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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  8/30/2014 1:25:49 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  9505.     

oDE to a BACKBITER

tell me
how do you pick up the pieces of
cotton that you spread in the air
from the pillow
that you stab with the sharpness
and length of the knife
that is your tongue?
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9506.     

ode to a strict lifestyle of the past

'twas the cruel time
with grandpa when dropping a grain
of rice on the table cloth is such a big crime
when you like to eat but you cannot swallow
the food
when you like to drink but the water tasted
as bitter as bile
when the conversations on the dining table
are shallow as affection is strange
as nothing becomes more important
than a future
not be be bound in the house anymore
when papa did not do anything
when mama simply sobbed
and stayed silence
and surrendered everything to God

all we waited is the blackness of the night
black because death is indifferent
because time is not a rescuer
of those who sank into
the bottom
of despair

i recall all these cruel times now
upon a grain of white rice
upon a coffee deprived of milk and sugar
upon a bread without the butter
upon a naked table
scratched with a knife
stained with tears

i look over the window
and stare at the black butterfly merely passing by
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9507.     

ode to erotica

i was prude enough
to deserve their hate
when i avoided you
erotica
my hands are bound
to the old religion
contrasting commands
between the voice of
my thighs
the contractions of my
scrotum
and the call of love
the freedom of
erotica
in the forest where the
trees tower
reaching for the skirts
of the clouds
erotica
you are so beautiful
red grapes are your
lips with dew
on a very cold morning
i shed off my skin
thrown my clothes
i feel the air all over
my body
erotica
you come to me
for i am bound by the
chains of wrong beliefs
about my fire
i am burning now
erotica
be my fire
burn me more
like molten magma
i am an eruption
right in the your beautiful
face
erotica.
i am man.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9508.     

ode to the spinster...

you know much better
i will not argue, so, you build your own house
choose the kind of wood
what color of paint is used
how things must be
everyday, you decide
you accept things as they are
and ready already for
any eventuality: that loneliness
has been converted to
solitude

you have nephews and nieces
too many, yet to no one
has you entrusted your future
or your present life

you reason out
they too, have lives of their own
they are the children of their
own plans
the makings of their own thoughts
and the shape of
their own visions

you walk alone along the shores of
time
complete and self -sufficient
you want to touch their lives sometimes
but your second thoughts prevail
you have your own life to live
the design of your own
house
architectured by your own hands
this heart that beats for no
one
but you, and you alone, at the end
embracing your own self
against the strong wind.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA