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It wounds a man less to confess that he has failed in any pursuit through idleness, neglect, the love of pleasure, etc., etc., which are his own faults, than through incapacity and unfitness, which are the faults of his nature.

quote by Lord Melbourne
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We cannot go on as we are with 2.6 million people on incapacity benefit, 500,000 of them are under 35. Are we really saying there are half a million people in this country under 35 who are simply too ill to work? I don't think that's right.

quote by David Cameron
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The Child In Us

playful, runs, and hides
this is the child in me
in us, always in the side
of carelessness,
mistakes, and always
changing dispositions,
the incapacity to hold
anger, and the capacity
always to forget,
enemies now, friends again,
no ambitions, just the toys
and always be with
mother, though father
may come and hug sometimes
and produce memories
unforgotten,
the child in us
the innocence that was lost
the imagination undiscovered
how we wish be be children again

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Angry Ghosts

They were here
just hovering over the court yard
the victims of the loose ribbon of justice
whose hearts were dropped
and their eternal right robbed
the souls who were sent to 'hell'

They came over here
just whimpering in low, short cries
the fallen heroes of war
whose minds were cooked by pride
the limping spirits of battle
whose conscience was shot by anger
and, their remains locked into a lonely room

They passed by
just the same begging hands
the beauty owned by the streets
whose fate was sealed by incapacity
the flower's bloom in winter

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poem by Timothy muggaga
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M3

On certain compromises
we agree on a certain indifference
we may not let them know
that within us are the wounds
that never heal
the broken pieces beyond repair
but everyone in this big house
shall never know
what is real what is true
for they must survive just as we
want them to live well
we feed them fabricated dispositions
longer lines of smiles
well trained caressing hands
eyes without any conscience
the incapacity to tell which is
right and which is wrong
and they must believe that
there are no termites on the
ceilings and the walls

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Preoccupation

the whole day is a Moslem holiday here
and instead of watching a movie
or going to the usual white sandy beach
and have a sun bath

i preoccupied myself with reading
cases about void and annulled marriages
on so many grounds from alcoholism
to genital incompatibility to
homosexuality and
psychological incapacity

until my eyes get so tired that
i decided to lay my body on a bamboo hammock
and have my own kind of swing

like i am a wall clock
taking my own rhythm and beat

there are so many of them in my country too

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Upon Reading The Poems of Lesbia

the attempt to say
what harsh feeling was there
was well said on those lines that float like leaves on the river
very usual
nothing sophisticated
there is that twirl that would have made me dizzy for a while
but the heart that knows pain
cannot fall on the malady of nausea
there were many empty spaces
i just watch not having the duty to fill them with my thoughts
for mine
are in packets and always lacking
in content
and style
i move around the parks and winding ways of Lesbia
weird but not saying anything
impressed but there is that lingering desire
to move out
somewhere
black birds without islands

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pure And Untouched

there is the other side of the mountain
made of dessert sand
nothing interesting in there
no gems,
everything diamond-like
is just imagination

when a friend asks about this side
we tell all these lies
that at its foot is a comfortable cottage
that beside it is a river
there is a white horse,
birds often make a stop-over here
trees are fruiting
and flowers bloom all year long

to be fair
there is also something true and beautiful in that
other side

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cassidy's Epitaph

Here lies a bloke who's just gone West,
A Number One Australian;
He took his gun and did his best
To mitigate the alien.
So long as he could get to work
He needed no sagacity;
A German, Austrian, or Turk,
Were all the same to Cassidy.
Wherever he could raise "the stuff"
-- A liquor deleterious --
The question when he'd have enough
Was apt to be mysterious.
'Twould worry prudent folks a lot
Through mental incapacity;
If he could keep it down or not,
Was all the same to Cassidy.

And when the boys would start a dance,
In honour of Terpsichore,
'Twas just an even-money chance

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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Yulo....

he passes by the house
though there is a doorbell he calls my name
(in fact, he is shouting that there is a man
with a covered face overtaking him and
takes refuge in the flowering bushes beside the fence)
i compromise and pretend that i agree with him
he is drunk, his wife left him, his children too
and lives in the old house
all alone,

and so where is the man? he says it is a shadow
a robust one, and it is running too fast past him
he is tipsy, his curly hair is glistening with oil
i mean it is unwashed for days
he is with a gay friend, a transvestite and
more beautiful than his wife

there is no man, there is no shadow,
i know, that he is lost, there is nothing to fear
but he has all these fears

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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