Thursday, March 31, 2011

Perspective

“For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.”
  --Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

"Every closed eye is not sleeping, and every open eye is not seeing."
  --Bill Cosby





Which are we
spending the most
time on?
Well, what do you
think?
I would lie
in bed, drifting in
and out
of slumber's grasp,
dreaming.
See, you're so beautiful
they can't help
but take your
picture.
Although
nearly everything is out of
my price range,
the
looking is
still free.
All that I needed
to see
I saw where
the vision
fails.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Love is where the foolish hearts sing

Love should be viewed from all angles and I'm sure each one of us have our own definition that can only add to the richness for what it can only bring out for good. Here's one that I can define of the strongest of emotions hoping that you, my dear readers, in one way or another, can relate with at, to, and from. Happy reading!





Love is where the foolish hearts sing
Of songs--of melodies unchained
By time's uneasy lead of hand
Towards a reasoning out-brained.

Love is where the artists portray
That only landscape may appear
From out the deepness of the soul
One comes to search out unaware.

Love is where one truly gets lost
Only to find out that a way
To Perfect Land's eternity
Is having what should matter most.

Monday, March 28, 2011

for innovation


"Creativity, as has been said, consists largely of rearranging what we know in order to find out what we do not know. Hence, to think creatively, we must be able to look afresh at what we normally take for granted."
       --George Kneller




i’ve watched the ceiling
on all cylinders and
a beam across
projecting
light and shade
caused by
a flourescent lamp 
annexed nearby
induces balance
out of distortion…
below, old posters blemished the wall
and a faded jeans hanged beside
impressed the yellow curtains
at some point…
my heart breathes for more ambience
becoming more or less
a part of
a constant masterpiece
of something....

Sunday, March 27, 2011

The Golden Ring




Written a little over a decade ago, this poem reveals my idealistic side and the belief that something must undergo  the refiner's fire to bring out the best result that it can be.











An Old Man just merged as I crossed the way
With heavy loads he carried behind him.
And sang he loud at once he greeted me:
“Hello boy--you too in search of flame?”

“What flame Old man--can you make that point clear?
I was looking for Change though this young I was;
So I walked alone not minding fear
And my mother’s care and a pretty lass.”

“Keep your stand boy, one day you will understand
What you’re seeking for under the sun;
You can make great things with your little hands
Which excel even those the work of a man.”

“But Old Man you confused me even more;
Your words were disguised and its meaning--dull.
Perhaps you’re deceived by the Youth I wore
Take a rest you’re just tired or you would fall.”

“Sounds all right boy but I must hurry on!
My days are numbered and my time runs short;
There’s one last battle yet I to be won
But wait--take this one before I depart.”

“What is this Old Man--but a golden ring?”
“Take it little boy as a gift for free,
It’s time you’ll have that so a precious thing;
Keep it always in remembrance of me.”

“But Old Man please tell me how was this made?
Before you will leave but to face quagmire.”
“O boy these precious words you must pay heed:
That can’t be made without testing with fire.”

Saturday, March 26, 2011

If I fulfilled the things I dreamed



 "When we are motivated by goals that have deep meaning, by dreams that need completion, by pure love that needs expressing--then we truly live life".
    --Greg Anderson





If I fulfilled the things I dreamed
My life would have lost its meaning;
Eventually, everything is
A walking away and fading.

For to fill with and diminish
Is the eternal blossoming
Of experience--to shrink back from
What has caused to be uplifting.

But I am through this cosmic dance
A part of what is unfolding;
The things I dreamed to be fulfilled
Are why to life a flowering.

Friday, March 25, 2011

My Twinkling Star

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star! How I wonder what you are, up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky!"
        --Anne Taylor

"Love knows not distance; it hath no continent; its eyes are for the stars . . ."
       --Gilbert Parker



 Take me with you oh twinkling star
Towards where trekking's all a deep;
This lady whom I'm thinking of--
It must be known she robs my sleep.

Her verdant lands I cannot reach
But yet within my mind I held:
Of what is more a longingness
Than crossing on the seas unsailed?

Towards where trekking's all a deep
A tiny spark alights on me;
My twinkling star shall be the one
Who lives in me--though far away.

Delirium

This poem was written 6 years ago. Back then, there's a time when I have generally had done anything to quit writing. But that has become my craft. I have become the most drawn prospect to what I'm consciously trying to avoid with at.. And it's all about discovering more about who it is you want to be. My life, and most probably all of us,  is a poem full of grammatical errors. You may find this poem hard to comprehend but that's why interpreters are needed, not grammarians.



 once there was an eye scorched past close
 some blankness, nights of june’s heaven dwelt
  on a pane losing sight

     ah! curtains folded like paintings of old
nobility brown shoes or orange pile on pile
the sound of cartoons guitar strings
voices of a language they will say reckless
  may bring about such many forms in the twilight:

 thunder in the sky   tremors yesterday @ 3:00 p.m.
                                                    slim bodies fat cute faces all screaming
                                                                    pleasing sweet scent ( no other masterpiece should
come in 10 years ) workers swearing something
                         poets speaking something blurry  oblique to its own
sad news  good things money beclouds mr. t’s mind
           white rose   no more red ones please! visions of a summer

 writings on the wall i’ve been talking to out-of-town guests
                       fireworks display sparkling biographies maria clara comes
to life alluring men steel houses streets at
                              rainy days shopping at a mall  overheard curses
                                                                                             empty tea pots and glasses bearing the brand name "hopeness"
ants in their sleep foreign songs fighting cocks killing each other
broken chairs clean utensils gleaming in the sun
                            it was with some madness it was fun to go up the narrow
           winding stairs internet books positions photos plans for the
rest of your life which can be reached by elevator or stairs

