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Easy Math....!

1 + 1 = 11
4 x 4 = pajero

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ichabod - The Story of Discontent (Narrative)

This story's for the humble
And I'll hide identities
For it may make you stumble
To know the realities.

It's about a nice preacher
Of a known denomination
Who aspired to be richer
Through his good congregation.

In a rented house he lived
With his lovely wife and children
But he wanted to receive
A better blessing from men.

So without much ado
He relayed in his preaching
A new house will do
So increase with your giving.

He said 'We'll build a Center
That will then accommodate
Five thousand new members,
And this church will be great.

But before that you must
Build a nice house for me
I hope you will trust
It's for our testimony.'

So poured the donations
And the gift offerings
For his house construction
With complete furnishings.

After the house, he needed
A new car for his trips,
So in preaching he related
Added needs in the worship.

'A Crosswind is fine'
Said he to the people,
'It's an Isuzu line
And the price reasonable.'

So he got the new wheels
And with peace for a moment,
But the joy that he feels
Soon leads back to discontent.

[...] Read more

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Two Options

after the anomaly
she bought a thick nylon cord
and tied it around her neck
upon a chair she jumps
and kills herself
instantly

the other one who bought a new
pajero and a house somewhere
in Mediatrix using another
name is already gone

you see two guilty people
exercised different options

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Money Always

Armed with a dollar sign,
Sugar daddies are dancing a jig-saw dance,
Stamping the sweet sixteens down to thirteen,
Blinding them with a pound sign,
Teenagers are scrumbling for the white beads,
Risking their lives into attractiveness of the familiar pockets,
lmbined with the notion of sexual born disparity social deviance,
Mint boses, yes money, always money,
Money buys life, money buys death,
Joy and sadness equals money,
Hearing thud sounds of engine,
Benz, toyota, pajero and many more engines,
Which engineers trouble,
Sweets shake their bodies,
Hulling the hovering hearts of their prays,
Sugar daddies who are on seeing girlish shadows
Maintain a confusion with a pocketed dollar sound.
Mingled with a kwacha sign,
Minced with the notion of destruction,
To destroy girlish fuitfulness
And extinguishing lights of hope to their faces dark
All because of money,
Oh money! money is the root of all the evils

poem by George Dumbarton
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