May 2012
43 posts
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Wherever it is that life may take me,
in places near or far out a foreign land,
I know it is but my feet wandering solely,
my faithful heart will never be a vagabond.
However it is that these roads will wind
and twist and turn as I go about my errands,
from distant avenues I know I’ll come to find,
in the night my heart is reaching for your hands.
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misshapen-glasses replied to your post: I My bones have eroded, my tendons are worn,…
*hug*
tighter Adrianne
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I
My bones have eroded,
my tendons are worn,
and from the constant whips
of time, my flesh is cut-open and torn.
Dear me, do save me from a doom
from which my mortal limbs
have become preyed.
I am weak and dying,
do let me bury myself now
between the furrows of
your shoulder blade.
II
Suffocate me love
and crush my bones,
as you would between
pages have a scarlet rose pressed....
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Black Pools
You will know her like you’ve known the night
that she comes in passing with swift, quiet strides
that she masquerades with many faces in the skies
that her secrets lay in the black pools of her eyes.
You will know her, but no more than you know the night,
her beauty and demons lurking in the absence of light.
You will know her but to know her will not suffice
‘til you see your...
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Mine Alone
I saw you against a backdrop
that was a cloudless sky
and boldly I said to the moon that man is mine and mine alone-
I declared it to the stars, the sleeping plain,
to everything around me
that could not refute my claim.
I said he is mine, I yelled to the passing wind, he is mine and mine alone,
not the vale could defy me,
neither the listless rose nor the
torpid stone.
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Yours
Insidious love of mine, I have strayed as far
as my calloused soles would take me
and into an open abattoir.
I asked the man with the glistening knife, at his post
if he would strike and butcher my heart for a cost
I was willing to pay, for as long
as I have not a heart that aches for another day.
But you my love has become a cancer cell
that a sharpened blade could neither dispel nor...
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One Day I'll Be This Close
And one day I shall measure
how high his chest heaves
and upon expulsion of carbon
dioxide, how low falls his ribs.
One day I shall gauge too
while he sleep how rapid
are the movements behind
each his shut, heavy eyelid.
One day moon, I swear I will
lay my head on a pillow, next to his,
close enough to memorize and not to miss
every breathing he takes while he lay
with dreams and...
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Perhaps it is best,
my heart cannot speak,
that it has neither a mouth
nor a nibbling beak.
Perhaps it is best
only I can hear
the thuds it make
akin to hooves striding near.
For what infamy
it would bring me, oh what ill fame
should my obnoxious heart
desires in the night to chant your name
and have far and wide my
neighbors awaken
at its call, loud as the shrillest siren.
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I Love You, I Love You Not
Oh love was it
that trod in the night,
with its quiet, tip-toeing feet,
that roused me from my sleep
late in the eve,
with the warmth of a fire
rekindled inside my bony rib?
And love was it, do tell
that by day built in me a belfry
and chimed its bell-
and lent me a dream of
a blithesome dusk in June,
with our lips pressed
beneath the honey colored moon?
Oh is this love and nothing...
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Goodnight, Goodnight
And here I place a pause into my day,
I have worn the seconds that came to play
and those I have left are languid on the fringes,
too listless now, upon my eyes’ lashes.
I have no more use of the time left tonight,
other than to seek for sleep and nighttime delight-
some pleasant dream that’ll provide transient ease
while the skies above are black-plum, as açaí berries.
onthehippidyhop asked: Not a question but I just thought I would say I am enjoying your poetry, and is one of your influences Sappho?
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There is much to be desired
from love, for the joy it brings,
when Cupid descends and
shoots his arrow,
piercing the hearts of queens
and kings.
But wars had been fought
for the sake of love and desire
among nations, brothers,
and self,
oh love too, can bring down
an empire.
And as the last smoke from Troy
billows to the skies,
all because of the lips that were Helen’s,
love...
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Don't Kiss Me Then Leave
And when last night, came passing the breeze,
it knelt down and left me a warm, gentle kiss-
a kiss on my cheek I did not ask and left me surprise,
and chasing after him til the wee hours, til sunrise.
And I caught his tail at morning’s end,
just before they day turns and make its daily bend-
I cry to him, “Oh how could you kiss and leave
as you please,
oh must you be cruel to...
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Dive
I hurled myself off a rocky cliff,
a nose dive, into the sea blue and deep,
my arms were spread, and stretched out wide
like an albatross over the rising tide.
And I plunged into the water, warm and salty,
piercing against the ebb, rolling back to sea,
only when my head bobbed above the water, foamy,
did I realize, love indeed can mark you brave, crazy.
Only for you and with you.
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Crystal marbles fell from the sky
and landed on my outstretched hand,
but my warmth melted the glassy globe,
all things eventually die, all things erode.
And when you came, you were precious
as the liquid drops are at the height of a drought,
you were salvation and I said I’d love you forever,
but forever drowned at a season’s change
of clime and weather.
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Eerie sound the wind makes at night
bashing a branch against my window.
I wonder if its nightly wails and ululation
are to the moon, heedless of its affection.
For late at night, I cry too my pain and woe
but in stifled, hushed tone so none will know-
only the pillow tucked in my arms and chest
would hear the cries, I have repressed.
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just because the heart still sings...
One day in mid-spring, a bird
perched upon a bough of a tree,
taught my tone-deaf heart to croon
the melody of a love-sweetened rune.
But winter came after autumn’s end
I could hear no more my feathered friend,
and though there were many songs I had
sang with him, all I can sing now
is the chorus of a tearful ballad.
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Milking A Raincloud
And I will sit atop a giant rock
at the peak, at a mountain’s scalp
as clouds walk by, like sheep in a flock,
and pinch twice, thrice, their white, fleshy pulp.
And with my nape, my spine arching,
I’ll hoist my mouth beneath a fecund cloud,
my forearms will stretch, ready for the milking
of a brooding cloud, heavy, and well endowed.
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Did You Not Know, Raindrops Are My Playmates
I looked upon the skies and waited
for her water droplets to blossom
and cascade above my sullen head-
the blessed children she bears in her bosom.
Oh let them fall now into my open hand,
and scold not your pitter-pattering young,
when they pelt forth, racing wildly to dry land
and licking my face wet with their brash tongue.
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Someday the sun would shift its feet
and the earth’s axis will tilt
to a thirty degree,
the curves will slope,
and planes will elope (with me),
all pawned to gravity,
you’ll slide down,
straight, towards me.
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O Sleep!
Do not kiss me yet o sleep!
My eyes dither but there are conscious dreams
my heart desires to keep,
the scent of night gladioli whiffing in the air,
his slender fingers, tangled around my hair.
Oh the night is young, do not take me yet
to sing me your lullaby, soothing and dulcet,
I am yet to dream of his lips,
tracing, pressing over mine,
as down the grassy earth’s chest he lay...
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Heaven Fell Tonight
And she sailed across the evening skies,
the moon bequeathed of radiance and a halo.
Tell me what eye of a mortal would not stop to swoon
and flutter his lashes, twice at the sight of the godly moon.
Then you open your ‘lids and your pupils tell a tale,
of darkened pools and black holes, unveiled.
Your sclera, were as white as the moon,
your irises, nebulous.
O what moon now in the...
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Firestarter
I am gasoline and he is a lighted matchstick. When put this way it is no wonder, I am the brilliancy in the dark as I tantalize and dance in vivid colors to the amusement and wonderment of the spectators on the side, ignorant, I am burning too in my infernal, hellish flame whilst they applaud.
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I had loved you as the soil
had loved a tree,
as it had nurtured its roots,
until its boughs hang low
and heavy,
and its arms, sweetly scented
from its fruits.
But still I loved you
as the soil had loved a tree,
under the harvest moon
when it bore their offspring
on its arm, or in autumn
when it lost its charm,
to winter fast approaching.
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Oh seven times in seven days
had I fallen in filth and dirt,
I had knelt and soiled my skirt,
burying the dead in the loamy earth.
And seven times in seven days,
I had lighted a candle on the grave.
My tears fell on the soldered tin
that is the lid of an empty coffin.
Oh seven times in seven days
I have attempted to bury you
but your ghost pulls like an undertow,
and everyday I play...
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You Slept Through It
A war has raged while you slept
and the pillagers have looted the skies.
There’s not a gold, a diamond left
but only I stood, bereft.
And when the sun came through
the morning mist,
the first ray of light, shining from
the east,
you shielded your eyes and sank deeper
to sleep. I am the only one here with
a bruised and bloodied fist.
Thus content your heart now
with the cut-out,...
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Seeds
I want to plow the field
inside your heart
then break myself apart,
into minute particles
that could squirm,
fit inside the ovary
of an angiosperm.
Oh I want to be a seed
scattered inside
the fertile flesh, the rich plains,
and the unspoiled expanse
that runs along the banks of your
veins.
And there I’d sleep, rest ‘til I sprout
vines around your cardiac frame
and grow...
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Ink and Paint: Writing and Sadness. →
misshapen-glasses:
To write with sadness is liberty. For us burdened, writing can be one of the means to do away with the sorrow. It is a release, we are freed from the heaviness when we scribe each line and spaces. And at the end of each letter we are lighter inside and we are again allowed to breathe deeper.
Sadness itself is a language. We communicate with others when we share them. We do...
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I stitched your name
along my spine
and said to wind,
“It is his and now it is mine,
while you sail to and fro
empty-handed
his name is mine
wherever I may go.”
And the wind pasted
a wry grin, along with
this that pierced my heart,
through my spleen,
“Alas you forget, you may
own his name; stitch it,
tattoo it on your skin,
but all you have is a name, not the
boy...
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April’s heat had been crippling and under her awning I felt anguish no different to that of the leaves that had fallen off the tree, browned and dried or the grasses that had been sprawling and lush green in January, but are now a sickly, unsightly scene in their sallow complexion. I, like the acicular blades was dying from the licks of the sun’s scorching tongue.
And May came, the...
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Minsan, hinihintay kong ako'y mapagod.
myinkstainedheart:
Sa bawat pintig ng puso
na pangalan mo ang sinasambit,
ang isip ay nagtatanong,
nagsusumamo,
“Hindi ka pa ba napapagod,
kailan ka susuko?”
“Hanggang pumuti ang uwak,
malugmok man sa lusak.
Ang puso’y di mo kayang turuan,
hamakin, lur’an man, kung kailan ako
mapapagod, hintayin mo na lamang.”
misshapen-glasses:
Hindi lamang...
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I had seen a girl hold
the depths of the ocean and
in her iris
the blueness of the skies
and on her trail follows
many, a hundred
adoring eyes.
I had watched them, men,
lay roses at her feet,
and scamper to exhale
air for her to breathe.
And I found out I have
immunity, against the
green-eyed monster,
I have no space for envy.
I couldn’t care any less
for any girl that...
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Blistered feet, worn shoes,
I’ve seen the sun explode
in different hues,
and I have watched its
glorious retreat,
late in the days, with its
crimson fleet.
I’ve seen too the moon rise,
from many vantage points
take reign of the skies,
indeed I’ve gone far
but I beseech to the star
racing athwart, - and to you
I have been everywhere
but your heart.
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PSEUDOPERFECTIONS: →
pseudoperfection:
Myinkstainedheart,
I told you that I can’t write poems right? Maybe this one’s a better way of saying it: I don’t write them because it’s hard. Maybe if literary genres stem from the brain, poetry is on the left side, like logical reasoning. It works the same way as Math for me, barely make sense. I know I can settle for free verse but I fear I’ll just blemish that...
April 2012
50 posts
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“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely...”
– Bob Marley (via pavorst)
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Personal Hades
My wails shall echo across this hall,
like moans of the forsaken. lost in limbo,
the damned whose bodies were buried under
rock and soil but through heaven could not enter.
I gave you more than I intended to,
and you rejected all I gave you,
thus if you have no use of my heart
and no desire for my kiss,
then let me fall into sleep tonight
and give me back my peace.
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I refuse to believe
that the god I know
is cruel, he breathed unto me
his breath
only so I can live a life
in solitude and sorrow
‘til a tombstone is carved
to mark my death.
I believe my maker has thrusted
in my womb a purpose
and he has tasked
my hands to build,
child begotten, from love;
I set my woes
on water ang trust His
plans will be fulfilled.
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Hitching A Ride With Clouds
Love, let me call on a cloud tonight
and ask if on its back, I could have a ride,
I have thrown my baggage, I am light
as a feather and across the skies we can glide.
But glide to where, it may ask,
“Is it not yet too late for you to go and roam
the sun is setting, it is near dusk.”
“But oh Mr. Cloud, I’ll be indeed coming home.”
Overwhelmed, Overjoyed
Thou hast pierced my heart,
time and time again,
a lengthy arrow, launched
from a string and bow,
you left a perforation, I am broken,
my tears swell, from the ducts, overflow.
And pierce me, then jab your fist
against my chest, I have an appetite
for how you break me down,
into nothing but a clear water pooling
at your feet, make me cry again
with tears tasting sweet.
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Belladonna
It’s true what he said,
I am the guillotine above your head.
I breed inside my heaving chest,
deadly nightshade, for when you
cup my breast.
Thus careful dear what besots
your eyes, do not fall in love
with the words spilling off my lips,
or get caught up in my tangle,
be delusional from my love lies,
there’s fatal poison seething
at my ballpoints’ tips.
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There, you’ve caused a jolt,
the silly butterflies in my insides,
do a somersault,
and a buzz, a craze among the stinging bees,
the plumpness of your lips,
arouse their curiosities.
“Ah, how sweet could it be- could it be
sweeter than the nectar in the south?-”
“What we’d give, what we’d give,
to have a bite of the honeydews
you grow in your...