The Old Nipa Hut In Shambles...
in the middle of the rice field
after the harvest
March, wet days, the nipa hut
stands alone
the grasses have grown tall
no one arrives neither someone leaves
abandoned, the heart sometimes
cannot anymore remember
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lovely, Lovely, Lovely Memories
By an old river beside a bamboo grove
She bathes herself
Only the bamboo leaves hinder
Your view of her long black hair
As she splashes naked in the
Clear River.
Lovely 2
There is a nipa hut on the side of a hill
You meet her when it is dark
She lights your cigar
As you get near her
You decided to smoke later
Lovely 3
You are rocking yourself on a rattan hammock
On a late afternoon when the rest go home
It is Saturday
She stays
You watch her come near you giving you something
She says it is the key to her room and she is all alone tonight.
Lovely 4
The cogon grasses have grown tall & thick on the hillside
Both of you hide in there
Nobody sees you
The tall cogon grasses dance wildly to the slow wind
Lovely 5
Four years in the university studying chemistry
You return home finally
You embrace your old mother meeting you by the door
Outside you see the guava tree filled with its ripe yellow fruit odor
So heavily laden like a big Christmas tree
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inspired by Issa - your rice field, my rice field
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our dreams in tokyo
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our sons in tokyo
inspired
your rice field
my rice field
the same green
-Issa,1815
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Must You Do?
oh, those little things
like the brown grasses of summer,
a flower that blooms in the middle of those rocks
the worm that crawls its way slowly to the humid part
the black bird that stays alone on a branch
the tree that keeps on shedding off its leaves
the dry wind, the post in the middle of the rice field
a banana leaf torn on its sides
a concrete fence surrounding the university
these and those that people do not mind
are mine to write about
we make out our links to all these
we make our own definitions of the self
with what we also mean to them
the black bird staring, the concrete fence of indifference.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A View Of A Narra Tree Whose Branches Are Cut
there it stands tall beside a nipa house
its branches all cut
the climbing lichen and moss shall soon die
at noonday
wilting and stiffening
mummified on an early summer
when all the fingers are cut off
and arms stripped of hands
how can man be a man?
how can a tree be without leaves and branches?
how can moss and lichens thrive on such a cruelty
the nipa house triumphs and someone inside laughs
the sharp axe and the long bolo serve the purpose of the author
of this murder.
I loathe. I make this protest poetry.
Man murders nature unpunished.
No kind of poesy saves. Words are useless.
Metaphors are dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Rural Scene
a line of carabaos grazing
on a newly harvested ricefield
behind an abandoned nipa hut
some wilted grass and dry leaves
shadows of hills and mountains
tall coconut trees and a footpath
two little boys holding each other's hands
bound for home on a late afternoon
sunset, red and orange, and then you
leave the place: your pain is subdued.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The heart of a tree
With branches reaching out as if for a embrace
The tree may bow to nature with grace.
He stands alone when the wind blows strong.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
In winter's cold chill, You can see the tree stand still.
Leaves are gone but the tree stands strong.
Until winter turns into spring and the birds begin to sing.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
Through storms and the wind. Bowing with a graceful bend,
Until the sun shines again, still standing at the end,
The tree is like a true friend.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eye can't see,
Like the heart of a tree.
The old Tree's secrets
How many lovers sat together under the old tree?
If only the tree could speak.
The stories would be of weary travelers
finding a place of peace, and dreams in their sleep.
Stolen moments of lovers, perhaps a sweet caress.
A young man with a ring, a young girl said yes.
Tree I only imagine, I enjoy the guess.
Gentle breezes that lifted the leaves
to let them gently fall to earth.
Misting rain to meet the tree's thirst,
Perhaps two trees inter-twined are
Two lovers that were curst.
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
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Summer Fields
February heat comes too early.
The fields turn brown
And men with bent backs
Harvest the premature
Golden grains
of rice
March should have come
But it didn't.
The grasses wilt, the dust roams around
The wheels of the hauling tractor
Sounds the start
Of another season
Covered eyes and noses
And the silence of the mouth.
It is time to keep memories.
It is this time of the year when sadness goes away.
Another one bites the dust
So to say.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Remembering Those Leaves Of Summer....
i remember the day when Papa
quit smoking, when he promised not to visit
the cockpit anymore and gamble
and he fulfilled his promise,
and the family was happier then
less the fights, gone were the loud arguments,
i remember the day Mama died
because of joy
i remember how she resurrected from the dead
because of promises fulfilled
i remember those days of rain
how we bathed joyfully under them
how our laughter mixed with those drops of tears
i remember most those sunshine days
when we rode on galloping horses on the mountain trails
i remember those poems written for the beautiful orange-sunsets
citrus flavored moments
smokeless in the boulevard
pure healthy talk, less the worries, diminishing darkness,
well, those were the days that i like to remember
and by now, you must have noticed how easily i too forget them.
those leaves have fallen, and what we did, if you remember
was burn all of them
must we keep burning still?
leaves all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mountain Of Poverty
this is what i can tell you:
the children are running in the hills
looking for their favorite butterflies to play
chasing dreams, i suppose, who knows
what they really know and
feel, i was once a child myself, perhaps i have the right to guess
what simple wants they have,
freedom, but i can tell you about something else,
their breakfast today is only brown sugar and rice,
and they have not taken their baths in the river because
the water is dirty, and there is no water system in the hills,
primitive, and still undeveloped, the grasses are not cut
tall and wild, and the coconut trees are not bearing much fruits,
there is drought, and the tenants do not have a good harvest
of their upland rice and there are rats infesting the rice fields,
it rains so hard, the road is slippery and we all have to walk slowly
to keep themselves warm, the men drink wine and smoke
the women do not weave mats anymore, they're sold cheap
and they are so disappointed with what they are getting
sugar is a precious commodity here, no coffee,
salt is expensive, salted fish is a luxury,
bread is like gold here and children do not know what is bread all about
cookies do not exist here
stone age, this is stone age in the midst of an expanding world
the children here are left out
i stare at them as they throw stones at play,
dirt and foul smell, but on the other hand i look at the pictures
that i took on that day
less the smell, less the dirt on their faces,
they are so beautiful, and the mountains are still hopeful.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rat 6
do you remember
rice fields? try imagining
the green rice fields,
put some hills
more hills, and put a gap
between two hills,
and put the sun
shining brightly
and then put some black
buffaloes grazing at the
foot of the hills,
and then on the left side
try putting a nipa hut
a window and a little girl
looking out for sparrows
and on the right side
put the running river and
a jumping fish
do you still think that this
could be your home?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Killer Instincts Of Thoughts....
his thoughts are like
tall, untamed grasses
no one lives there anymore
and everyone is
afraid,
even the dogs, they sniff
a story
of a bitch who went in there
and never
came back, alive.
the grasses are sharp like swords
and tricky like
a mad magician who kills its willing
subjects alive
and escapes in the air like a
whiff of
a sigh
the grasses are alluring, and one white dog
thinking of the bone
and the meat of the jackal
one night
slipped in there like a thief
the sounds of one choked fade
like a denim.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Real Property
Tell me about that harvest field.
Oh! Fifty acres of living bread.
The colour has painted itself in my heart;
The form is patterned in my head.
So now I take it everywhere,
See it whenever I look round;
Hear it growing through every sound,
Know exactly the sound it makes —
Remembering, as one must all day,
Under the pavement the live earth aches.
Trees are at the farther end,
Limes all full of the mumbling bee:
So there must be a harvest field
Whenever one thinks of a linden tree.
A hedge is about it, very tall,
Hazy and cool, and breathing sweet.
Round paradise is such a wall,
And all the day, in such a way,
In paradise the wild birds call.
You only need to close your eyes
And go within your secret mind,
And you'll be into paradise:
I've learnt quite easily to find
Some linden trees and drowsy bees,
A tall sweet hedge with the corn behind.
I will not have that harvest mown:
I'll keep the corn and leave the bread.
I've bought that field; it's now my own:
I've fifty acres in my head.
I take it as a dream to bed.
I carry it about all day....
Sometimes when I have found a friend
I give a blade of corn away.
poem by Harold Monro
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Empire State Human
Since I was very young I realised
I never wanted to be human size
So I avoid the crowds and traffic jams
They just remind me of how small I am
Because of this longing in my heart
Im going to start the growing up
Im going to grow now and never stop
Think like a mountain, grow to the top
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
With concentration
My size increased
And now Im fourteen stories high
At least!!
Empire state human
Just a bored kid
Ill go to egypt to be
A pyramid
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Brick by brick
Stone by stone
Growing till hes fully grown
Brick by brick
Stone by stone
Growing till hes fully grown
Fetch more water
Fetch more sand
Biggest person in the land
Fetch more water
Fetch more sand
Biggest person in the land
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remember Those Days
Remember those days when love was a game?
You tempted. You teased and called his name.
He tempted. He pleased. What could you blame?
Youth, vitality and the call of desire,
Sensitive skin that felt on fire.
Remember those days when love was tame?
You smiled. You relented and he became
patient, and understanding. There was no blame.
Middle years and bodily change,
give and take, fair exchange.
Hard to remember those days anymore.
Love's still there, but different than before.
You hold his hand. You hear him snore.
Older years and you're still together.
All of this you both do weather.
And once in a while you remember.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Filipino Poem 3
The Filipino poem as written by Bimboy
A college student of the Ateneo de Davao
University taking up BS Chemistry on a
Cocofed scholarship grant:
The sun rises on the two hills in my barrio.
You cannot find Papa and Mama there anymore
They always quarrel over their extramarital affairs
And the nipa hut is just too crowded for the two of them.
My sister had two sons but you cannot find them there
Because they live in another nipa hut on the other
Side of the river while the ricefields are dry and did not
Yield any harvest because of drought and the carabao
Is also not there in that scene because it died, butchered
And sold as meat to the hungry neighborhood.
The sun sets on the hills like a bunsen burner turned off.
The two hills protrude like two empty glass flasks turned upside down.
You cannot find me there I am here still writing this poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Is Strange
i find the coming days strange
filled with your silence and i am here feeling so abandoned
pampered once by your words of concern
like i am always showered by your rain
when i was once a vast dryland
with grasses all wilting and animals moving away
searching for water,
it is indeed strange when a day goes away without any word from you
when the night comes as black as tar
and as lonely as a house without its children
moving out to another place carrying with them their
conversations and laughter
and oh even the usual noise
those senseless ones that i begin to miss
because of their absence
i miss you and i will be missing you more for the coming empty days
of my life
i am like a window now always open as
the strong winds come and scatter everything that i have written
the night comes like an empty space of darkness where i surrender
without any word
i sleep and then wake up for another day
when the light stabs my face
piercing my heart
this time every change that comes
is pain
because you are not here anymore and without you
i will be always alone
feeling so abandoned like the shell without its flesh
like the skull without a face
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The Outside Looking In
The peels of laughter emulate from within
and he stands on the outside forever looking in.
He stands the stranger, which no one wants to know.
Sadness always etched across his brow
with a lonely heart beating inside.
He sees the smiles radiate from within
while he stands alone
always on the outside looking in.
The one who stands apart from any joyous crown
with only tears and a lonely heart.
He is the one who never is invited
to parties at anytime,
but has to watch from outside a window
on the outside always looking in.
He is that someone everyone reject as a friend.
One day he can only hope and tables will turn.
Until that day arrives
and his loneliness evaporates he will remain
the one who stands
on the outside always looking in.
14 May 2010
poem by David Harris
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A Holy Man
in the middle of the rice fields
a holy man stands
looks around and then
pees.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walk Tall
Cant wait to see you say black is white
Cant wait to hear you
Tell me lies
Say it with flowers
But Id swallow too much pride
Stop counting the hours
till Im right there by your side
Walk tall
Ill never crawl to you
Walk tall
Not if you beg me to
Wishing and hoping
To see the light
Waiting and praying
It will be all right
Remember the days we spent
Just lying on your bed
Remember how crazy we went
Right out of our heads
Walk tall
Ill never crawl to you
Walk tall
Not if you beg me to
Walk tall
Ill never crawl to you
Walk tall
Not if you beg me to
Walk tall
Ill never crawl to you
Walk tall
Not if you beg me to
song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Always Breaking My Heart
Is this what you want
Every finger points at me
This might be funny
If it wasnt such a tragedy
After a while
It gets harder to smile
And pretend that things are ok
So when you need the in the middle of the night
I wont be there cos youre always breaking my heart
Youre always breaking my heart
You always tear it apart
Yeah oh yeah
So cross yourself now
Get down on your knees and pray
But no powers from heaven
Could ever take the darkness away
Ive tried climbing the walls
But youve built them too tall
So its time I walk away now (walk away now)
And when you call me in the middle of the night
(of the night)
Theres no one there cos youre always breaking my heart
Youre always breaking my heart
You always tear it apart
Yeah yeah yeah
Reach out a hand to hold
Aint it sad when the distance grows
Two hearts cling to their fates
Remember that first embrace
But I cant worry anymore
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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