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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  12/21/2014 11:55:31 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  11565.     

that man from La Mancha

after all, the huffs and puffs,
the drinks and long conversations,
i guess i need rest
and as i lay in bed with you
with windows open
i think i still like to hear again
the song of the man from
La Mancha

i am sleepy please hum it for me.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11566.     

that midnight

She is the only one that moves now

Her soundless feet keen on the floor

Her silence seeps

In empty corners where all the sorrows sleep

She dances in the grace of afternoon petals falling off

Her cold breath hovers

In the roofs that vigil the death of the noisy crowd

A loner

A curious clone of a black ghost

She visits abandoned rooms

And cracks stories concealed by the muted angers

She drops a secret like a feather

Floating and I though awake

Throughout her wakings and walk-ins

Could not recall having caught one

In such slowness

What she really says amidst the silence

Or meant in all these dark passage

The mirror on the wall stares

And glares at me with anger

One must have just died

The killer fled

Hidden by her black capes

Another secret I supposed

And though I thought

I knew

She had already flown away

Like a black bird into the night

I want to make some rain for her

Or offer her a lace of my tears

But by then another morning has come

Gently touching me

With flowers

And dove on my palms.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11567.     

that morning i remember rightly

what was visible then
was only the outlines
of the leaves of the coconut tree
hanging like a pair of pants
on the clothesline


and this tiny boat sailing
away towards an island
that looked like
nothing but
just this shadow
of a horizontal line

reminding me
of my father's
death...when his heart
failed,
the line was straight, horizontal on the screen
it was flat
like the shadow of the island fronting
from where i stand

it was flat, i always remember that. and then after the beeping sound
silence came.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11568.     

that morning walk....

in locomotion ideas unravel
as though
when the feet pedal something
in the forehead pops out
the two walk hand in hand
like friends
the mind on foot towards
an enlightened destination
on a boat of darkness
the sails move out to the open
meeting the light

awed we prostrate on the grounds
of our traditions
we kneel and rise and with open arms
embrace the newness of
each thing each idea like flashes of
the northern lights
in technicolor....
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA