Untitled 24
outside the window
this early morning
blue clouds hover
on the green hill
like the curly hair
of a little boy
on the guava tree
a twig without leaves
a bird sings
with blue feathers
the kingfisher
below it a pool
of rippled waters
a fish is seducing
its black beak
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Way To Live
a little fish rises from the
water to
eat a bubble of
air
from the tree a
kingfisher with an eye
for fish
swiftly dives and
with its sharp long black beak
catches the
little fish
a boy with a rubber sling
aims at the blue kingfisher
hitting it with a
stone crushing its
round head and
sharp long and black beak
to the ground
a ripe coconut falls
from a tree and
hits the head of the
boy below
the lizard that climbs
the coconut tree
looking for brown beetles
at the top
does not notice how
all these events
happen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Kingfisher On A Dead Tree
on a glass pond
a dead tree stands
perched is a kingfisher
on one of its weak twigs
i sit alone on a
rock thinking about nothing
i must have been lost
this day
blue wings and some
white feathers on the neck
black sharp beak
the kingfisher looks at me
a leaf falls on the glass pond
the eyes of the kingfisher
and my eyes ride on the ripple
like small paper boats
going nowhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Azul....
Shades of blue confronts the
man in blue, so blue, but not
electric blue, the blue in faded jeans
saddening blue, the blue in marble,
glossy, but sadder still, the faint
blue of a heavy sky, laden with rain
some restraints, falling suppressed,
the blue in that deserted lagoon,
those blue Spanish eyes gone,
the navy blue without an address,
the blue lips, lesser in oxygen
content,
the bluebird perched upon a twig,
kingfisher blue without a fish,
a blue heart, pastel blue shirt
torn blue, blues, blue bruises....
the puerto azul....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After The Bombing Incident
AFTER the bombing incident last night
at the church of San Pedro
tiny shreds of flesh hang on the walls
and ceiling of the confinement.
the cries are not prolonged except the
sounds of ambulance
and the military jeeps
to and fro the city gates
sleep was denied, and then that early morning
i opened the window
i saw this little blue bird perched on the guava tree
it was singing a very sad song beside a bunch
of ripe guava fruits.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A matured Kingfisher and a smarten Carp
A Kingfisher rests on a tree top
And listens to a sad song,
A small carp in a muddy pond
Floats and sings; ' My relatives live in a big river
And why should I suffer here.'
Then Kingfisher mutters;
'Hey! My tiny brother if you cooperate
I could have taken you to that river safely.'
'Certainly I would like to accompany my big brother,
But I had a nightmare yesterday a blue bird has taken my relatives
from the river to a lonely ground and eaten them one by one.'
'Those are dreams and we're friends'
Kingfisher whispers while flying to another tree.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Something Deep Down In My Heart (2)
something deep down in my heart is so beautiful
it is like a blue bird with black shiny beak
one early morning it sings a song
it is lovely
it is sweet
it is gentle
something deep down in my heart is a beautiful poem
that once you have read and shall never forget
it is crisp and fragile
and it is for you and it says deep down from the bottom of my soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sexy Woman
white clouds
blue sea
green long island
on the shallow waters
a woman faces me
white bra
white panty
(two piece)
at the middle
the water touches
the center of her
being
the grass of her earth
is wet
she walks away
dripping
her hair is long and curly
black
she does not own me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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L'oiseau bleu
The lake lay blue below the hill.
O'er it, as I looked, there flew
Across the waters, cold and still,
A bird whose wings were palest blue.
The sky above was blue at last,
The sky beneath me blue in blue.
A moment, ere the bird had passed,
It caught his image as he flew.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Afternoon View When The Office Is About To Close
from my window
you must have probably heard me about saying the same thing all over again
but i will say it again
the sea is very calm like a sky blue silk spread on the floor
the horizon is pale white like the color of shyness
at a distance there is a boat
the man just spread the fish net
a tiny bird hops from one dry twig to another
another leaf on the other branch falls because it is bound to fall
yellow leaves, those dead ones
caught by the fingers of the grasses below
and then the sound of sirens comes
it is now time to go
now my heart sings with joy
for another night perhaps with the stars high on the roof of my house
in my solitude.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Picture Of A Cat
a gray cat on a brown
window sill
blue bird on a
green twig against
a white sky
black man on
a red chair
white butterfly
against a white
eye
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Because It Sings....
there is a man inside the cage
but you cannot tell that he is a man
because
by all appearances of it
it has black wings, sharp claws, it is muted
by a beak
it can only sing in syllables
it is wrapped by
shiny feathers
it is a bird, a black bird and by all means
you cannot tell
that it is angry
because it sings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem Of Syntax
A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree
The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue
The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog
I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue
I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blue is the Color
Blue is the sky
late at night
blue is the sky
early in the morning
blue is the sky
in the midst of day
blue is the sky
blue is the sky
and the rain
and the clouds
that comes falling down
blue is the color
of peace and mellow
blue is the color
of sadness and sorrow
blue is the color
of all
of life
poem by Dezire Diaz
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March Mornings
It sings to me
- the tree, the window tree.
Its leaves open as melodies
to the sheen of Spring.
It speaks to me
its words of green,
says now is the time
for everything.
It fills my dreams
with hopes and things,
making me believe
in what is yet to be.
The tree, the window tree,
brings the birds to me.
Songs come fluttering,
sliding on sun beams.
It dances the breeze,
smiles for me
on mornings like these
- absolutely free.
It sings to me
- the tree, the sweetgum tree.
Its leaves open as memories,
like love to me.
poem by W.I. Stoneberger
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Flying Away?
i like to see the image of a lone bird flying away from me
two steady wings carrying a very light body of blue feathers
a kingfisher flying away against the morning sun
moving nowhere getting farther until it becomes a blue dot
dissolving in the distance that your eyes can no longer see
i sometimes like to think i am that bird flying away
from where i am
because this place is sad and cruel
i like to fly away
to leave everything behind me and then simply forget
and make new beginnings
as easy as that
sometimes however i ask myself:
where shall i go?
nowhere?
just nowhere?
where is nowhere?
just fly away and go
and leave and
then what?
i ask myself these real questions
calling for rational answers
begging
that i be reasonable enough with my life
and the life of others
who also depend
on me
it is not an easy stuff,
just flying away to nowhere and destruct
everything i build here:
a nest, an odor of familiarity,
a sense of home
(though sad and cruel)
a name for myself
a reputation
a family history
an ancestral domain
shall i go then and be foolish?
i am not a bird, i am a man
that is a very serious existence apart from those feathery wishes and dreams
with responsibilities, i have no wings just arms, i have no feathers
but this body
i am not just a bird, i have a soul
and so i decided to stay
with you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Window
She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world
she leans out of the window
and this is what she sees
a wet rose singing to the sun
with a chorus of red bees
she leans out of the window
and laughs for the window is high
she is in it like a bird on a perch
and they scoop the blue sky
she and the window scooping
the morning as if it were air
scooping a green wave of leaves
above a stone stair
and an urn hung with leaden garlands
and girls holding hands in a ring
and raindrops on an iron railing
shining like a harp string
an old man draws with his ferrule
in wet sand a map of Spain
the marble soldier on his pedestal
draws a stiff diagram of pain
but the walls around her tremble
with the speed of the earth the floor
curves to the terrestrial center
and behind her the door
opens darkly down to the beginning
far down to the first simple cry
and the animal waking in water
and the opening of the eye
she looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Eggs Of The Blue Bird On The Nest
the blue bird
takes care of its nest
all the white eggs
warm beneath its feathers
all those nights
and even cold days
and then when the eggs hatch
the fledgelings
prematurely spread their wings
fall off from the branch
where the nest hangs
on the following morning
you see the ants feasting on their flesh
ah! the blue bird sings again
readies itself for the rain
it escapes away from its sorrows
and flies away...far, far away
far, far away....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blue Butterfly
blue butterfly
so blue fluttering alone
hovering on my yellow green leaf
and stopping for a while
on my shiny, brown twig
tell me if i am smooth
just tell me if
if am good
then leave
blue butterfly
do not ask if my heart is real
do not ask if you can have it
i do not have a heart anymore
for you see i am just this
tree, this twig, this leaf
but blue butterfly
if ever i have a heart
please
do not ask about it
i give it to no one
i am smooth
i am too good
to be owned by
someone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A kingfisher and a tiny scalloped fish
'Hey! My buddy what's your name please? ' kingfisher questioned from a leafless tree top.
'My name is small king in the muddy pond.' tiny fish replied humbly.
'Oh! Then we are in the same genius family it seems and let's fly together to see our kind neglected relatives abroad.' The scallywag kingfisher requested politely.
Tiny fish sings in the flight; 'Oh! What an amazing sunrise in the broken sky when the depressive election drew nearer.'
* Tiny fish grumbles to publish this in the site as a dedication for the Labor day.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Blue Jay
Tell me of the 'Blue Jay'
who sings from tree to tree in the early hours of the morning.
Has he found his nest and mate well hidden amongst the hanging Moss?
On what Oak tree lies his precious treasure,
his hearts and ever needing desire?
Across the pond close to the waters edge
the Ducks family celebrate Water, Fire and Earth.
Readying for their Sunday walk through Avalon.
Duck~feet firmly on the Earth clutching nail~down into an unbreakable pace, they march one by one making most of time and space...
BLUEJAY lost amidst desire wanders now from tree to tree,
misplace and forgotten by the nights heavy storm....
Tell me!
Tell me of the dreary song of lost souls in morning sun,
are they of the Blue Jay or of your own heart?
Are you home smiling to the stars or on a collision course with desire?
Is getting hot outside but where is home with Moss on every tree and Duck's all around?
poem by Gengis Capote
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