This Art....
it is just a matter of having it in
and it gives the usual
pain or joy, no choice, the feelings
are always there
and the sense of knowing and
being too analytical seemingly destroys the
beauty indescribably
setting
she gives a sigh
when nobody seems to be clapping hands
when no one is bowing
or saying a name at least that one makes it right
and rhyming
'at last, i do not really care'
this is autonomy
of indiscretions of feelings and all these are but
streams
of consciousness the usual candle tears taking shape
in a bowl of cold water
'we let it go'
we tell ourselves mutually about the release of what had been kept
for years
and we know no one understands what is these all about
a sewing machine
a pillow, a veil, a pin, an injecting sting,
a rope, a blanket,
an authority, a cushion, a bluffer,
a clown, and so on and so forth
you are finally misled about all these things
a scissor, a triangular cloth,
an umbrella,
a starfish,
the usual moon resting upon the trees
the sun peeping between two mountains early morning
the kid in town
finally planting the rice seeds
and the buffalo still enjoying the day in mud
there is plane that lands at the airport at 2 o'clock in the afternoon
when you are still taking your siesta by the verandah
and you are irritated and you tell yourself
'oh yes! ' this is all about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Canción del Mariachi
the usual stars
and guitar under the
open sky
the usual dance
and clapping of the hands
affairs of the heart
forgetting everything
the stars, the moon
man woman and the
child to come
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bowl...
yes, this is a case
of a candle burning itself
on both sides
and below it
on two heads of fire
is a bowl full of
water
shaping what could
be the
truth
when the final shape
is taken
as usual
we go back
to that empty bowl
but less
the candle
the melted one
shedding off
lights
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Inside My Study Room
five o'clock, the usual time
but i already woke up at 3: 45
too early really
but i could not go back to
sleep
the words arrive
riding on the boat
such wind
hovering
disembarking in my
brain
i am surrounded by
glass walls
and light brown
drapes
books scattering
like garbage
on the floors and
tables
i smell the odor of
dust and
water inside a vase
unchanged
the red rose
had long wilted
no one comes around
to fix things
and keep all of these
in their proper places
the windows are still
closed and it
is still dark outside
though the crows
have already
sounded their
sad calls
the cocks keep sounding
it is already morning
and the windows
must not be opened
i write some lines
as usual and then
i'll wear my socks
and put on my
rubber shoes
and then i will take
my walk to the
woods
it will be cold
and i can see my breath
like smoke from a pipe
but i need this
my body craves
my feet want to move
the walls are too much
and the curtains feel
like they have to be washed
i open the door
and then i meet a new
world again
i know at first it will
still be cold
that is usual
i know after this
the sun comes again
as usual
and things will warm themselves
again
on promises
like what hope is all about.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Freedom To Choose
early morning
one rubs his eyes
upon waking up
one goes to the
rest room for
the usual beginning
and then finally
looks at himself
in the mirror and
in there he sees
the wide ocean of
choices in his eyes.
he washes his fears
with the cold water
inside the cup of his
bare hands.
Now
is another day of
freedom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Taking A Bath
last night stains
of pretensions now gone
soap and water
on an early morning bath
less the whistle
just the pressure and then
anew you come out
of the bathroom
the usual day the usual
activity: always hoping
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wet Blankets Of Childhood
he is tired
drowsy
in the middle
of this stage
he finds images of
melting
memories
same as the old metal
wall clock
dripping on the
wall
floors like
brown sugar mix
with the
carpet and the
shoes
you smell black
pepper
and steam rice
you see
scalding fish
skin
fins separating
like
locks of hair
the feeling is
liquid
flowing like
the usual
river
that you have
been picturing
since
childhood where
you can still
hear the
dissolving laughter
on that
early night earthen
bowl
when darkness is like
a cloak
finally covering
your eyes
neither hot
nor cold
until
you fall asleep
as pain
too
diffuses
like drops of
rain from
the ceiling
to your
bed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So Unusual (Live @ Java Joes - 06.27.02)
This is the most unusual story, of a most unusual girl
she stood painting my picture, of a most unusual world
she can crawl out of frame while shes hanging on the wall
and shes calling my name
shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes mostly a ghost, the way she watches over me
she complains when i smoke, but then you do the same to me
shes controlling my brain activity, knowing when i go to sleep
she'll catch you when I'm falling hard
shes so unusual
shes not so usual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes not so hooked on the drugs like i thought she was
and never sucking on the lime, and hardly sipping on the wine
and dispite of her biopolar rollercoastering
i think i can try, she'll keep me singing differently
and its fine cause shes with me now, most all of the time
trying to saving the light, thinking not of her own
and always kissing me goodnight when i just need to be alone
shes so sweet, so discrete, shes exactly what i need
not even make believe
shes not so usual
so unusual
shes not so usual
so unusual
not so usual, and not to practical either
but shes not so mystical, but not to magical either
but shes not so outta control, and not so used to the flow
shes not so usual
nah, shes a natural
ohhh, shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes so unusual
shes so unusual
shes gonna use me ohhh
shes not so u...
shes not so u...
not so u...
not so....
