Era uma casa muito engracada, nao tinha teto, nao tinha nada.
there is this strange man
wanting to get
in my house
(a sentry in my gate:RIC S. BASTASA )
These are poetic experiments. Man's quest for the poetic element never ceases. He is always caught in the eye of awe. He does not make the rules now. The rules change depending on the emotion that time and space feed him. He must see everything with his wide eyes gaping. The beginning of poetry too, like philosophy is wonder. Look and see. Do not stop wondering You are the poet. And everything is poetry. Wonder. Wander.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Flying away
February 24, 2009 (55/365)
Flying away
i like to see the image of a lone bird flying away from me
two steady wings carrying a very light body of blue feathers
a kingfisher flying away against the morning sun
moving nowhere getting farther until it becomes a blue dot
dissolving in the distance that your eyes can no longer see
i sometimes like to think i am that bird flying away
from where i am
because this place is sad and cruel
i like to fly away
to leave everything behind me and then simply forget
and make new beginnings
as easy as that
sometimes however i ask myself:
where shall i go?
nowhere?
just nowhere?
where is nowhere?
just fly away and go
RIC S. BASTASA
Flying away
i like to see the image of a lone bird flying away from me
two steady wings carrying a very light body of blue feathers
a kingfisher flying away against the morning sun
moving nowhere getting farther until it becomes a blue dot
dissolving in the distance that your eyes can no longer see
i sometimes like to think i am that bird flying away
from where i am
because this place is sad and cruel
i like to fly away
to leave everything behind me and then simply forget
and make new beginnings
as easy as that
sometimes however i ask myself:
where shall i go?
nowhere?
just nowhere?
where is nowhere?
just fly away and go
RIC S. BASTASA
My Living Flower (Batik Rose)
feel the leaves of this living flower
pierce and burst
the dews still dreaming
this morning
the glow of the sun from the east
slowly spreading between
the hills
you do not notice
the slow unfolding of this flower
through its red petals
now wanting to
open from the hold of
your fingers
my living flower
blooms today
it is telling the world
what freedom is
and its purity
and its being so temporary...
RIC S. BASTASA
pierce and burst
the dews still dreaming
this morning
the glow of the sun from the east
slowly spreading between
the hills
you do not notice
the slow unfolding of this flower
through its red petals
now wanting to
open from the hold of
your fingers
my living flower
blooms today
it is telling the world
what freedom is
and its purity
and its being so temporary...
RIC S. BASTASA
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
delectatio morosa
on that bed
of evil thoughts
my morning
starts
i grow
and bloom
on such
a delectable
delicacy
butchered on
such a holiday
the gladiator's
oozing blood
flows on the
alleys
of my mind
of evil thoughts
my morning
starts
i grow
and bloom
on such
a delectable
delicacy
butchered on
such a holiday
the gladiator's
oozing blood
flows on the
alleys
of my mind
epikhairekakos
seeing others fall
ruined
at the bottom of the
sea
floor
one delights
upon the death of
his enemy
this feeling
of
now " i am much better"
i have survived
and shall take
the pleasures upon myself
on those empty chairs
my sighs sit
ruined
at the bottom of the
sea
floor
one delights
upon the death of
his enemy
this feeling
of
now " i am much better"
i have survived
and shall take
the pleasures upon myself
on those empty chairs
my sighs sit
Nemesis
a painful response to another's
undeserved good fortune--
envy,
the monster is taking you
to the land of
no return
it is where people
on their best apparel
burn themselves
to hell
the ashes speak
on names that must be forgotten
where can pleasure
be
at another's undeserved
success?
undeserved good fortune--
envy,
the monster is taking you
to the land of
no return
it is where people
on their best apparel
burn themselves
to hell
the ashes speak
on names that must be forgotten
where can pleasure
be
at another's undeserved
success?
mudita
you look inside yourself
and you smile
the way things are growing
inside your mind
& body
i am looking at you
with all the joys in my heart
keeping your
beautiful smile
as a memory
that will push me through
in another door
of my history
and you smile
the way things are growing
inside your mind
& body
i am looking at you
with all the joys in my heart
keeping your
beautiful smile
as a memory
that will push me through
in another door
of my history
Thursday, August 27, 2009
in my world
in my world
all things move
like creepers
like strawberry
tendrils
on a very
wide field
it rains all day
but all possibilities grow here
like seeds
i like sunshine
the warmth of its kindness
but i dispensed with it
i love
the pebbles drenched with
rain
they are mute
but the have learned the silence
of their songs
in my world
i am just one of the possibilities
i am a seed
but i may decide not to grow
i may simply be
one of the pebbles that learned to love
the silence of their songs
i like it here
thick and covered
dark and damp.
all things move
like creepers
like strawberry
tendrils
on a very
wide field
it rains all day
but all possibilities grow here
like seeds
i like sunshine
the warmth of its kindness
but i dispensed with it
i love
the pebbles drenched with
rain
they are mute
but the have learned the silence
of their songs
in my world
i am just one of the possibilities
i am a seed
but i may decide not to grow
i may simply be
one of the pebbles that learned to love
the silence of their songs
i like it here
thick and covered
dark and damp.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
i am happy to see you flying
i am happy to see you flying
freely in the skies
like you are making a painting
with the wind
go, take time with the friendly clouds
go, be aware of the colours and scents of the winds
wait, in a moment, watch the bursting of the sun
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Each shall have a room, as they are distinct
As love is blind, lust has eyes wide open for its games
As love is day, lust is the night at the bar
As love speaks the truth, lust can just lay silent looking for the tasty froth
Love need not be beautiful but lust makes it a requisite
Love may abstain, but lust cannot
By its nature it thrives in banquets
Love is pure but lust goes to mud in all wild wrestling for what it desires
I can love you without lust
But you may not like it after all
I love and lust you
And in you
Love and lust shall
Hold hands, kiss tight, hiss all the night
Love and lust
The two becoming one
To both of us
So this union may last
This communion of souls
RIC S. BASTASA
Like the planets you take your own orbit
away from the rest
eluding this fatal collision
you travel alone keeping on your own gravitation
balancing the forces of your being
outside inside
near and far
coming and going
centrifugal centripetal
that is the way you move
to be alive
then the moment comes
when you complete
one revolution
how time trickled
like some drops from a rock
you flow
bit by bit
you are so busy then
about almost everything
on the other side
the clear pool of water
mirror of the sky and sun and moon
it is you
you have earned it
it is you
on your birthday
RIC S. BASTASA
A sense of humor
listen to a joke
just listen and then don't mind the face of the teller
just listen and then something clicks
and you catch something funny
and you laugh
keep the joke and dissect it
let it stay
retell it to yourself or even to your friend
retell it how many times to him
and let him write it
you see there is no click anymore
something funny was lost
because you want to keep it
because you want to let it stay in you
one thing with a joke is that it must
always be something new
one that you have not heard it before
i tell you, it is just like a poem
there is this switch, a clicking
and then something happens
how can you tell it?
you can't
tell it
for by then
in an instant
it is gone
sad indeed, there are other freedoms still freedom from having no ideas, from this dryness, freedom from having you as a poet on forced wit and half-cooked cleverness freedom from a reader who has nothing to offer except his own loneliness his having nothing to do freedom from being bored to death freedom from having nothing to say and comment freedom from this feeling of emptiness this bigotry this indigestion of dumb thoughts freedom from impertinence, immateriality, irrelevance, freedom from thinking about freedom freedom from freedom itself there are more freedom from pain is useless now that you are
dead.
RIC S. BASTASA
55 • 365 : Flying away
February 24, 2009 (55/365)Flying away
i like to see the image of a lone bird flying away from me
two steady wings carrying a very light body of blue feathers
a kingfisher flying away against the morning sun
moving nowhere getting farther until it becomes a blue dot
dissolving in the distance that your eyes can no longer see
i sometimes like to think i am that bird flying away
from where i am
because this place is sad and cruel
i like to fly away
to leave everything behind me and then simply forget
and make new beginnings
as easy as that
sometimes however i ask myself:
where shall i go?
nowhere?
just nowhere?
where is nowhere?
just fly away and go
RIC S. BASTASA
Saturday, July 04, 2009
what's the hurry?
the days never consume themselves
and the nights are always there when you need to talk to the stars
the river keeps flowing and the oceans have always been far and wide
the glaciers keep their formation and when the break and fall they come back
shapes and colors and light and darkness and faces and bodies
there are always seasons and new moons and fall moons
for every leaf that falls another bud sprouts
i wonder to all these
and there is no hurry, i take time communing with what nature is giving.
happiness like a bunch of grapes.
joy like an overflowing river.
so why hurry? there are more reasons why we must stay.
and the nights are always there when you need to talk to the stars
the river keeps flowing and the oceans have always been far and wide
the glaciers keep their formation and when the break and fall they come back
shapes and colors and light and darkness and faces and bodies
there are always seasons and new moons and fall moons
for every leaf that falls another bud sprouts
i wonder to all these
and there is no hurry, i take time communing with what nature is giving.
happiness like a bunch of grapes.
joy like an overflowing river.
so why hurry? there are more reasons why we must stay.
Friday, July 03, 2009
painting the wall white is what is done this morning.
removing the stains and the marks of wrongs
some spits and phlegm sticking
and we wonder if this shall please him
he who had died a long, long time ago
who wished all the walls are white and neat
and clean.
who wished that it will be like his body
or his soul, but then there was not enough time.
he never wished to die
that early and so dirty.
removing the stains and the marks of wrongs
some spits and phlegm sticking
and we wonder if this shall please him
he who had died a long, long time ago
who wished all the walls are white and neat
and clean.
who wished that it will be like his body
or his soul, but then there was not enough time.
he never wished to die
that early and so dirty.
and so i rode on the white car and someone
was driving who does not talk, it was strange
there was this typhoon that kept on coming
and i was holding on the door of the car
and it was raining hard on the winding
and slippery road towards nowhere
fog and mist and a bunch of rain and wind
and then i heard the sound of the car falling on
a cliff and then
there was something that was as absolute as
involuntary silence.
all the fears vanished.
i woke up.
was driving who does not talk, it was strange
there was this typhoon that kept on coming
and i was holding on the door of the car
and it was raining hard on the winding
and slippery road towards nowhere
fog and mist and a bunch of rain and wind
and then i heard the sound of the car falling on
a cliff and then
there was something that was as absolute as
involuntary silence.
all the fears vanished.
i woke up.
i let the years pass on my busy days
this and that
those and there and here
contemplation is a monk and he has not come
my door is open
and the crowd came in. Leaves of years keep
falling like it is caused by the cyclone
of my moving forward onward
this and that and those and there and everywhere
until one moment when the last white hair fell
and then i shudder
to all these and that and those and there and here
and nowhere
and nothing, until the monk in saffron cloth came
asking me
if i am finally going.
this and that
those and there and here
contemplation is a monk and he has not come
my door is open
and the crowd came in. Leaves of years keep
falling like it is caused by the cyclone
of my moving forward onward
this and that and those and there and everywhere
until one moment when the last white hair fell
and then i shudder
to all these and that and those and there and here
and nowhere
and nothing, until the monk in saffron cloth came
asking me
if i am finally going.
between us is this chasm of silence
we are like a river
and i am on the other side of its banks
at the middle is this haze of the fog
and the transparency of twilight
between us is the thread of a word
a line of syllables that must connect us
to connect our loneliness
you on the other side has only to utter the words
but you cannot do it
neither I, and so we have become the widest sea
without a shore.
Now we are faraway islands.
we are like a river
and i am on the other side of its banks
at the middle is this haze of the fog
and the transparency of twilight
between us is the thread of a word
a line of syllables that must connect us
to connect our loneliness
you on the other side has only to utter the words
but you cannot do it
neither I, and so we have become the widest sea
without a shore.
Now we are faraway islands.
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