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I Am......

i
transform
myself

i do not create
myself

i do not destroy
myself

i do not have
that power

i am ripe
as a red luscious
fruit

i am not my curse
oh i cease
to be just

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Healing

keep on rubbing the drops
of time
in your wound
to completely heal yourself

massage slowly
the bruises of your sadness
with its fingers
until they
disappear
just like
your face
slowly dissolving
in the canvass of
the wind

the phisophers are
right
the hands of
time

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My child

I picked up my paintbrush
to capture your face,
pretty eyes, rosebud lips
and a smile to melt ice
and catch the sun.
But were your eyes small
and your hair dull,
if smiles were teardrops
that wiped out the sun
you would still hold my love
for between the paintbrush
and the canvass
there is your gentle soul.

poem by Ruth Walters
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Early Dawn Along The Dumaguete Boulevard

the sea is so peaceful
like a sheet of blue linen

a boat's shadow is that gray
thing floating on a canvass of blue sea

against an indigo sky
a tall and lean figure stops to watch this view

last night this figure chased happiness
along the cemented pathways of this boulevard

he didn't catch any
not even a flirting female mosquito

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shutting Up....

if i only
knew

the objective of
art is to keep things
in order

convert chaos into
a well kept room

no messing
everything neat in its place

perhaps
that is what i am doing right now

threshing out
emotions early morning

putting them inside

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pretty in Placerville

Hands are made for grasping
Gold, dust in brown canvass bags, nuggets
For teeth impressions.
Dust trails lead in and out
Of toil and thirst. The thirst for
Gold, soul of the merciless mine.
The gold is mine.
My fingers are worn short
From rolling in the abrasives;
My lips made thin by kissing
The sun come down to earth.

poem by Stan Petrovich
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A Red Rose

a red rose
casts a shadow
on a white
canvass

light strikes
on the body of
its redness
and the greenness of
its leaves

this red rose is
for you
give it the light
so i may cast
a shadow of myself
to you

when you touch
it

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Native Indian Feast

feathers on their heads wet
canvass canopy start to drip
drums chant to heaven's part
trinkets hand made in tepees
find their way in small cases
where few bucks gets you piece

clouds not kind to lowlanders
it keeps on pouring for hours
dancers huddle beneath with me
their faces aren't that happy
food wagon cooking food, sweet
burgers, hot dogs good to eat

poem by Manonton Dalan
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The Metaphor Of Himself

what are you saying in what
you paint? the wall clock in your head
your left eye is closed
your right eyes stare to the wind
the big lizard flies in the canvass
of yellow and the louse is made
gigantic than the
sun that lies beside a tree
without leaves
the frame is a window
and it looks out to the sea
it is not there
the big water
are you trying to say
that time heals?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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All That's Left

All that’s left
Are two chairs
Empty wine glasses
And a slice of chocolate cake

Mosquitoes now swarm like memories
Over an unfinished dream
We were there
Two people
On two chairs
Wine and chocolate cake

It’s late now
Bamboo patches dark and dangerous
We left in laughter
Came in tears
Two people
Two glasses and chocolate cake
Our words like colours
On an empty canvass

poem by Wesley Gibbings
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