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Arch

one longs
to be at the middle of
the arch
door,

arch hands falling
on the side of the
hips,

gaze maps out
the other leg of the
arch
door, and finds ultimately
the source
of restlessness

the air is the
suspect
why the room is
confused

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sometimes When I Have Nothing To Say

sometimes when i have nothing to say
like the silence of the closed window
or the nights on the grass
or the twinkle of the stars... i feel so full
and when i get so full, i feel like
vomiting my existence,
i am nauseous to this hiding, sometimes
i want to say it all, and then i become so empty
and when empty i float, i feel like i am nothing but air,
and then i surrender again
to the walls.... talking and talking to the walls
and i do not really care about the rumors that they have ears.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Beggar Maid's Breakdown In The Life Cycle

This beguile strange woman in her forties and I am sorry that I have heard forties are the naughtiest.
She begs not charity and she has enough money.
Even though the solitude and suffering.
The precious money could help her to replace solace?
Under the burning Sun and freezing Moon
Still she needs the warmth.
Only an honest human blanket could minimize her nauseous feelings.
Where do they find this pedigree?
She seeks a pure bred Man in her sojourn
And still she struggles to find the needle in a haystack.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Why It Matters

'Sit with me here.' she said
'It gives me the reassurance that I exist.
'How does that work? ' I said.

She said 'I spin off into my self
if I lose contact with something or someone else
outside myself.
Sometimes I am ok with the inner spin
but it gets scary sometimes and I feel nauseous
and lose my bearings where I feel vulnerable to
monsters and animals and horrible voices and people
talking.
'If I get there it is difficult to get back.'

'So, ' he said 'who knew a touch could mean so much? '

'Well' she said
'it does.'

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Sense of senses

If my feeling going nauseous
I’ll breathe the rain scent that fills my nose
Rather than the cold that kills me

If my breath going lost
I’ll taste the sweet promise that kisses my tongue
Rather than the ache than hungers me

If my tongue going tied
I’ll look at the bright smile that holds my eyes
Rather than the bitter that chokes me

If my eyes going blind
I’ll listen to the gentle sound that tickles my ears
Rather than the darkness that surrounds me

If my ears going deaf
I’ll feel the warm sun that touches my skin
Rather than the silence that shrinks me

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Legitimate Drama

My singsong beloved grumbles; ' It's ridiculous and I feel giddy and nauseous in the morning.'
I said; 'Congratulations! Give me a strong boy.'
She was angry and fired me.
'Are you mad? How could I be conceived at this old age?
Don't you remember that we are not productive due to past surgeries? '
Then I said; 'Darling! Miracles could be happened on this mysterious Earth
And if a boy one day we could have send him for Presidential Election on this land of opportunity.'

* When I informed my daughters about Mom's sickness they are very happy and confirmed this could be their dream brother.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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His Poem

i read his poem today,
a disciple of
I don't really know
he will not tell
but this i can say,
i follow every thought
every metaphor
and it is like i am being
pushed
to the labyrinth of the
large and small
intestines of a
chicken,
i know how is it
to be a gizzard,
i survive all these
blind curves
until i bump upon
a closed door
like an opening at the

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rose-scented.....

when you sleep with a
broken heart
the eyes that ache
with lost sleep
and the hands that
fail you

you drown in sorrow
but in a certain miracle
you do not succumb
to death's
final offer

you rise from a whirlpool
of grief
nauseous

as usual a broken heart
like a salamander
mends itself

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Aftermath for Friend Thad

I’m feeling rather delicate;
perhaps it’s something that I ate.
My stomach’s complains bitterly
It churns and churns incessantly.

I’m feeling bloated full of gas,
the pressure builds but will no pass.
It is becoming serious
I’m feeling really nauseous.

Then suddenly I feel the urge
a desperate need to go and purge.
I go and sit upon the throne.
Ah. Such relief I’ve never known.

I get but little sympathy.
My wife declares that I should be
aware of my capacity.
That too much beer is bad for me.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lotus-flowers

Lotus-flowers

Naked I am before The Author of Life
-the child of nature’s birth and death

Imperfect I am before The Great Mind
-the child of passion’s limited to earth

Rebellious I am before The Truth
-the child of desire clothe with pride

Vicious I am before The Law
-the child of deceit and endless lies

Avaricious I am before The Master of All
-the child of corrupt and distorted image of life

Nauseous I am before The Ancient One
-the child of folly, ignorant antagonist

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poem by Jordan Legaspi
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