates
and some wild chicken's barbecued breast
and with my bare hands and
some childhood friends
we shall take this simple feast
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Envision A Time When We Are Poor
once
out of my loneliness
i sit and envision a moment when we are poor
and desolate and we decide to go together for a lunch date
and we order
what we really want despite the fact that we fear we cannot afford it
yet we do not mind what happens next
i have the best chicken curry and jasmine rice and green tea
and you have the four seasons-juice
and beef steak & mashed potatoes for the main course
and leche flan for dessert
and we talk on some matters of the heart
about the stillness of time
and the unchanging mind and we begin to escape the poverty
of the hands and the feet &
the reality of us
wrinkled and weak
and we laugh and we look at each other and we confirm
the power of love.
love wins always
we agree
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Simplicity
before a table
a cup of rice and
few pieces of fish
you put your knee
near your mouth
as you mold
sticky white rice
with your bare hands
you open your mouth
and swallow what
you have inorder
to live.
(shall i say
poverty?)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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X4
must we imagine
a place away from what our hands
have long held as home?
must we still dream of those
islands
with white sands and
exotic rainbow birds?
the feet have rooted and
our bodies are old trees
the fruits are teeming
and ripe for harvest
the migrating birds are
here to be catered
happiness flows here
like springs without winters
everything here is the
fun of summer times
on domestic dreams
sleep have i,
clipped wings, bubble
world
here is this chosen
earthly eternity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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