The Vietnamese Hat...
from dried buri palms
she weaves the Vietnamese hat
all for aesthetics
her soft hands make it
despite the hot day
the hat is only for the pompous display...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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And just as there was something of every Vietnamese in Ho Chi Minh so there is something of Ho Chi Minh in almost every present-day Vietnamese, so strong is his imprint on the Vietnamese nation.
quote by Wilfred Burchett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The buffalo that arrive late will have to drink muddy water and eat dried grass.
Nothing is beautiful, only man: on this piece of naivete rests all aesthetics, it is the first truth of aesthetics. Let us immediately add its second: nothing is ugly but degenerate man - the domain of aesthetic judgment is therewith defined.
quote by Friedrich Nietzsche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing is beautiful, only man on this piece of navety rests all aesthetics, it is the first truth of aesthetics. Let us immediately add its second nothing is ugly but degenerate man-the domain of aesthetic judgment is therewith defined.
quote by Friedrich Nietzsche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I believe firmly in reconciliation among Vietnamese to avoid unnecessary shedding of the blood of Vietnamese.
quote by Duong Van Minh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Hands Of Man
If the hearts opaque
Not ever yearns for
A concerted evidence
To hold captive
Wonders of this claim
Stands at ease even
In states unborn and
Accents yet unknown
In the palms of man
Where evil recedes from
Multitudes Incompetence
Becomes the ascendancy
In the hands of man
Where harmony turns
Out to be a prospect
Persistence ever renders
A certainty
In the palms of man
Where familiarity always
Breeds contempt
Indecision surrenders as
Thief of time
In the hands of man
One's entitlement wither
Just as one sighs for relief
In the hands of fellow man
Repercussions assumes the
Spectrum of day light
In the hands of man
poem by Prince Kenny Osei
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Called to spread love
called to spread love
branch the palms of hands
into a lightning through the dimness clouds
into the cracks of a dried out earth
into the cracks of unwritten walls
into the veins arteries ropes
climbing the heaven of love spread calls
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Looking Upon A Child
looking upon a child i compress my years
like how i keep the lines confined inside my palms.
i stop for while following where the child goes.
his hands are buds, his feet as small as a saki cup.
his eyes as innocent as an oil lamp waking on a dark night.
his hair are soft and silky like a kitten fur
his sounds like the arrival of morning on the grass.
i hold his tiny hands and i am back to my senses.
he calls my name, but i am no longer there.
i am back to my room. It is as crowded as a storehouse
with papers and books and chairs and used clothes hanging
on the beams and walls. Some old figurines bathed with dusts.
Some dried spittle on the floor. Some unopened off-white pages
filled with age.
i wonder, despite this crowd of things and thoughts,
despite the fullness of the wind from the window
there is still the wide vacancy of space. Inside the heart longs.
Inside the sound howls. Inside something so faint shouts.
It is the sound of the child still calling my name.
It is looking for me and i am never complete.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dinkadow Pho Soup
Out of time,
into remembering the fun
and getting back to it.
Slowly my bock see,
a psychologist doctor of course,
talks with me about,
delegating my depression into fun.
Searching for The Monkey King,
searching for Bow Com,
The Vietnamese Judge.
I try very hard to have fun,
in my own world of Paris By Night.
Fun outside my new bedroom,
fun eating spring rolls and
fun listening to Vietnamese radio,
over the internet for free.
Cam Mon and Thank You doctor!
Out of time now,
into having fun again,
Vietnamese and English,
will always be apart of,
my chocolate milk mix of happiness.
poem by Jackie Anderson
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I Am A Dream Weaver
from buri palms
i weave a dream
of a world
made of steel
i dream that
harshness has turned
into a flower
i dream that
intolerance has become
a smiling neighbor
i dream that
the imperialist is dead
and buried
and we all go home
without fear
of tomorrow
i dream that
the terrorist has come down
from his mountain of hate
and now spends
his long vacation in
some beach resort
in boracay
i dream that
finally my enemy has become
my friend and we drink beer
and laugh and make
some nice conversations
without second thoughts
of betrayal
i dream that
everyday i make poems
about love and compassion
and a nice life and a
confident future free
from fears of global warming
i dream that i am in a dream
dreaming dreams
forgetting that i am just dreaming
that soon i wake up again
dreaming
to be lost in dreams
forever, i dream to be lost in dreams forever
in this dream
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet.
The Show
i have seen this
dalmatian, dancing, and
taking rightly all the cues of
his master.
he adds three plus three
equals six. Six barks.
and his tails waggle
for the correct answer.
the people get excited
watching the dalmatian,
trying to speak the language
of numbers and a human
display of his emotions.
at the park a woman kisses
a man. Lips to lips. The man's
hands holding her butt.
The hard bone protrudes.
The palms are wet.
the dalmatian stops his acts.
and people too stop watching him.
they are watching the real show.
Kiss.Lips to lips. Hands and hearts
Bold at the park. The grasses
are clapping their hands. And the
clouds laugh and do not leave.The sun
pockets a smile. Thumbs up
The trees signal.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Hands
my hands have ten rivers
there are furrows of sorrows in the destiny of my palms
no mountain peaks to view the world
holistically,
my hands have ten crystal clear ponds
my hands mirror my face
my hands surrender
my hands open
they are all yours too and you are so cruel
you are telling me like you detest me in the residence of your full moon
you do not need rivers, you had enough of my surrender, you are ashamed
of open hands, you touch me and then you make a plea
'please close your hands and with your ten rivers, please sail away from me! '
i know what a full moon is. I too had enough of its light and silence.
i have the nerves of the stars, and i know what sailing away means.
let me thank you for your dark skies, your clouds are too heavy for me.
i am raining tears, too salty for my ten rivers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bu$hleaguer
How does he do it? How do they do it? Uncanny and immutable.
This is such a happening tailpipe of a party.
Like sugar, the guests are so refined.
A confidence man but why so beleagued?
He's not a leader he's a Texas leaguer.
Swinging for the fence. Got lucky with a strike.
Drilling for fear makes the job simple.
Born on third. Thinks he got a triple.
Blackout weaves its way through the cities.
Blackout weaves its way through the cities.
Blackout weaves its way.
I remember when you sang that song about today.
Now it's tomorrow and everything has changed.
A think tank of aloof multiplication.
A nicotine wish and a columbus decanter.
Retrenchment and hoggishness.
The aristocrat choir sings, "What's the ruckus?"
The haves have not a clue.
The immenseness of suffering.
And the odd negotiation. A rarity.
With onionskin plausibility of life.
And a keyboard reaffirmation.
Blackout weaves its way through the cities.
Blackout weaves its way through the cities.
Blackout weaves its way.
I remember when you sang that song about today.
Now it's tomorrow and everything has changed.
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open Palms
morning demands
the laying of open palms
on the table
and the palms agree
and then the wind comes
and took all the lines away
the hands do not mind
this is the last day of the body
the heart is full of joy
the mind has no word
the eyes close
and the lips finally sealed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The crimes committed by the North Vietnamese regime against the Vietnamese people were minor compared to the crimes committed by the Khmer Rouge against the Cambodians, but for us on the left they were emotionally far more significant.
quote by James Donald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christian
Of your soft love in the soft rain,
Of your soft romantic hands in the long train,
For i am not dead but alive on this love.
I live in Serbia and i like what you've been doing for me,
And i will love you always till the sun is out of light!
For, this love is the way to my country.
I will sing for you with a soft voice when you are with me,
And i will be around always for your love;
For your soft touch on me is like the way to my home.
I have to find myself on this love,
I have to lead you on this tracks to my home;
For your romantic hands need my naked body.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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He for himself weaves woe who weaves for others woe, and evil counsel on the counselor recoils.
A Life That Is Full
your palms open
your heart
some more
desire drips like
drops of
melting vanilla
ice cream
simply joys
like buds
pleasures like
palms spreading
leaves like
umbrellas under
the sun
merry, merry
dancing feet
hands holding
side by side
alleluia!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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