What You Will Miss Here
sinugbang tuloy in sicayab beach.
tuba laloy in the local market.
smooth ripe mangoes.
raw mangoes dipped in ginamos.
the spanish sardines of the montano's
the bibingka
puto cheese. dinuguan.
san mig beer and pulutan of pork pata.
smooth to the throat is the tanduay rhum
asia's best.
a stroll at the boulevard.
seeing the sun set there.
early morning walks at the plaza.
hearing the church bell ring.
a call to prayer.
the sound of the motorcabs on market day.
a hideaway in the farther hill.
early morning chill.
visiting the grave of your mother and father.
getting to know new nephews and nieces.
meeting old classmates and reminiscing
those high school days.
you were so thin and dark and naughty.
you're great now, with your white hair as crown.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lonely Filipinos
Some lonely Filipinos
Working for a living
Read poems of
Happiness
To appease their
Feelings of loneliness
Away from home
Here in a foreign land
At freezing temperatures
They wish for
Sunshine, and blue clouds
White sand beaches
And warm embraces
Of loved ones
Sometimes loneliness
Wins and they look
Inside themselves
Finding certain strengths
In old Molave trees
Flexibilities in green
Pliant bamboos
And sampaguitas scents
Or could be ylang-ylang
Perfume,
Or they resort to food,
Cook the adobo & dinuguan & puto
On wintry days perhaps,
And to really kill
This rampage of boredom
They make thin slices
Of raw mangoes
Dipped in bagoongs,
Black paste of shrimps
The taste lingers
In taste buds and
Tongues start to
Water,
To green slices of raw mangoes
Salivation is easy.
On these thin slices of
Green raw mangoes
Perhaps the Filipino
Forgets what loneliness is all about.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Day In Summer
perhaps only some of you
knew what really happened
things that we did
at the prime of our youth
the one at the river was not true
neither was the one at the cogon grasses
the rumors were too advanced
and bent like a misshapen twig
perhaps this time you must have known
what joys we shared
picking ripe mangoes on that huge tree
at the foot of the hill
we drove no monkeys away
and no monkeys did give us any bother
the mangoes were too juicy
too ripe for our hands
too fragile for our wantonness
we never brought you any.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Magic of Monsoons
Monsoons have finally arrived.
Childhood memories flash across my mind:
Those walks to the school in the raincoat
And running home to make paper boats,
And watch them float in the muddy water
Charging home, on hearing the sound of thunder.
Eating ripe mangoes out of a bucket,
And sitting in a circle in our vests,
Sucking one after another to our fill
With the juice running down our chin.
Oh, the taste of raw mangoes with salt
Unmindful of being caught.
The delicious taste of cherries, plums.
Pears, apricots, sweet lime gave awesome
Joy, that lingered for long
And in the background koel’s song.
Mother’s threats I won’t take care,
And tend to you if you again dare
To get drenched and come home wet.
How I quietly stood and let
Her let of steam
While I day dreamed.
The magic of rains still casts
A spell that lasts.
.It’s again that time of the year,
When although the life goes out of gear:
Mud stains, floods, wet shoes and unruly hair.
As there is no one to chide, I still dare
To allow the showers to kiss my face,
While I say my thanks to God’s grace
For quenching the thirst of parched earth
And fill the heart with relief and mirth.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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At the Sidewalk...
the mother was peeling
raw, green mangoes
selling them to kids in the
nearby elementary school
her son plays alone near
the bakery
there are no other kids
there anyway
lots of people walking to
and from like pendulums
the mother was so busy
attending to her small livelihood
the little boy falls off the sidewalk
hits her forehead on the pavement
the mother did not notice because
the street is noisy
at first the boy cried then stood up
and rearranges everything
he appears to his mother and
attaches his body on her side
the mother kisses his forehead
as though nothing happens
there must be a story behind this
why the boy has no father
why the mother takes charge of
having to sell mangoes to earn
she takes shelter under a big umbrella
beside a vending bicycle...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On this silly hill
On this silly hill I remember the silly things
That we did
We were so young and we decided to pick
Some ripe mangoes on this silly
Isolated hill away from
Our teasing
Silly friends
And I really liked her a lot
My heart was trembling
Her heart too quivering
We felt we like each other
Feelings like hot chili
Heating our ears
We said we love each other
We promised to love each other
Till the end of days
And so I climbed the mango tree
And picked the most luscious
Delicious mangoes as may be gleaned
From their color and shape
Thinking all the best for her
That I could give
To her
I put all the mangoes in my shirt
And I was silly looking silly like a tray to her
And she picked them one by one
Near my chest lower to my tummy
Nearer to my bulge
I was breathless
As she took more
Ripe mangoes from me
Slowly
Gracefully
Peeling with her mouth and tongue
Licking the yellowish pulp
And she said the mangoes were all
So sweet smelling and delicious
Like me
She was craving
She was raving
I was simply receptive
Giving in
All
To what she wanted
She touched my heart and we were silly
On our teens we did
What married people did on this silly hill
Isolated from silly friends
We did something adventurous
We had something marvelous
We did all those silly things
Like wild horses
In nature’s ways
Galloping
Breath taking
The years passed and now I am reaching fifty
Looking back I remember the silly things that we
Young silly people on our early teens did on this silly hill
We went and parted and she married the right man for her
I too went my own separate direction, taking a wife on my own
Looking back,
I feel sad,
I feel happy
What we silly teeny people did which we think was silly
Was all done in the name of pure love so endless
We were all virgins in love & we all thought of nothing else
Love and love and love
The mango was a symbol also of love
The silly hill was the seat of love
The mango tree was a climb of love
The isolation was all in the name of love
The whole was but love’s marvel
Love’s adventure
Love and love and love was all that we had
All love and love
Pure love
Unmixed untainted unblemished unadulterated
And they think it was silly
And I once thought it was silly
On that silly hill remembering the silly things we did
The silly things we said and promised
We did not talk about money, politics and family strategy
We did not bother about inheritance, a family name, a community reputation
We were not told whom to marry and when and always why.
Love can be developed and marriage can always be arranged
That to me are the silly things that we people do to ourselves.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Each of our children during their high school years went to 'early morning seminary' - scripture study classes that met in the home of a church member every school day morning from 6:30 until 7:15.
quote by Clayton Christensen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Church Bell Rings Too Early
the church bell rings too early
the town's electrician
bald and ugly
poor and lonely
he was looking for his wife
who left with another man
taking with her
his only son
he could not eat breakfast
skipped his supper
and would not care for any lunch
and then the church bell tolled
for him
though not as early as he once did it
we shall always remember
grief, lament, the sound of the bell
too sonorous
to remember
lost affections, betrayal, death
and lack of
prayer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bredon Hill
In summertime on Bredon
The bells they sound so clear;
Round both the shires they ring them
In steeples far and near,
A happy noise to hear.
Here of a Sunday morning
My love and I would lie,
And see the coloured counties,
And hear the larks so high
About us in the sky.
The bells would ring to call her
In valleys miles away:
'Come all to church, good people;
Good people, come and pray.
But here my love would stay.
And I would turn and answer
Among the springing thyme,
'Oh, peal upon our wedding,
And we will hear the chime,
And come to church in time.
But when the snows at Christmas
On Bredon top were strewn,
My love rose up so early
And stole out unbeknown
And went to church alone.
They tolled the one bell only,
Groom there was none to see,
The mourners followed after,
And so to church went she,
And would not wait for me.
The bells they sound on Bredon,
And still the steeples hum.
'Come all to church, good people,' -
Oh, noisy bells, be dumb;
I hear you, I will come.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Early Morning
(pal waaktaar/ mags)
Early morning
Eight oclock precise
I see the lonely august sun arise
Say you know
You will
Move me like you do
Out on the fields...
Im waiting the whole night through
Early morning, early morning, yeah
Ran the whole way
Down to the tracks
Through the doorway, then a last look back
Say you know
You will
Save me like you do
Out on the fields...
Ive waited the whole night through
Early morning, early morning, yeah
I climbed all the stairways
To find the rooftop clear
Got the shotgun lying with me here
Say you know
You will
Move me like you do
Out on the fields...
You know how it feels, yeah
Early morning, early morning, yeah
Early morning
Eight oclock precise
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zero % cotton life
Monday through Saturday
recreation
vacation
cruise
c amping
nightlife
and on Sundays
morning church
for an hour
and then back
to the pick-up
picnic on the beach
white sands
and warm sun
in this tropical
island of so much
fun and run
coconuts and
rice cakes and pastries
and mild drinks
and barbecue
and steak
this is our way of living
letting life slide smoothly in our throats
like Tanduay rhum
nothing obstructed
no hang-ups
and on Sunday afternoons
time to fold
the tent and keep
the good and useful things
and throw the garbage
of our lives
nightime again
on our beds
with our loved ones
sleeping
together
snorkling in dreams
love of togetherness
and being just one family
without wasting any sofa
or wood
we just like it sticking
together
through thick and thin
without any cotton
or foam
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Know You Live A Very Simple Life
i know my friend that
you live a very simple life out there
waking up in the morning
working in the office
buying food in the market
watch tv
sleep early at night
wake up early again
listen to the morning news
a visit in the chapel
work in the office again
a chat with friends
a little drink of cali with them
sometimes
and no broken heart to nourish
like a wound that does not heal.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Christmas Morning
Listen to the children sing
Watch them dancing all around the Christmas tree
Waiting for the opening
Early Christmas morning
All around the world is sleeping
Little children there's no peeping
Wait and see what Santa's bringing
Early Christmas morning
Early Christmas morning
Icicles and breakfast cakes
Friends and family we will celebrate
Sounds that joy and laughter make
Early Christmas morning
All around and far off places
Angels waken smiling faces
Wrapping us with love and graces
Early Christmas morning
Early Christmas morning
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper from Merry Christmas... Have A Nice Life
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Child on the Cliffs
Mother, the root of this little yellow flower
Among the stones has the taste of quinine.