                                       singleness   strands of hair avoiding women  friends
relatives introvert fellow anti-social darkness change
                             sensing joey’s presence having learned lessons at ease take charge
                                                           
rats running bufallo yawning airport stress day dreaming
                                                                              getting focused

                                   once there was an eye scorched past close
                                                     some blankness, but it’s not bad at all to be
                             such so occupied at certain period of one’s life--

dustheap


"Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose."
    --Kevin Arnold


"Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future."
    --Lewis B. Smedes





struck by the
incandescent rays of a
night’s insomniac ceilings
peeping through
a hole
butterflies in the stomach
at the
sight of moon as the
heart beats louder
more panicked rhythm
someone
snoring beneath a partly opened window and
the light that had spread through
stitched the darkness with an
irregular curve
a crying kitten
sound of a
passing car
blues playing from a distance
i should have escaped a
sense of you but your tangle
tightens
creeping with the familiar
smell of dawn
the curl of your lips

Unleashing out the Alchemist in me

It was ripe to fall into the hands of something stupid like dusk, like turning old things new, new things old and far more twisting all as I was good at this sort of thing. Make certain expressions differ, coincide, and depict the already learned, fathomed, absorbed, defined, and kept secret of the infinite. Eyes lit with admiration etched upon, released, silenced where it roared from the depths, the narrow passage, black and white towards something stupid like dusk, like clearing, exploding fragments of what is soft whisper brown and yellow as the evening chill.

Let me say it in plain English, or French, Italian, Portuguese, or Spanish, Latin, Greek, or German, Afrikaans, Or Chinese, Filipino, or Japanese, Gaelic, Russian, or the Angel’s tongue, to peer into, stalk, or thrust, expound, edge, and dart across as if being held in someone’s filthy grasp, plucking guitar strings quite nicely to give it a healthy sheen, similar shadows I’ve prepared with more sensation and heat.

I must speak with broken, torn, stretched, with stunning force, something stupid like scream, like crying out, voice of the untamed, unscratched, untried, unchallenged, crackle, glory of the past.

Like steadfastly formed cluster against a rocky wall, golden eyes of age fascinating, delightful, exalting, satisfying, perpetual cravings of the soul, even for a fleeting moment, begining with intent, the blame as you choose, will be like telltale dots of grim anxiety, like sliding down, bending pride to possess that strange bit of crystal.

The simple task seemed to require, apply, unlock, overwhelm, exude, excite, need an enormous degree of something stupid like dusk, like….

Thursday, March 24, 2011

You are...



This poem was written for my special someone and also for you, my dear readers. And for such that as long as I am an inspiration to others, then I would be so much inspired as well. Happy reading!







the sun in my sky...
words for my silences...
a loving touch...
the warmth to ease away the cold...
the flames that flared in the torches
of my darkest nights...
no matter how difficult things were...
no matter how hard the work
or what is going on in my life...
you are my hope...
my guiding star...
my comforter...
my refuge...
my strength..
my joy...
i will tell you
how the silent tears streaking on my face
became a healing liquid
in a flow of trust and love
that only you can truly understand...
there was no better place
to cry than on your
soft shoulders...
someone who inspires me
to become a better person...
someone who will carry me away
to a place where the hurt was
not swift enough to keep up...
someone i didn't have to look far
for the answer...
as you are the answer...

Hugging Freedom


"Wonderfully amazing...makes me read your words again and again. I love your poetry and hope one day mine could compare".
     --Commented by Sarah Brown, a best friend of mine, upon reading my poem 'Hugging Freedom'.





Lost in the storm of your embrace
I sought to hold you
in any way I could
to feel the warmth of your touch

In what seemed a savage gesture.
You belongs to me: The spell
you wove about me
enmeshed me
like a spider’s web.

I could tell from the way
our fiery lips met;
the way our two bodies interweave,
so tightly locked up

In the rising heat
of the struggle. How sweet
of you to love;
how tangible your skin

As soft as the dove’s feathers
dipped in cream…
pleasantness surging back
into my face

And up to what
no words could define,
knocking at the frontiers
of my chained soul.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

A child waves at my passing


"But if we learn to think of it as anticipation, as learning, as growing, if we think of the time we spend waiting for the big things of life as an opportunity instead of a passing of time, what wonderful horizons open out!"
      --Anna Neagle






Wheeling around
the Four directions
sound like an exciting journey, doesn't it?
It may have escaped your attention.
But a few minutes ago
I could only imagine
I would rather have it that way for a time.
So where exactly did they film
The Wilderness?
As it would seem.
Storm will vanish with the morning sun.
No choice but to go.
Made the sign of the cross
and murmured, "Omnia iam fient quae posse negabam."
Everything which I used to say could not happen will happen now.
The image that had burned
in my imagination
for a long time now
was of how it would appear
in the future.
A child waves at my passing.

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