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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  8/20/2014 11:33:25 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  11573.     

The 6th sense

Love has fooled you.
First

so you fool love in return
you pretend you are Love
You are second.

The Third one is the Newcomer
in this game

a tragic play in fact
where both are losers at the end

First there is A hELLO
THEN

The goodbye, The fourth one is
not forgotten

but the Fifth one learns from
Love itself


It forgets, heals, takes time
to ponder

and decides that the only way to live
is still

To love again.
This is the Sixth sense.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11574.     

the abandoned house and the man who drags his shoes to make the necessary sound

when you arrive in the house
(the house that both of you built 17 years ago)
no one is there
not even the three white dogs

you have accepted this face of loneliness
without a mouth

it is its nature now
gentle in silence

there is nothing to talk about with someone else
when someone else is far away and seemingly taking all the hearts out

the door and the hinges have to keep things for themselves
for in truth, those who left the stairs
they still love

you have the key to the door of the kitchen
and that is where you start the journey towards the living room

you scurry on some little memories
it is like putting some words in your notes
in here and there beyond the margins

but it is not that endless really
for whatever it be
joy or death there's got to be an end
that is the truth of the meaning of
this word

it could be a dead-end
a street of walls
& then actually you are caught
in flagrante
where your only choice
is to go back,
retrace,
remember,
refresh
refrains, refrains
of a
love song

you go back to the room look longingly at the bed
the blankets are dusty and the pillows are stained with so much emptiness
or guilt
scruples
Freudian analysis
Carl Jung's other possibilities
of reconciliation

this is a very soundless world and
every part here is keeping its mouth shut
their layers of concealment are thick
and their canopies of
self-defenses are hard

you feel like this is one kind of a giant shell
and you are inside it
its flesh
all blistering
flesh

you decide to wear your shoes all throughout this scrutiny
this journey into marriage
into childlessness
into what if's

you drag your feet with your shoes on
as though someone is suffering and wanting to die
and you hold the collar
and you hurt the backbone
and in that open window
you imagine that someone may finally
jump like a scared cat

nine lives
thirty-six softest feet

you purposely make a sound with your shoes
tapping and tapping
and tapping
to create those sounds
of the past dances
just to fill an empty room

some thoughts jump out of the window
dressed in euphemisms
as the ceiling creates its own crankiness
its cloudiness

nine cats in you jump out that window
falling softly on the grass below
all thirty-six
dreams

it is nice to see of course
nine unharmed cats like fluffy cotton blown by the wind and gently
softly land on the grass

it is no wonder
why men sometimes invoke the sound of their whistling

indeed it is by this time
very relaxing
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11575.     

The Absence

i have long waited
for this time
when
you cannot seduce
me anymore
like no matter what
you do
whether you spread
your legs
at 180 degrees
or lick the muscles of my
legs for
a day
all these
cannot cause a tremor
to my
layered existence

i have long waited for this
time
when i become a wall
and you wilt
as a vine
when you are but a
forgotten tendril still
fighting for a hold
in my trellis

now that time has come
and i am calling some of my friend
to dine and drink with me
and we had
a good time
recalling what you have done
to me

i told them you ruined me
and i was like a house that fell down
on the ground
dynamited

and then they all left me
when the wine is all consumed
when the food is nothing
but left-overs for the dog

now it is just me and my dog
and then the dog is asleep on the rug
beside a door
that i have not closed

somehow, i am back to this emptiness again
and i still wonder
how can i ever be a void to be filled again

like an empty glass still wishing for
the pouring of
the old wine
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11576.     

THE ABSURD

the absurd
lies in the sunless sea

there is no fading
rising or setting there

and having learned
of this rare but occuring
phenomenon

where all time
either is dark
or gray
or something like
a boundary

they begin to suspect
that there is no
hope for the light
though

they retain their last and only
belief
about eternity
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA