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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  10/1/2014 3:15:32 PM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  9453.     

nineteen

This is my voice,
Sad, prolonged, fever pitched,
With some intermittent turbulence
In between a concentrated discourse
But
Still in a slow, smooth, sailing like
A canoe on a very clear silent running river
And
Some rapids, and rocks somewhere, may distort,
This voice
Of mine,
Or
At the edge for which a waterfall rages,
This
Voice
Of
Mine,
May sound like a violent fall of a hundred heavy waters,
Not a drip, but a hundred heavy, heavy falling waters,
As though the whole word is falling down
On your
Shoulder,
This is my voice, sad, on a prolonged agony,
But somehow, when tickled may move into
A mystery, not discounting the possibility of
An ecstasy,
A fantasy,
And you, my love, my beautiful reader, may hear this voice
Speaking to you in a hush of silence,
This is my voice; hear it for what it is, that is all that I ask of you,
I am myself speaking. I am real, this voice of mine.
Listen to me.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9454.     

nipple by Emma z.

Upon my hill
of beauty
you shall walk
in tongues.

at the tip
you do not
strangulate.

you know what
word is there.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9455.     

nitpicking

the monkey is hungry
and to feed its
ego
er mouth, o yes
his stomach, there he goes
again
nitpicking
women.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9456.     

no attachments

the room where you sleep
does not take hold of you

your bed cannot be part of your skin
and your windows are nothing but

the ordinary closing and opening
of your day

you like a door that opens
to nowhere

you have diamonds in your hands
you spread them

in the garden and you see
how they all glitter for a while

darkness folds and
light of another day opens

you take a walk and whistle
you don't remember the color of the blanket

you forget what warmth was there on that bed
you do not care whether the windows are closed or open

you move to another house
and tell your stories all over again

there is no blink in your eyes
there is no stammering in your tongue

you do not tell them what you love
there are no hands too familiar to hold you back
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA