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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  3/6/2015 6:32:57 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  11633.     

sometimes...

we need to be alone
but not as cold as stone
it is like that sunflower
standing tall as ever.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11634.     

sometimes....

sometimes, when i look at the world
through one narrow window
of the airplane,
i shrink about the idea of jumping
off again
(which i once tried when i was too confused
to take another day
of life, during one of those lousy college days,
when life seems to be too
saggy, like a carpet losing hold of
its thick threads,

sometimes, one has to look at the clouds
thick, white, cottons, up there
to know that, well, there is nothing certain
about everything

up there
or down here
there will always be
chaos.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11635.     

somewhere

somewhere you speak of a star
bigger
thirty times
than our star and you say
you have seen it from your
telescope
where you stand
how the star explodes
and then
gone, leaving just a space,
a patch of
black dot
in your eyes,

i do not wish to understand you further
with your calculations
about the risks, the dangers, the consequences
of what happens
in that distant sky

here i am in my daily cares, i remember
feeding corn to the chickens, or cleaning my car, or
frying my cues,
or simply sitting by the stair
and just merely looking at the passing butterfly
hovering
in the summer air

what do i know about distance?
what do i care about distant stars
how they explode and how
the space starts to become empty, and grow another star again?

what i know of is simple enough
i do not know you
anymore, and i think, i am about to explode
and i think
i may become empty like what you are telling me
about that space left by the exploding star

and i am afraid
i am the kind of person
in this place
of the universe
that does not know how to grow a star again
after an explosion
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  11636.     

somewhere in chicago

health care is not in danger
not affected by recession
because the white people and the black people
all level up
to old age and no child shall ever have the time
to care for each of them
and so here you are
too confident about your future
cleaning the sheets
administering the medication
taking and throwing shits.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA