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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  9/2/2014 9:02:32 PM
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  9453.     

my visitors this morning

she comes early this morning
blue all over
and i give her tea and let her speak what is in her mind.

like she is a storm today,
she has given me turbulence, speaking about how abuse
can be inflicted, verbal physical emotional, against her
a woman of virtue
and intellect, she sips the tea and breaks some cookies
her breakfast today, and she continues about
what he did to her

i am listening then the door bell rings
it is him, and he gets another tea
for sympathy and he listens to her outpouring too,
these kinds of abuse
inflicted by one to another
getting to be
so normal an occurrence, that everyone seems to accept
without question,

she is his wife
the man has white hair, and balding, and his shirt
is not well ironed, his face still unwashed,
wrinkles on his face,

she is complaining about his abuses on her person
and he merely listens
and he wants to explain how these matters started
and how they may not be true
how violent can she become
when provoked by her
mood swings

her face changes from calm to something
you will not like
and she does what you may now believe
because she kicks him
she slaps him

and he merely listens
i guess, that explains the mess, that this couple
now intruding my privacy, has found themselves into,

i tell them i have other things to do today,
and since their tea is consumed, then they must now take
their leave

my morning is not that great, actually, i do not like it
and them too.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9454.     

my way

i made my own way
through the uncleared trees
the sharp leaves of cogon grass
i bleed
drops of blood mark
my way
and yet you follow me
in this tryst
my heart is flattered
when you finally said
you chose
my way
you chose pain rather
than pleasure

and the pain is gone.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9455.     

my way of stealing happiness

i'll take a bite of the luscious grape
break the pulp within
savor the sweetness inside my mouth
play with the hands of my
tongue
i always close my eyes
when i swallow what is supposed
to be yours.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9456.     

My wife

as she was preparing for her usual market day
on some limited pesos to buy the usual eggs and coffee,
she hints and strikes me with:

what if we apply for a visa in the USA?
it won't harm to try our luck in the Great Apple,

i was resting in bed due to a bad cough
this hot weather and sudden rain
this dusty country with bad roads

oh, if you like it, why not try yourself?
if you get an approved visa, why not be like the rest of
our professionals
on a decent job as caregiver

not that really distant to being a domestic helper in Hongkong
and the Emirates

well, i stated with finality,
i can always afford to stay here
work, inch my way slowly to the higher ladder of the
corrupt bureaucracy without really
having my hands dirty on some
issues of law and morality

i may, compromise, as your beneficiary
for your compulsory dollar remittance
and people around us here
your mother and brothers
may name me Lazybone

but honestly honey, we differ on this kind of
point-of-view

this is Paradise here, why leave?
this is the only country we have, why leave?

she does not want any further discussion
she leaves with her small rattan basket to the market

i sometimes reflect on this,
what if i am wrong? what if i am such a narrow minded patriotic
out of touch lazy bone?

i am staying put. I love it here.
I may even invoke God. He wants me to be here.

Fate. Yes, Fat Fate.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA