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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  4/18/2015 6:36:58 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  9633.     

May

May used to be
a nun wearing a white habit
but due to some
misuse of words
which offended her
Mother Superior she was
asked to leave

and she married
a priest who fell in love
with her
left the congregation
so they can
have a life of their
own

if you think that they
live happily
ever after like
the usual story
of the fairy tale book
you are wrong

they're too religious
and they split
like
two like poles
that repel
each other finally
at the last
chapter
of their love story

in fact
it contained only
five pages
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9634.     

May You Go To Heaven

this heart is fettered
this soul is shattered
these eyes are pestered
this body is battered

everything is given away
what is left is dismay

hence,

goodnight my friend
may you go to heaven
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9635.     

May Your Last Poem Be Not

may your last poem be not about me.
not about you either.
not about us, far from what i conceive it to be.
not about the world, it is as mundane as a soiled shoe.
not about the sky, it is highfalutin like your way of choosing words.
sometimes, you are somebody that i have to reread for me to really
have a glimpse of what are you all about. a broken glass. a sad tune.
a sour milk. a rotten flower. a dead bee. a butterfly wingless.

i like to say some nicer things about you. Like a flower in perfect bloom.
a caterpillar finding the perfect place to hide its cocoon.
a rainbow with both feet on the hills filled with green trees.
a south beach diet. a purse filled with coins. crisp dollar bills smelling like
lasagna pasta.

i want to say everything inside my mind without fear of censorship and reprisal. I am proclaiming my freedom from restraints. To say something
illogical and senseless and shameless.

may your last poem be not about me. may it be beyond me. beyond us.
may it be not like any other poem. melting in slow fire. shedding off.
lights shut.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  9636.     

Maybe It Is Just Like That.....

as you trim the bushes
outside the fence

i am eating cold spaghetti
with sour bread and i get no
hot coffee

it is a bright day
and the sun is slowly rising from a gray horizon

gone were the days when we cannot eat
if we are not together

maybe it is just like that.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA