The Sea Is Very Calm This Morning
the sea is very calm this morning
the talisay leaves are not disturbed by the breeze
my mama is sitting on a bench
combing her long hair
saying nothing
under a tree
beside our little nipa hut
facing the horizon
on the other side is a big house
whose iron gate is painted red
a big man comes out
rushing as though
he is chasing someone
holding a stick on his hand
shouting at the child
playing with my small brother
inside the yard
of our house
the child of that man is frightened
and runs as fast as he can
back to their house
his father catches him
beating his legs
with the stick on his
right hand
i can still hear the cry of that frightened child
from the very beating of his own papa
what a mess!
i could have told you once again about the peace
and the calm and the quiet of the sea on a morning like this
but it is not true anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
This House Is Not For Sale
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
We're still livin' here, how come nobody can tell
They're takin' all the furniture, movin' our things
Come on little honey, put your head on my knee
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
And calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down, calm down, calm down
Do you remember when we even bought this thing?
I danced you across the wooden floor and you signed the lease
What happened in the car that night?
What happened in the car that night?
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
And calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
We could grab a couple sheets, yeah, give 'em quite a scare
I remember lyin' on the bedroom floor
You were holding me, little honey, kissin' my soul
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
And calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down
Calm down
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A House
rusty galvanized iron
as roof
barely a third of the space
mixed with the
nipa shillings
this is the house
by the side of the sea
with bamboo slats
as walls
the sea is not calm today
the bamboo fences are shaky
to the strong wind
i am inside a house of glass
i see all these
but i hear nothing
leaves of the jackfruit are blown
to the other side of the
fenced area
beyond this frame of mind
i cannot say anything
i am caged.
Our vision is caged.
We do not see
the whole picture
and people think that
we are wrong
that we are blind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My house is small
My house is small
Cogon-roofed
And nipa walled.
Fenced by bamboo slats
Near the shore
The air is fresh
The breeze so cool
Shaded by a tree
And stars and moon
I sleep here alone
With nothing on
Hand
bare
I am a simple man
Barefoot and calm.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I was a Child
I was not the one
Who killed my father
I was quite young
When he died.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
They say he loved me
Willed me grow great
He played with me
We sang in the eves.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
We hoped for brightness
And for tomorrow
Then he slumped
To breathe his last.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
Dirge for me I pray
Papa lives no longer
Beady salt water drops
From my sockets.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
Things happened fast
Leaving me stunned
I racked my brain
I rack it still.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
I cling onto mama
Perhaps she'll keep
Will console me well
For days gone by.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
I search her eyes
To find some faith
She must stay here
Ever at my side.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
She too escapes
Abandons me quick
I am raw and untaught
I have learned no trade.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
My father's brothers
Like not my face
Gang together, they say
We must squelch him.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
He must not be great
Like his father
How he struts
Like the old block!
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
This chip will be a cyber
If we lag and tarry
Hound him like the jackal
Aim at his blood.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
I run fast and scurrily
I fain would live
Great to be like papa
Greater even than he.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
Now I am a man
I truly can know
I am not too dazed
Even to think.
I was a child, what could I know
I was too dazed even to think
poem by Samuel Munachim
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The Child, The Man And The Old Man....
i look at the child
at the farther nook of a old house.
there is no chair and beside the door
is a box, it is empty
and the child in fear
took its hiding there
a favorite place
safety box, safe house,
the four corners are
so silent
and the child is happy
asleep in a moment.....
time travels like horses with wings.
there is a man
with a long bird his toenails
are long, no time to cut them
it throat is swollen
bacterial infection again
or the weather changes
cold this time then hot in
a moment
dusts all over the place
and white painted houses
it is lonely, child and man
at the same time
and not one of him speaks
they become one box
and one flap opens to
a sky
always there are
no extra hands. it is reality.
there is an old man
with words of thread
sewing upon its lips.
there is a very dark night.
the child, the man and the old man
are asleep
inside a box, safe and
silent.
there is no morning.
it is final.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Song Of Being A Child
When the child was a child
It walked with arms hanging
Wanted the stream to be a river and the river a torrent
And this puddle, the sea
When the child was a child, it didnt know
It was a child
Everything for it was filled with life and all life was one
Saw the horizon without trying to reach it
Couldnt rush itself and think on command
Was often terribly bored
And couldnt wait
Passed up greeting the moments
And prayed only with its lips
When the child was a child
It didnt have an opinion about a thing
Had no habits
Often sat crossed-legged, took off running
Had a cow lick in its hair
And didnt put on a face when photographed
When the child was a child
It was the time of the following questions
Why am I me and why not you
Why am I here and why not there
Why did time begin and where does space end
Isnt what I see and hear and smell
Just the appearance of the world in front of the world
Isnt life under the sun just a dream
Does evil actually exist in people
Who really are evil
Why cant it be that I who am
Wasnt before I was
And that sometime i, the i, I am
No longer will be the i, I am
When the child was a child
It gagged on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding
And on steamed cauliflower
And now eats all of it and not just because it has to
When the child was a child
It woke up once in a strange bed
And now time and time again
Many people seem beautiful to it
And now not so many and now only if its lucky
It had a precise picture of paradise
And now can only vaguely conceive of it at best
It couldnt imagine nothingness
And today shudders in the face of it
Go for the ball
Which today rolls between its legs
With its Im here it came
Into the house which now is empty
When the child was a child
It played with enthusiasm
And now only with such former concentration
Where its work is concerned
When the game, task, activity, subject happens to be its work
When the child was a child
It was enough to live on apples and bread. and its still that way
When the child was a child berries fell
Only like berries into its hand. and still do
The fresh walnuts made its tongue raw. and still do
Atop each mountain it craved
Yet a higher mountain. and in each city it craved
Yet a bigger city. and still does
Reach for the cherries in the treetop
As elated as it still is today
Was shy in front of strangers. and still is
It waited for the first snow. and still waits that way
When the child was a child
It waited restlessly each day for the return of the loved one
And still waits that way
When the child was a child
It hurled a stick like a lance into a tree
And its still quivering there today
The child, the child was a child
Was a child, was a child, was a child, was a child
Child, child, child
When the child, when the child, when the child
When the child, when the child
The child, child, child, child, child
(added words by van morrison)
And on and on and on and on, etc. and onward
With a sense of wonder
Upon the highest hill. upon the highest hill
When the child was a child
Are you there
Shassas, shassas
Up on a highest hill
When the child was a child, was a child, was a child
Was a child, was a child, was a child, etc.
(fade to end)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our House
Father wears his sunday best
Mothers tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sisters sighing in her sleep
Brothers got a date to keep
He cant hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house it has a crowd
Theres always something happening
And its usually quite loud
Our mum shes so house-proud
Nothing ever slows her down
And a mess is not allowed
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Something tells you that youve got to get away from it
Father gets up late for work
Mother has to iron his shirt
Then she sends the kids to school
Sees them off with a small kiss
Shes the one theyre going to miss
In lots of ways
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
I remember way back then when everything was true and when
We would have such a very good time such a fine time
Such a happy time
And I remember how wed play simply waste the day away
Then wed say nothing would come between us two dreamers
Father wears his sunday best
Mothers tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sisters sighing in her sleep
Brothers got a date to keep
He cant hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house, was our castle and our keep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, that was where we used to sleep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God Bless This Child
Billie Holiday / Arthur Herzog Jr.
Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don't ever make the grade
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When you're gone, spending ends
They don't come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But don't take too much
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
He just worry 'bout nothin'
Cause he's got his own
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother Not Nice
Sitting in Starbucks I couldn't help but hear
A women talking mean her son while I was sitting near.
She ends up hitting him—
what the ____this is very grim...
Why bring him to a business meeting
where child now has to have a score card-
A score card—for what?
A child is a child why
treat him with this regard.
Why do parents even have kids
let alone bring them to a public place—
where a child who is scolded and
made to feel a disgrace.
We are still living the old planetary dream—
everything in the extreme—
Child is not at fault for wanting to go outside-
why did she bring him along when he could of stayed
inside—inside his house with his father who was home—
people are not realistic—I could go on and on.
Written by Christina Sunrise on March 15,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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(Freedom poems) Fairy child
Fairy child
You child of a god
Fairy child
You have given
up your freedom
Fairy
Fairy child
And now you roam
our world free
Fairy child
because
you know no borders
and your education
Ain't enough fairy child
So you cross borders
to disrespect international
Treaties
You're wanted by INTERPOL
(Can you spell that out loud?)
and the host of
The international agencies
you fairy child
You will know forwards
Fairy child
That the world serves
the interests of one
Super state
When the sanctions
begin to bite fairy child
You will cry like your
Fairy mama fairy
Because here there's
the scarcity
of the sanctions busters
Fairy child
You better go away fairy child
And find yourself
A love mate in Tokyo
Fairy child
'Cause in Tel Aviv
They hunt down the black
infiltrators
Yes they do fairy child
'cause they fear the black brothers
'cause they and the Israelis
Share the same black ancestor fairy child
You better run my brother
And fall in love and marry yourself
off to a Ethiop woman
To get a alien citizenship fairy child
'Cause as stateless as you are now
You're a sitting duck
For INTERPOL and Scotland Yard
Fairy child
Say nothing in Guantanamo Bay
Fairy child
When they come to interrogate
you fairy child
Fairy child fairy child
You child of a god
I warned you my brother
The laws of the brother Humanity
are harsh my man
Now you're sitting there and
all your life you've been
Apolitical fairy child
Now you're sitting with the politicals
Waiting for the interrogator
To interrogate you
For the politics of power
You know the science of which not
It's cold on the Cuban island prison
Fairy child
You chew on your blues
And you even miss the gilded
gates of the flames of hell
Fairy child
Fairy child...
Naive!
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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The words of a child
When we were small
my younger brother and I
had to stay with the Von Hörsten’s
during the day,
when my mother went to work
and we had to play outside
and was threatened
that we would get dresses
when we wanted
to come into the house,
but this staying
ended dramatically
in my sixth year.
One night my mother wanted to know
how it is going
with out daily visitation,
whereupon I told her
that every thing was well
and my brother said
that I eat my food very slowly.
I told her
that I do not like cabbage
and that we have to eat everything
or get a hiding
if something is left
on our plates.
My mother said that vegetables
are good and necessary to eat
and I accepted it like that,
but it wasn’t the end
of the story.
As a innocent child
my brother told this incident
to one of the Von Hörsten boys
who told it to his dad.
I played in the hillock above their house
when all of the Von Hörsten boys suddenly
came running out of the farmhouse
and went in all directions
calling for me,
but I could immediately see
that there was big trouble
from the way
that they were shouting and searching.
So I stayed were I was
and wondered about what was going on
and what terrible thing
I had done unknowing?
The much older and bigger boys
sneaked up that hill
and jumped on me
from behind
and grabbed me
and I was carried
right up to their dad.
Uncle Hendrik was a man
that didn’t take nonsense
from anyone
and wanted to know from me,
why I did not want to eat
his wife’s food
and why I am saying
that her food tastes awful?
So I said that it isn’t true
and he shouted
that I must stop lying
and jagged me closer
on my neck
with the hook of his walking stick
and hit me with it.
Stuttering I couldn’t get words
to explain
the circumstances
and then he shouted
talk man talk
and stop thinking
what to lie about
while he was still hitting me.
So I said
that I didn’t like cabbage
and got another hiding
and was said to be silent
or to talk the truth.
So I said that God is my witness
and that a day would come
that his words would also dry up
and be totally in confusion.
Like a dog I was chased away
with a footsack shouted at me
and fled away from
his walking stick
to our house.
The Von Hörsten’s called my mother
and told her about every thing
and she knew
from where my trouble came
and for a whole month
my brother had to eat cabbage,
because he talked
out of the house
and never again
we stayed over with the Von Hörsten’s.
l’Envoi
Many years later
when I was at University
I saw uncle Hendrik Von Hörsten
on the campus
and we greeted each other
and spoke normally
about the things happening in the country
and about our families,
but when he walked away
other students spoke to him
and the once known writer
spoke back in jabbering language
as if he didn’t know
what to say
and was totally confused.
It was said
that he had Alzheimer’s,
but until today I wonder
about the power
coming from
the words of a child.
[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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bloodline ***** MARCHAN BEACH
to papa romeo and to his 8 remaining siblings, uncle berto, ramon, gondino, jun-taks, adit, alexander, auntie helen and sergio marchan
here there's tree house
of course tossed up by the tree
the talisay tree
a parola like posting
over the marchan beach
well-ventilated
sorrounded by native cottages
overlooking Panguil bay
embracing Iligan breeze
slashing Ozamiz waves
against Maigo charcoaled shores
below are talisay leaves scattered
everywhere
like my biological papa's siblings
living here and there
as the fallen leaves
spread out and re -united
after sweeping sandy ground
not for burning fire
but for Marchan grand reunion time
some leaves are fallen too and
swept down to unite
like Bungkawel clan hails
from other nearby -tree branches
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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God Bless The Child
Billie holiday / arthur herzog jr.
Them thats got shall get
Them thats not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own
Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets dont ever make the grade
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own
Money, youve got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When youre gone, spending ends
They dont come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But dont take too much
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own
He just worry bout nothin
Cause hes got his own
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Calming / Tel Aviv Park Bench Poem
HOW CALMING /TEL AVIV PARK BENCH POEM
How calming
The grass
The trees
The morning breeze
The single human souls
All around rushing to their destinations
Crowds.
I see across from me
A deep scarlet tree
Leaves bunched like grapevines.
The world is calm
I am calm
The world has its business
I go slowly to mine.
Happy days are here again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A letter which never sended
Last night I was a dream
About your house
Were the roof leaks everywhere
A green-painted house dull
I walk to the room
To the kitchen
To the front
The water to flood (inundate) on the floor
The water rose higher and higher
Flow to the visiting room
I walk to bend (bow, stop) and to walk on tiptoe,
I walk on tiptoe to avoid The water flood
Everywhere, from the front to backyard
I walk on zig-zag
Head made a low bow
To avoid the bird excrement
Much of bird cage hanged
On the roof
when the water to flood (inundate) increasing highest
to their food’ knee, -you still cook in the kichen
in the bend of the dull wall and moss-covered/mildewed
The water flood increasing and increasing on the foots
to the broken chairs
to wet, dampen the books which to scatter, spread everywhere
I could stop to find your mother anymore
she likes to codle me (to observe by holding in the hand)
when I was child: “She said, I just could walk
run around the kitchen, along the corridor
and riding the pedicab cycle
near the thing being dired/the wash
while playing the little car.”
To day i find your mother
In the overcast house
A green-painted house dull
Dull painted
Dark and overcast
The water to flood (inundate) on the floor
Everywhere
Just I found your mother walking stick
And her articial foot
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Calm Is Who I Am Now
CALM IS WHO I AM NOW
Calm is who I am now
Calm and quiet-
I have done
What I could do-
The rest is repetition-
Slowly slowly
Time is taking me away-
How long I do not know-
How much pain I do not know-
Calm is who I am now -
Quiet quiet
Before the fears return again
And the anxiety over what I have not done-
Calm is who I am now
In these moments at this hour
Four in the morning
A small part of the long day to come.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Independent Woman....
we are in this house
that from our sweat built
there are only two of us
in this house
which we have not really
called as home,
something's missing
you give me a hint
not the glass window or
the ceiling fan,
i know it but how can i
tell you?
i won't tell, it will hurt you,
we continue living
somehow
just the two of us in this house
we have our own careers
and every morning we rush to go on our different ways
the night is the only place
of our tryst
we manage to spend time for love
we sleep together and share
what we can
there will be a time when this house shall fall
because it is not a home for us all
there will be one morning when you will finally leave
and take away everything from me
and then i will write it on the wall
this house is never a home,
she never wanted a child to bear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Little Boy In My Hometown
a little boy
finds the house too crowded
his father beats his
mother in the kitchen
where fish is
grilled
his sisters pull each
other's hair
in the living room
where he wants
to read
his brother breaks the
chair and throws plates
over the window
when no money is
given
it is like the house
is always on fire
and there is not even
a pail of water
and so the little boy
wants to run away
but there is no other
place
as the town is also
too crowded for itself
people are shouting
and beating each other
the park is neither
a peaceful place to
stay as bullies too
overcrowd there
and so the little boy
climbs a tree and
finally
finds a very cool place
to pray.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Every House
Every house has a sun and moon,
And a little porcelain cup,
And a little silver spoon;
Every house has laughter and pain,
And feels the kiss of a needed rain.
Every house has a pet or two,
A cat in the tree,
A dove that coo;
Every house has a little mouse,
Lives in a hole he never comes out.
Every house has a window or two,
And some grass and trees,
And a sky that's blue;
Every house has a child that dreams,
As he plucks at raw reality's seams.
poem by Patti Masterman
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