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not So Usual
This is the most unusual story, of a most unusual girl
she's the paint in my picture, of a most unusual world
she can crawl out the frame while shes hanging on the wall
and shes calling my name
shes not so usual, wo
shes most unusual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes mostly a ghost, the way she watches over me
she complains when I smoke, but then you do the same to me
shes controlling my brain activity, knowing when i go to sleep
she'll catch you when I'm falling hard
shes so unusual
shes not so usual
shes not so usual
shes so unusual
shes not so hooked on the drugs like I thought that she was
and never sucking on the lime, and hardly sipping on the wine
and dispite of her bipolar rollercoastering
I think I can trust, she'll keep me singing differently
and its fine cause shes with me now, most all of the time
trying to saving my life, thinking none of her own
and always kissing me goodnight when i just need to be alone
shes so sweet, so discrete, shes exactly what I need
not even make believe
shes not so usual
so unusual
shes not so usual
so unusual
not so usual, and not to practical either
but shes not so mystical, but not to magical either
but shes not so outta control, and not so used to the flow
shes not so usual
nah, shes a natural
ohhh, shes not so usual
shes most unusual
shes so unusual
shes so unusual
shes gonna use me ohhh
shes not so u...
shes not so u...
not so u...
not so....
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Usual
The sun was shining…
The breeze was blowing
As usual
The day was dawning
The dusk was falling…
As usual
The people were brisking
The people were frisking
As usual
You died.
My heart was grieving.
It was Durga Puja.
They were celebrating
As usual
(Dedicated to Steve Jobs. I miss him…)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Suspicion Is Contageous
Scene 1.
When I feel warm in the middle of the night,
I suspect that electricity is cut off as usual
When I bite a pebble while eating rice,
I suspect that it is adulterated as usual.
When I am denied a seat to the university,
I suspect that I am less eligible than others, as usual.
When I am left to fend on my own with family and friend's support,
I suspect that my country is as useless as I, as usual.
Scene 2.
When I come out with my sling bag and laptop,
I am suspicious of everyone who looks at me.
When I walk to the tube and sit there comfortably,
I close my eyes tightly to avoid the suspicious eyes.
When I enter the workplace and talk to my colleagues,
who are as suspicious as I, exchange the suspicious greetings.
Wherever I go, I see the people who are suspicious of others,
cameras to catch the suspicious looking characters,
unattended bags are removed within half an hour,
for the fear of suspicious people planting bombs,
in some other places literally no rubbish bins,
and I am allowed to throw wherever I like,
and people are watching me always as a suspect,
and that makes me to be suspicious of them too.
When I come out with my sling bag,
I am suspicious of everyone who looka at me.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Old Couple
old couple taking a walk
around an oval
slow steps
story filled
post retirement commitment
to be with each other
rain or shine
they hold hands
with the sunrise as their witness
a middle aged woman with
sagging breast
jogs past them taking the speed
of the morning rush
the wind here is not really cold
soon it will be dusty as usual in the tropics of Cancer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mountain View
after the night of love
i sit on the bamboo stair
facing the wide expanse of
mountains before me
beyond the horizon of fog
and smoke from the tiny
houses five hills away
and down the plains the
winding river taking the
usual routes of least resistance
i have seen wild carabaos grazing
white horses running with the
winds and the black birds
flying high seeking their prey
of chicks unprotected by hens.
i am amazed by this macrocosm.