Things are strange to-day on the cliff. The sun shines so bright,
And the grasshopper works at his sewing machine
So hard. Here's one on my hand, mother, look;
I lie so still. There's one on your book.
But I have something to tell more strange. So leave
Your book to the grasshopper, mother dear, -
Like a green knight in a dazzling market-place -
And listen now. Can you hear what I hear
Far out? Now and then the foam there curls
And stretches a white arm out like a girl's.
Fishes and gulls ring no bells. There cannot be
A chapel or church between here and Devon,
With fishes or gulls ringing its bell, - hark! -
Somewhere under the sea or up in heaven.
'It's the bell, my son, out in the bay
On the buoy. It does sound sweet to-day.'
Sweeter I never heard, mother, no, not in all Wales.
I should like to be lying under that foam,
Dead, but able to hear the sound of the bell,
And certain that you would often come
And rest, listening happily.
I should be happy if that could be.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Monday Morning
I love to sleep all day,
Or play all night.
But I must get all ready,
For Monday morning so tight.
I have to go to school,
On this very cold early morning.
Perhaps I wish was a fool,
Who would sleep till tomorrow?
But I am no fool,
On this very early morning.
Hence I must go to school,
So my friend will not be laughing
Waking up this day,
Drives all joy away.
The little ones play,
With gladness all day.
Monday morning it is,
For I have to wake up early
So I would not be caught,
Pouring cold water on my body so dry.
Today is Monday morning,
The most boring of all days.
Which bring back all sorrows,
Running to school so noisy.
Yet I sit in class,
And listen to the teacher.
Who come in a pink dress?
As the pastor preaches.
My face I bury,
Deep, deep in my books.
Which I take no delight in,
Yet still I must read or I would not eat.
How can I be born for joy?
Yet still sit in this cage.
And listen to the other boys,
Who I despise as much as dirt.
Today is Monday morning,
I have to go to school.
For I would not sleep till tomorrow,
Because I would be acting as a fool.
poem by Samuel Donkor
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Realizations
it was not that long
ago when i want to give you
something smooth
as silk
or soft as a morning
glory petal
those which are
understandable and
clear
and acceptable
it is like a sculpture of
a chair
edges smooth
well defined
ends
or a baby with a smile
as real as
bow and arrow
but time makes us
strange
and make us pretend that
we understand everything
everything
there is something
that justifies our age
and that is when
we begin to accept the unreal
and embrace
the absurd as though they are
our genitals
they are here
and we become a part of them
without any
questions asked
and then we become as happy
as the breeze of the sea
early one morning
the reasons become accessories
and then finally
they are nothing but left-overs
that we feed
to the dogs unfed for days
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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the little brown boy from Luyuran
he is the eldest of four
age is 7
he quit school
his mother is a
drunkard and
lives with another
man in the village
his father is
killed by the
lover of her mother
that early morning
four of them
are fetched to live
with his grandma
they buried his father
and his mother
is nowhere to be found
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Prayer to You
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
For all that you've done for me.
In the early morning hours,
When I arise to greet the Sun...
I feel blessed and prepared,
With such gratefulness...
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
And when noon approaches...
No matter what I have done,
Before that time comes...
That may create a disturbance,
I did not invite nor did I make.
I find time to show it is You I appreciate.
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
Whether or not...
Thunder storms roar,
Or rain drops fall to pitter and pat.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
And at the oncoming of Sunset...
Not one moment do I forget,
The power of Your presence...
That showers the blessings,
From You I get!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Salt
Early this morning
his mother asked his father
for some money
to buy salt.
But,
his father refused
and hit his mother
who did so much talking.
The boy
went out the house
and headed
to the market.
There,
he begged the salt vendors
for a little salt
but the vendors only told him,
'go home boy, and get some money! '
Now the boy
is running
with a bag of salt in his arms
and the people are screaming
THIEF! THIEF! THIEF!
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Early Morning Silence
Sitting in the early morning silence
that hasn’t filled with
the approaching days gloom.
That time when the mind
has a chance to run free.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
The intrusive world has not
invaded our space with idle chatter
from sources that surround us
making up our daily lives.
The early morning silence
we need to activate our mind.
You sit in the darkness
just before the dawn appears
enjoying the solitary that is temporary stillness
brings to your ears.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
16 September 2010
poem by David Harris
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