www.PoemsAbout.com

     Home | Contact Us

Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  7/28/2014 11:22:24 AM
Search For Poems & Poets:
POEMS ABOUT
 angel
 beautiful
 daughter
 death
 friend
 girl
 greed
 hero
 home
 hope
 kiss
 life
 lonely
 loss
 lost
 love
 memory
 money
 music
 nature
 night
 power
 rain
 school
 sleep
 soldier
 summer
 sun
 war
 

 

 
  Best Poems From
  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
<< prev. page

Page: 1 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 900 1000 1100 1200 1300 1400 1500 1600 1700 1800 1900 2000 2100 2200 2300 2400 2500 2600 2700 2800 2840 2850 2860 2870 2880 2885 2886 2887 2888 2889 2890 2891 2892 2893 2894 2895 2896 2897 2898 2899 2900 2901 2902 2903 2910 2920 2930 2940 2950 3000 3100 3200 3300 3400 3500 3600 3700 3800 3900 4000 4014

next page >>

 
   
 

  11573.     

that reunion on the merry month of May

on a shorter notice we had the reunion set on the merry month of May,
candid,
a spot for the day, we gather the faces again
of youth,
high school scents spreading in the halls of this
room,
agging is late again
(her breast sags, though
she has not been married)
catalina lost some of her
teeth
(she is contemplating of
suicide, had an attempt
but survived it)
ernie, still looks good
with his marine blue polo shirt
(though not well ironed
he split with wife, now in the US
starts anew with his second
wife and a math whiz kid
for inspiration)
fredelita, bony cheeks
emaciated, depressed
(had a baby with this
parish priest)
sir berto, haggardly
high blood pressure
wants to deliver his speech
to an audience of six
mrs. ratilla, still smart and
quick, sits silently and
her eyes are roving
like she is the famous
thinker, i understand,

i got the money to spend
and they order what they
want to eat, i am this
writer, the standard-bearer,
the entertainer, i love
to sing again the songs
of high school to recite
again the poems i once
wote i once read while
they open their mouths
looking for meanings

the rest did not come
perhaps some of them
have died, perhaps some
of them want to die,
perhaps some of them
pretended to be dead,

whatever, it was that
month of May 2007
and i like to think
we were all drunk
and merry,

the high school memories
how can we bury them?

without dying ourselves

i was looking for her
she was not there anymore.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11574.     

that room

... it was simply wider
for me

i was like a pebble
falling to the
ocean floor of
the Surigao
trench

...it made me lonelier
it made me think of you

that room was a night
of long sleeplessness

the following morning
my eye sockets deepen
like a black hole of
my self
made universe

i am still looking for myself
and i am
afraid

i have not found it still

someone is talking
and writing and i do not recognize
it

it is strange and it seems to be
the truest of my
lie.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11575.     

That Sadness In Your State

an autobiography appears life a blurred picture
you are lost in the tracks of the past
greatness is never spotted
because you have considered each as a mere folder
another item, just like any other number that slides from your fingers
then something bites you
the pain makes you jerk, and you begin to watch carefully the tip of
your thumb,
this hurts, who is this? who are you?
and you know the person well,
the one that hurt you makes you remember a name
the face sticks in your brain
somehow, you remember, he is the greater one which you did not mind
and now you claim
we were together in that same school of thought
and i believe you,

why do you have to be like that? when there is no scream there is no one.
when you do not hear the jump into the storm from the ship of prolonged
blot of dark blue color, or that scarlet of bloody discrimination
from the rest of the oppressing humanity
then
that is the only time that you begin to mind
that there is someone out there and he is calling for help

why do you think of help only when you are dying yourself?
why do you begin to think of caring when you are hurt yourself?

you only feel, when the pain starts to take its house in you.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11576.     

that sadness that irony and that waste

i still have
Papa's picture
when he was old
and sickly
and dying and i
remember we were
talking seriously
at the patio
of that old house that
he built from
all his sacrifices
and it was you brother
you took that picture
with father's finger
pointing at me
and what that really meant
we both
really knew
and i still feel
the sadness
the irony
and the
waste.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
<< prev. page

Page: 1 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 900 1000 1100 1200 1300 1400 1500 1600 1700 1800 1900 2000 2100 2200 2300 2400 2500 2600 2700 2800 2840 2850 2860 2870 2880 2885 2886 2887 2888 2889 2890 2891 2892 2893 2894 2895 2896 2897 2898 2899 2900 2901 2902 2903 2910 2920 2930 2940 2950 3000 3100 3200 3300 3400 3500 3600 3700 3800 3900 4000 4014

next page >>

 

 
BEST POEMS:  (Click on a topic to list and read the poems)
 angel poems
 
beautiful poems
 
death poems
 
friend poems
 girl poems
 
home poems
 
hope poems
 
kiss poems
 life poems
 
loss poems
 
love poems
 
music poems
 nature poems
 
rain poems
 
school poems
 
sex poems
 soldier poems
 
summer poems
 
sun poems
 
war poems
 
(c) Poems are the property of their respective owners.
All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge.. 
Contact Us | About Us | Copyright notice | Privacy statement

Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA