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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  7/28/2014 9:20:17 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  9473.     

old poetry

i always come back
to your arms

i am not happy
but i have no choice

your arms are cactus
but i do not mind

i make most of what
imagination can offer

there will be sun
where there is none

i make rain
i also unmake them

everything are sands
in my hands

i open my fingers
as dams

sands trickle
waters pour

rivers form themselves
i make a mouth

where they can find
rest and be lost in the sea

this is what imagination is all about
one word: survival.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9474.     

on a blank page

i remember that entrance
examination at law school
trying to measure my aptitude
whether i can be a good student
of law in the university
they were asking legal questions
and i gave the answers
with all the brick arrangements of
my reason,
i know what logical minds ask for,
it is like building up and emotion
and then burst at the end
of the line, give a punch, and
don't bother, i mean, do not be
intimidated by all these fools,
Gibran i remember, says that
they all destroy every castle in
the sand that they are making
every minute, very much like
the routine of the waves crumbling
every sand
castle of the mind,
the Dean (modesty aside)
was impressed and ask what
my name is, from what school
did i finish my Philosophy,
i pocketed a smile,
repressed my conceit and
stared at him, gracious,
she did not feel that i am
sort of discourteous
buffalo from the marshlands.

and then she handed a blank
paper, and ask me to draw
an image of myself, of course,
i know what to draw immediately,
i always have in mind the three
monkeys: no hear, no speak,
no see

my favorite Dean, oh, she loves it.
until then, i became a lawyer
but she did not see me anymore
with my (lousy practice) .

she died untimely.

I speak, i hear,
i see no evil.

That is my secret
for being alive, till date.
Do you like it?
Will you love me for it?
Do you like the three monkeys?

Sometimes, i want to be
a great monkey. Not one of those
three that i once drew on that blank page.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9475.     

on a blurred vision

on a foggy hillside
there are white patches
from far
they look like
mushrooms

then i hear the
sound of thunder

suddenly they all
fly away

oh, the white herons
again!
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9476.     

on a bright and peaceful day

this morning
the sun slowly
ascends from the
white slate of
the sea

gloriously
it rises to the skies
and then
stands still for
its reign


we miss you here
on such a bright day
when everything that is calm
and peaceful
takes its rule

the mountains are
looking
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA