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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA  12/22/2014 8:50:00 AM
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  RIC S. BASTASA
 
 
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  12797.     

the old flame is finally gone

there was this old flame inside the house made of wood
it is alive supported by a wick and a bowl of oil

it is a comfort for blackouts and we all look at it with wonder
we keep it from the wind and the rain and it stands still

one day we find ourselves in great grief
the bowl of glass is shattered and the oil is spilled on the ground

the wick is gone and we searched for it for days
someone so cruel destroyed what we looked up to

then the night comes in without electricity we grappled
the house is silent under a sky without stars
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  12798.     

the old flower....

there is only one flower that i have
i am hiding it behind my back
and it is not for you

it is for someone else..

i am hiding it behind my back
so you may not see what it is
so you may not quarrel about it

it is for someone else...

i have only one flower in my hand
behind my back
it does not have complete petals
it is wilted and does not have any scent
it is dead
it is a dead flower and it am hiding it behind my back

it is for someone else....

this is an old flower that i have taken
from my antique trunk
tonight i shall burn it
and it shall have the smoke
which shall tell my story
to the cold moon.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  12799.     

the old house of my grandfather

sometimes as i walk early morning
when the suns starts to climb up on the hill
i think of grandfather's house
old, and spacious on top of a hill
overlooking his farm where his carabaos graze
his goat and cows and ducks teem,
oh, those were the years of bounty
and there was no worry,
about what to eat what to do
where to go,

times changed, and now we are always on a race
taking much work, and buying lots of things
sometimes we regret, taking and throwing
going and then returning
apparently, for no purpose and without meaning,

we live in a new house now with glass windows
and iron grill and high and thick walls and fences
we speak less, we move more,
we laugh less, we discuss more,

the old house of grandfather was burned in 1968.
this new house burns all day, and there is no fireman coming.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 

   
   
 

  12800.     

the old lady

i am saddened by her disposition
she takes side with her word
and honor and she makes it clear

she is with
my enemies,

her name is
mother-in-law.
 
RIC S. BASTASA
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet RIC S. BASTASA