The White Man With His Dalmatian
a white man goes fishing
to the sea
on his white wooden boat
bringing with him his
dalmatian
wherever the man looks
the tongue of the dalmatian also follows
at the other side
the island looks at them
the mountains as usual
so big
for this kind of friendship
envious
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
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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Your Last Picture
you in black shirt
wet with sweat
on a blue train
in the city
you are holding
a bottle of beer
on your side is
the dalmatian
without the usual
rope in your hand
things run smoothly
like the train
like the round body
of the bottle of beer
like your dog
lying on the floor
of the train
one night
when all the
passengers
are gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Giving the carabao feelings of wings
The carabaos are grazing again
It is summer and
The white herons are teeming
On the green fields
Some take the usual sight
Of friendship
The white heron on top
Of the carabao’s back
They are so close I wonder
If there is this familiarity
Between them
Their friendship has lasted
For centuries
They say the white herons
Feed on carabao's lice
And to repay the kindness
The carabao gives the bird
Its free ground ride
I disagree totally
There is no pecking that I see
And there is no distance
Whatsoever that the carabao gives
This is friendship, this is a picture
Of friendship, the heron is giving
The carabao the feel of its white wings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just To Let You Know
i am in an island
and i am in the middle of a struggle
the sound of the wind is not a song
for it is weeping
the sea has become a big mystery
the clouds as usual drift and unconcerned
the sun this morning comes
bringing me the sad news of a destruction
i sit upon the silence of the sands
figuring out the shape of a boat that must soon
take me away from here
out there there must be another island
where i can escape away from you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dalmatian breed of dog has many primitive characteristics.
quote by Louis Leakey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crazy Island
Written by John Mellencamp
Hey Hey America
You're some kind of crazy island
You're a place where dreams can grow
And there's history in your mansions
Good fortune in your plantings
You're well respected we all know
Hey Hey America
Let's check your children
And see what they might know
Hey Hey America
With your salesmanship and your salaries
And your strip malls a growin'
And your handguns and your heresies
Don't hold no responsibility
In this land of easy millions
Hey Hey America
It's so thrillin' to see you grow
You're some kind of crazy island
You're some kind of crazy island
Well I prefer a sunny day
I just thought maybe I'd live a little bit longer that way
I don't think we should look the same
Or talk the same
Yeah I think it's a shame
And Hey Hey America
Across the new horizon
Are you sure that's the way we should go
'Cause I don't know
Maybe it's too late for all that
And Hey Hey America
You're wrapped up in your red, white and blue
Hey Hey America
Wrapped up in yourself and your red, white and blue
Hey Hey America
You're some kind of crazy island
You're some kind of crazy island
Hey Hey America
You're some kind of crazy island
You're a place where dreams can grow
And there's history in your mansions
Hey Hey America
You're some kind of crazy island
Some kind of crazy island
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost Dog; Reward!
Missing Dog belongs to dalmatian pedigree
Red ribbon round the neck with a bell
And the new leather belt of goat skin,
Old Owner cries the whole day without a meal.
Please contact; Nagging Soul
3456, West Sumac Lane, Apt 008
Anaheim, CA 92804
I told my wife 'It's near to our place.'
And when I try to fix my photograph on that notice
She scolded me in our mother tongue.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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It Will Just Take One Flea And A Cat
it will just take one flea
to infest
this dalmatian
and a grey cat
to capture
the goldfish
in an aquarium
to create all the mess
in my house
on the frontline
where we are missing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Scene In A Little Town
the sky is white
the sea is blue like silk
on the sea three fishermen
pull their net
their boat is small
and wooden
on the sandy beach
a child plays with his white dog
how peaceful is this place
how wonderful is this life!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the mountain
in the mountains its cold thats why i want you tby my side holding me, in the mountains around the campfire, i am wishing you could be at my side, hlding me. in the mountains by that small creek i am fishing but not for fish but for love from you. in the mountains i relaize i need and love you more than i thought i did
poem by Makayla Straight
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Shoplifter
Police ran behind the thief
and caught him.
It looks very sad,
a deserter is holding a canned meat
and his name is Man.Dalmatian.
(nickname for the dark spots on his face) .
Who served half of his hard life
in the armed forces
and at last what he gained?
only the isolation!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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White Sea
white sea spreading before me
so silky
tiny ripples of the wind
from a far
bringing some stories
from the other island
some leaves fall from
the pitogo tree
some flowers pink and white
lay on the shore
white sands of silence
and peace
seeping in my skin
i am barefoot
i am naked down to the waist
i am waiting
for the sun to descend upon the bosom
of the horizon
i am dreaming of palm trees
soft winds
of summer
a door opens in my mind
i get in
stepping into something new
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Land O' Free Love & Goodbye
Oh the trees grow higher than the mountains
In the land of free love and goodbye
The river's ever flowing, fishing growing
And the god i love loves me.
In the sky rides a gleam of white horses
And the glimmer clean in your eye
The bird of dawn is bringing
The simpleness of singing
And the god i love loves me.
Oh the trees grow higher than the mountains
In the land of free love and goodbye
The river's ever flowing, fishing growing
And the god i love loves me.
And the sun lies all around
And everything is as it must be
And winter lies underground
And the god i love loves me.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land O Free Love Goodbye
Oh the trees grow higher than the mountains
In the land of free love and goodbye
The rivers ever flowing, fishing growing
And the God I love loves me.
In the sky rides a gleam of white horses
And the glimmer clean in your eye
The bird of dawn is bringing
The simpleness of singing
And the God I love loves me.
Oh the trees grow higher than the mountains
In the land of free love and goodbye
The rivers ever flowing, fishing growing
And the God I love loves me.
And the sun lies all around
And everything is as it must be
And winter lies underground
And the God I love loves me.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wild Horses And The Snow
last night the horses were there again
black, brown, white, gray horses, spotted ones
on their furious breaths they ran wildly on the
white snow
white as the fleece of a lamb
the feathers of the parakeet
the hair of the albino hamster
they are making the sounds of freedom
exploring the distance of distances
roaming the earth
and the mountains and the plains
all in my head.
subconscious desires waiting for the Freudian
explanations.
as usual.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Day You Dissolve Into Whiteness...
a white car waits for you
at the white side of the road
you are in your white suit
white socks and white shoes
you are white yourself
pale lips and snowy face
dusty eyes, clear tears
falling down to your cheeks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Love Lyme Regis
I love Lyme Regis,
the pink and white cottage's,
and the deep blue sea,
the pebble on sandy beach's where the children play,
walking along the heritage coast, picking up fossil's along the way,
watching the fishing boat's going out to sea,
bringing back mackerel and crab for us to eat for tea,
the Cobb, the cliff's, the safe harbour for the little ship's,
for these and many more thing's,
i love Lyme Regis.
poem by Alan J Duffield Lock
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Stepping Into Something New This Summer
white sea spreading before me
so silky
tiny ripples of the wind
from a far
bringing some stories
from the other island
some leaves fall from
the pitogo tree
some flowers pink and white
lay on the shore
white sands of silence
and peace
soft whispers of the winds
seeping in my skin
i am barefoot
i am naked down to the waist
i am waiting
for the sun to descend upon the bosom
of the horizon
i am dreaming of palm trees
soft winds
of summer
a door opens in my mind
i get in
stepping into something new this summer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fishing On The Susquehanna In July
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure -- if it is a pleasure --
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one --
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table --
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia,
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandana
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
poem by Billy Collins
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The Stormy Sea
that boat was too small
for this trip to the other island
the ladies sat next to me
and they were all silent
to the sounds of the waves
just beside us and i knew
that with just one mistake,
one mistake from the boatman
that boat would have sunk
but lo, how the boatman took
the boat was kind of a very
skilled skipper of the waves
of the stormy sea like he was one
surfer in California taking sides
with each wave with so much
art and beauty carefully scaling
where safety lied and where
danger waited for an ambush
i was looking at each side
of the huge waves until
we reached Crocodile Island
of course the ladies knew that
it was no longer a joke but
a matter of a skilled boatman
making a choice between
life and death.
we chose life and the ladies and
the boatmen very well knew it.
the waves were too big for the
small boat but our silence was
even bigger. we survived.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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