To The Hand Painter Who Goes Offline When I Go Online
i lied
when i said i like your painting
it is a pity
no one
buys it.
the truth is
what i saw in that canvass
was a man deprived of happiness
craving for
sex
but cannot simply accept
that his body
needs it
warmth is not all jacket
it is better
done with skin
to skin
inside a room where you are naked
and so private
with another body looking for that much
needed intimacy
in the middle of this city where
indifference
seems to be the mother of mankind.
i wish sometimes that you better
do a portrait of yourself
in black
and while
sketches
from a sharp charcoal
on a
very white and thick
canvass.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now Going Back To A Little Seriousness About Life
i have give you a list of games
a to z, back to z then a, and you gape at me
unable to believe,
finding it so hard to believe that in the middle of the city
during a blackout i can be
another black dog with eyes gleaming like
a pen light roaming around
a black canvass inside the movie house
where each hungry city dweller is looking for
something to hold
to eat and puke.
now going back to where we once were,
we never made us
they made us to do things that we do not really do
the way we did it,
we are constrained to escape from the doorsteps
of restraint,
and be free birds, white
in visions, twittering on sky blue skies
now going back to what we are....
where are we really?
i am serious. Are we not lost?
in the middle of this darkness where we think we are no longer stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Working On Some Symbolism
lately i have been working on certain
symbolism of his poetry
and some paintings: an old man without a foot,
a nude woman inside his open stomach,
stuff pegions fishing for a parachute
or an air balloon and a fish in air
a red jacket without a body
a man with the head of a big chinese fan
a secret exit where a hand feeds
a hidden snake.Max Ernst your painting pains me.
I am lost but soon in your symbols
i shall find the entrance
of understanding the world within the four corners
of your brightly colored canvass.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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His Drawing Of Her
with only
the pigments of red
and black made
available to
paint her
he sticks to the
rules
her body is
the white of the
canvass
her lips
red and the rest
shall be black
her heart too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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White Skin Black Heart
Yeah, whatcha gonna do now, now that you started?
Whatcha gonna do now, now that its done?
The words got out there, they float around and are coming right back down.
You gonna leave us lying here
Dealing with the consequences of a bad sound
Of a bad sound.
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Whatcha gonna do now, that its spoken?
These words of a habit, have not faded away.
.................... it clear, conscious gets opened like a wound.
If you cant concieve a better line and better times,
Then let silence bury you, in the end.
When you feel it, when you feel it
Youre condemned.
You see, youve lost your strangle on the freedom road! you
Think ........................of something a long time ago! you
[spewed it out you were so] insecure! it was like ............. on
The toilet floor! youre a [nine seat] drunk, ............... and
You say you want something, .......... you heard the rednecks
Roaring for blood and then they wanted more! life was so small, you
Couldnt get enough. you made a start.
White skin black heart
Dripping,
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Drag your eyes from [aurora] black heart!
White skin black heart
Drag your leg, get outta here [my sight]!
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
You didnt have to start
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inside Beauty
It's not in the mirror
Or on the outside
For you to see
It's in the inside and
It's visible for all to see
It doesn't matter,
How pretty you are
Because inside beauty
Is only skin deep
It's beneath layers
Of skin muscle and bone
It stands alone
It's all you need
Not name brand clothes
The inside makes you
Yeah it's true
The heart, lungs, and brain
Are all inside of you
There are other important parts too
When the body begins to age
It isn't just
Looks that fade
A body begins to wrinkle
It looks different to people
Inside beauty never fades
If it changes with age
It gets better with time
Like a fine wine or like
A valuable painting's worth
There's nothing like it
On the planet earth
poem by Tameeka Smith
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Just A Short Poem After Admiring A Caricature
Alice B. has a suspicious eye
beneath her curly hair
her mouth is but a slit
keeping pain to herself
she has given up her
pair of eyebrows looking
sinister to the black and white
sketches of giant goldfishes
floating in the air
beside her
behind her is a light yellow
canvass
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Did I ever think of sex when I write about the rain?
Wading through the rain, naked, and letting the rain fall
On my mouth as I look up to the cloudy skies where the sun
And the moon are missing, drinking the raindrops and letting
My hair go wet and flowing all over my body, walking through
The middle of the road where the waters are deep and cold
On the other side, you wait for me, your arms extending
You look into my glistening eyes, you hold my hand and
You embrace my shivering body, you take me inside your room
You wipe me with your dry towel and serve me tea and give me
The needed company, this misery, this rain crying on the roof
You wrap my body with your arms, you dress me up with your
Oversized shirt and let me wear your worn out blue jeans
We talk a while, you explain something, in truth, we simply
Talk and talk, and when the rain stops, you ask me to leave.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Certain Happening
the hours come to you like a train
you are not any of those passengers
waiting to be taken somewhere else
you are upon a different situation
as the train loses its body from its tracks
rams its existence upon a mountain
on some sparks of surprises creating fire
and explosion that shocks the city
with all of them dead
you are not one of them but you are
the one who watches the scene without any emotion
the hours come to you like a body completely numb
there are no more feelings except that peace
that stillness of space like a canvass empty
all white and frame-less against the silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Which Costume Do you Put On?
Which costume do you put on?
A wolf's skin in human body,
or, you are a fox under skin of lion?
or a mere, fun-loving buddy?
They say you are Vampire
with sharp Canine set of tooth.
you suck blood with fire! ! ! !
They say, you are enemy of truth! ! !
Every sec you change your costume.
Truth gets twisted in your tongue,
You have in your heart thousand room,
and there tune of falsehood is sung!
Do not invite me to be guest there.
I'm afraid of your kind of hollow-man.
I like to stay innocent and fair.
Rather, I'll stay away, so far I can!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Boots...
the boots of modern America,
are made of black skin, Native American skin,
poor white trash skin, migrant worker skin,
unemployed skin, homeless skin,
prisoner poverty street skin....
who will they walk on next?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Handsome Man
i am a handsome face
long black hair
aquiline nose
slim body
kissable lips
sharp eyes
white teeth
smooth brown skin
lean and muscular body
i promise you nothing
i have no time
and i do not know what
love is
i am the vagabond of
this earth
a wanderer of its bosom
no one owns me
and i own no one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Black Paint
Who daubed black paint
upon this canvass?
Come out and stand before us.
We shall interrogate you,
stand and admit your crime!
This canvass, once so clean,
is tarnished by your hand.
Do you claim freedom of expression?
This is no monument to art?
I have a theory, be it good or bad
it's just a crazy artist who got mad.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Scent of cacao beans
Oh! This heart inside my chest
That bit faster when I get
Your presences, I imagine
You and I on my bed
I know the Swedish people
Like the coffee beans so much
But I’ve got a better bean
With Ecuadorian style
You tasted the flavor, smelled the scent
This Creole white chocolate
The sweethes cacao bean you’ve ever tasted
So come and kiss me on my lips
Taste this flavor of cacao beans
I’ve got this scent on my skin
Please make me your daily drink
Come and give me a drink of chocolate
To excited my hot skin
My body is scented by this cacao bean
And you are with the flavor of my skin
You’re my drink that taste like chocolate
That excited my hot skin
My body is scented by this cacao bean
And you are with the flavor of my skin
‘Cause my whole body is shaking
When I think about you
‘Cause I need my hot beverage
To calm this muse
I really need those kisses that you brought
I can’t forget them, that’s my thought
So come and kiss me on my lips
Taste these Creole cacao beans
My body is scented by this bean
And you are with the flavor of my skin
Come and give me drink of chocolate
To excited my hot skin
My body is scented by this cacao bean
And you are with the flavor of my skin
poem by Michael Vinicio Camacho Menéndez
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Zebra Child
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
My father skin is fare like a pinkish cloud.
My mother skin is dark like coco.
My skin is both swirled into a light caramel color.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
My eyes are hazel with a hint of blue.
My hair is kinky yet manageable.
While I have African hips
I also have European lips.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
I relish my difference
Although some times
I envy others similarity.
But I am what I am.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
Big White Petals On White Sands In Boracay
big white petals falling
on white sands
try to find out the reason
which one is which
white against white
you find a canvass
where nothing can be found
except the white silence
amidst another white silence
and true you find nothing
you think there is something there
you smile because somehow
you begin to understand
about this labyrinth that you are in
that you think you cannot escape
until you accept the truth
about this simplicity: nada y nada.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Big White Petals On White Sands
big white petals falling
on white sands
try to find out the reason
which one is which
white against white
you find a canvass
where nothing can be found
except the white silence
amidst another white silence
and true you find nothing
you think there is something there
you smile because somehow
you begin to understand
about this labyrinth that you are in
that you think you cannot escape
until you accept the truth
about this simplicity: nada y nada.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Excuse For An Exit...
IF THERE are too many of us
in this room
i may choke and with lesser space
i may die in this process and so
for many night i figure out an exit
or an excuse
to be excluded from this intimacy
of souls
it is this body that does not accept
too much heat
lest i explode into shreds of
brains
blood squirting out from the pores of
my skin
and just this morning i have grouped
some thoughts
my final excuse that right to be free from
the mob and the rest
of those who are here to know
me and in that door where i just exited
as you see
you shall read:
i just want to be left alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Explorations: XXXI
Skin morphs into
A vulnerable leaf
In the face of passion
And paralyzing fever
Skin feels a textured
Piece of unique art
Tempting one to touch
When just bathed
There's no difference
Between the landscape
And the skin when
Both are fresh
Skin,
Potent communicator
Of the subtle body language
Ah, the skin!
The treasure
Skin hides like
The deep ocean blue
What's skin deep?
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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As I Wait For For You
and then our minds met at a point
of convergence
i waited for you in a room without a number
a place without a name
a space where only us know what & how to fill
i am naked
you want the whole truth and so i am naked
in this room without a number, a place without a name
a space, where only our self-manifested emptiness know how & what to fill
when you arrive do not call my name
be so soft and gentle with your feet
do not even say your name as
i have also left my name somewhere else
and it is only i who knows it
i lose my identity
that is how i want to spend my short moment with you
i am naked
i only have my face, my skin and my flesh my bones my whole body
not my soul
do not knock
just push the door
it is left open throughout the nights of my waiting
i have intended it that way
so when you arrive and i am still asleep with my dreams and desires
of you
do not disturb the silence and sweetness of my sleep
just whisper your desire for love so sweet to my ears
touch the surfaces of my skin and caress with your soft fingers the smooth lines of my face
place your head just beside my tight chest
for there you shall hear the sounds of all my desires
and then my love we begin the sharing of our hidden truths
we shall dance in our nakedness
we shall make love real
we shall open the shutters of this closed window
we let the slits of light from outside the night get inside us and put some
warmth on the empty pores of our skins
we bring light to the darkness of our lives
we put fire to those eyes that refuse to close and die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Have Seen Autumn
I have never felt the chill of winter
Nor the birth of spring
Only the two faces of Nature
The golden sun shining
Or the heavens openly weeping.
But I have seen autumn
As I looked at her
No cold winter in her smile
A promise of summer in her eyes
Her hair of autumn leaves.
I have never felt autumn
But I have seen it
It’s the canvass of Rembrandt
Dark, red, crimson, gold
But I have never felt it.
Is the autumn breeze damp and soft like her lips?
Is the autumn sky naked and warm like her skin?
But I have never kissed her lips nor touched her skin
I have only seen autumn
But I have never felt it.
poem by Shogunoka Ledesma III
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