How can some be so greedy amidst
these bounty? Can his hands hold
all the mountains? Can his mouth
drink all the rivers? Can he catch
all the black birds and put them
inside his cage? I know he can't but
i know he will. And that is the reason
why we are here hiding in the bellies
of these big mountains, siding with the
shades of the trees, taking inspiration
from all the stars, the moon and the
boundless sea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Get Up
Here's to the morning
Think that I'm bored and crazy
Yes I have been to get up when I give in
I need my second wind and I just cant take it anymore
I just cant take it when your lying on the floor
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up
Cause I'm bored (ya)
Come entertain ya
So stupid its contagious
Mess that I've been
I get up when you get in
It makes more sense to win
I just cant fake it anymore
I just cant it and I heard it all before
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up
Cause I'm bored
Ohh dont be so dramatic
I know you almost had it
Wohhh
I tried to show you but you wont go down to her
(Get up, get up, get up, now)
Get up off the floor
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored (ya)
song performed by by Unwritten Law
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A.K.A. Mario
before he finally left
he came to the house finding me alone and busy with words
the usual work on words
that makes me
bread,
he did not say much
as usual he is the silent mario of the class
many thought
he is at peace, i told me he is not actually and so i tell his wife
mario is confused, like some entangled seaweeds
where no fish can penetrate and stay or bring something
mario died two days ago
thinking that i am the happiest man alive
i think so, i must think so, otherwise
mario shall know, otherwise, he would have live a little longer
mario feels this sense of abandonment
like a port without boats and seagulls like a fish without a fish
he died
and that is enough to tell us what he believes in
he felt something so disturbing
he did not mind
before he finally left
he thought that i am the happiest man alive
and now, i must promise myself that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tribute to the Moon
Moon in your glorious moment
What a nice bright moon tonight,
With the big and round moon torching light on me
Crescent, Half-Moon, Full moon, Blue Moon
Make no difference as thee always the same
The dull night blush as usual
The lunar light streams as usual
Enlighten all the mankind with your light
Steer them away from the greed
Steer them away from the lust
It seem so long ago.
When i am tiny, repeatedly amazed by your splendor
Moon... Moon...
Listen to my plea..
Come to me..
Wash away all my worries.
Wash away all my sadness,
For thee only release me from all the stress
For thee only bring peacefulness to my life.
Absorb me in your luminescence
Light my life with thee.
poem by MyPrince Hong
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Eight Minutes To One
In the early hours the radio alarm
went off at eight minutes to one
despite me setting it earlier for six
and checking that it was on.
Now wide awake I rechecked the setting;
and I had definitely made no mistake.
I put it down to an electrical malfunction
and fell asleep until it was time to wake.
I didn’t think any more about the alarm
and continued with my normal day.
The alarm was already set for six o’clock
so I went to bed in the usual way.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off
exactly the same time as the previous night.
Again I checked on my alarm settings
and again everything was set right.
This time I unplugged the whole radio unit
and recalibrated the time and alarm.
I was now happy that all would be okay
and fell asleep relaxed and calm.
The following night I went to bed as usual
and slept until eight minutes to one.
The cursed radio alarm went off again,
so this radio’s days were done.
The next day I bought an electrical travel clock
and tried out the alarm there and then.
It worked like a charm and I was very pleased,
so that night I went to bed at ten.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off again
and I could hardly believe this to be true.
I was faced with a problem that had to be sorted,
and a mechanical clock should do.
I bought a large brass, twin belled wind up clock;
set the alarm and several times tried it out.
That night I retired expecting a good night’s sleep,
with no electrics to care about.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off,
and I threw the clock against the wall.
I was now convinced something supernatural
was causing the earlier morning call.
Over the next few days I tried several clocks
and the alarms went off the same.
In the end I didn’t have a clock in the room,
and I never will again.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Fighting With Usual Ones
Usual cravings, as usual,
Come to me in plural.
For not enough defense,
For over offensive bad,
Shall I lose this pretty math?
Nothing I hate more than usual ones.
Like November that needs only December
To end one year,
Shall I give up my intense desire?
Together with usual theory,
To get the pass-mark solitary,
Should I sit this exam blowzy?
If there were a right map of life,
I would avoid those with unusual might.
But now, by riding a horse neither male nor female,
Shall I keep acting as a character stray?
I don't wanna be a king in usual custom paragon.
I don't wanna ascend already used throne.
If your heart is not new,
If your love is blue,
You will fail my interview.
Let my loner life live along
Instead of being in usual crowd.
My heart wishes unusual heartbeat sound.
poem by Aung Si Myanmar
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Novameco A Journey
You are lost and you’re telling me you are lost
And you are so afraid about doing things in the usual ways
So you come out from your window
You do not use the door
Or the stairs because as you said you do not like to things
In the most usual ways
You are tired of the usual ways and they do not appeal to your
Sense of exciting
Journey
A journey to the unusual to the unknown desert to the undiscovered
Ways
When you go home tonight you shall take the path of stars
As you wonder
To this place
Where there are not stairs no doors no windows
Where there is no house
And you take the journey alone and there will be no directions
You will like it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Another Set of Lovers Under The Moon
the usual things we did
surely we will miss but we cannot
settle for less
and you know it and so we create and
recreate other usual moments
something new to the hold
of our hands
evenings that tempt the stars
mornings that
entice the thighs
we cannot sip coffee together
just us and
us
we will miss the unknown too
those that we like to
know
there is this pain in
anticipation
this letting go of the
old and
embracing the new
questions that
never quench our
quest for answers
and so
if you have decided to leave me
i may not be bothered at
all
for in another junction
another shadow is waiting
and the moon
spreads its golden mantle
for us
to be lunatics
again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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