lullaby

she was asleep
the linen would protect her
remember the lock on the door,
the alarm (always set)?
sleep.
if you hear the pebbles knocking on the pane,
sleep.
if movement disturbs the gravel
outside, underneath the window,
sleep.
when the lock fails
and the alarm remains silent,
sleep.
when darkness streams in
through the door forcing itself inside you,
sleep.
if you wake, the night will break.
sleep and let the linen protect you.

stained

it's something that you never think will happen to you or someone you know. i found out only minutes ago and my only thought was to write. i cannot cry or scream. i cannot feel anger. i just feel an overwhelming need to write. as if writing will turn it into something it is not.

it is just a story. a story that is distant. make-believe. a story that will end. please God let us wake up from this. i fumble for words of comfort. words that will never reach her soul. maybe if i wrote better i could write for her. write beautiful words that would tell her about a future she can still have. words that would take away the finality of what she had to go through.

what do i tell her now? how will i face her knowing that smile is no longer the same? she is pure. she is pure and innocent. it is not she who has been stained.

love

Loving you is jumping off a rock
72 feet high
into white waters.

in-between

How many times have I written your name?

Again and again I have written your name.

Write over and over just that, your name.

As if to tell my heart who it is that has been lost.

As if to tell myself what it is that I will never have.

I pen the letters one by one, calling for you.

I mark them down and sense that I am waiting.

How many times have I written your name?

Oh the countless times that I have written that name.

cynic

the lie is that love exists
in rose-colored auras and
heady perfumes

love does not exist
it is created
it was born into non-being

born from eyes singing a song
of inacceptance
and perhaps, if you allow, regret

it was with your leaving
that you proclaimed love unable,
an elusive myth in a world of hard truths

poetry - my stress reliever

the stars didn't move tonight
the night is still

the warmth (traces of your once near body)
staves off the darkness

it isn't so lonely after all
not when the mind has stopped to dwell on it

in the distance, i feel something stirring
perhaps, despite the silence, my heart will find its way back

composed

if i close my eyes and look away,
the after image
of your face
will still remain vivid in my mind.

if i choose not to stay
my heart
will give me time to forget.

maybe all it takes is one moment
of indecision
and then of perfect finality
that there is nothing more to do
but leave things unspoken.

when poetry is left unpolished

it was late last night when you stood near the doorway
(my dreams are rarely so vivid.)
and took in the washed-out walls and stained window frames.

your fingers traced the broken silver of the doorknob
and pretended to pick the rusted lock with your nail.
(it would have been comical had you not been so stern.)

(there was something both endearing and cruel in the remembrance.)
they were only moments from my sleep and yet
each movement caused the world to rock in frozen longing.

(you enter my dreams and i can only watch
as you strum the chords of a lost song
i will never find when the sun streams through the curtains)

snip

her hand poises, ready with the scissors
"the thing about hair, you see,
is that once you cut it off,
it's gone forever."

"yes, yes. i understand. shorter.
i want it shorter. cut away", i say
looking straight ahead and breathing in deep
"i'm sure."

*snip*
damn. i swear i marked it a bit longer.
"well?" she queries (triumph in her tone?)
"perfect," i reply.

the thing about hair, she should know, is that it grows back.

dahil summer

Love

Pablo Neruda

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

a box

a box holds my heart
whether it was of brown paper or gold lining seems
irrelevant.
a box holds my heart

a box holds my heart
and it is that which is carried
away
by hands always different in the manner of handling

my heart hides
but it is not given defense against
pain
stealing in through hinges and crevices crafted by clever men

my heart hides
but it can not stave of the hungry
cold
of an empty bed or an open door that once knew life in a different form

a box holds my heart
in the hopes that love would cease to
visit
in the guise of friendly tones and a caress of misled beginnings

sacreligious

it begins with a candle - lit and spiraling down into nonbeing
banking on the promise of rebirth upon the next schedule of creation
when the universe will move slowly and imperceptibly
to reposition itself for the reincarnation of a single essence

the candle is lit and a prayer is said
the focal point of motion has been chosen - it is man
man revolves and the spin is attributed to the earth
the true center is irrelevant, the standards have been set

the wick burns and the candle descends
the ritual has peaked and the spirit has long expired
it is anticipated - rebirth, recreation, reincarnation
but first the candle must allow itself to burn

shedding skin

a laugh and then perhaps something else
it takes a while before something else can truly be felt
after you, it took a while

i stand but maybe later there will be no more
sometimes time is all it takes before realization creeps in
there are no more corners to sink down into

we laugh and i stand -- rigid: both our actions
it will only come in the morning, the acceptance, hindsight
of both our backs turned, receding

the theme of life is really departure

It's strange how everything always seems to be disappearing just when you had finally gotten the hang of things, of people. In high school, I couldn't wait for everything to be over. I wanted it to end. I loved the people around me and the routine I'd fallen into but I knew I was over it. There was a point when I just got over all of it.

Why is it so different now? It took me five years to finish a four year course not out of the inability to accomplish the academic requirements but because of an incapacity, on my part, to want to accomplish them. I was too busy doing other things. I traded one group of friends for another and then another. I wanted to experience everything, so I did. Not attending classes for two months, feigned illnesses at the infirmiry, failing miserably, finding things I was never supposed to be good at, falling in love with people I would never have met if I had lived college life otherwise.

It's crazy. Life is crazy. Just when you get the hang of people, they leave. Just when people get the hang of me, I need to leave as well. Nothing is permanent. But sometimes you can love people so much that you do your best to make them stay on despite the fact that there's barely anything there to keep you together. Barely.

continued thought

You are distant now
and I've let go of hope - of the hope of ever touching you
- of even the hope of just seeing you and knowing,
(knowing that it is you)

You're a dream
life with you is something I create in my loneliness
a child I've given birth to in the guilty secrets of my mind
a sacred rite I submit to within the sullied remains of my heart

It is so strong
Love. Or need. Or what this longing is called outside of my dreams.
It persists across the distance.
It persists across the impossibility of being with you.

*for those who have no chance of understanding the words of the previous post*
*mostly for those who drop by blogspot*

pangarap

sa mga panaginip ko, hinahanap mo ako

sa paggising ko, nararamdaman kong hinahanap din kita
ako na ang naghahanap sa iyo

lagi tayong naghahanapan, tayong dalawa
nagtataguan

nasanay na tuloy ako sa ganito

baka pag nakita na kita, hindi ko na matandaan
kung paano huminto
kung paano itigil ang pagtatago at paghahanap

dahil malungkot ang kwentong 'to
malungkot at masakit


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wala lang. words just come sometimes and they don't necessarily mean anything. sometimes i just write them down to remind myself that thoughts like these one entered my consciousness.

untold myths and legends

She was unaware. She could not know the power she had then. How could she? How could she with that laughter? How could she with her flushed cheeks and tenderness? She could not know. I would never have had the arrogance to tell her.

You were beautiful. How could you have known that in that instant, I was captivated, enamored, shipwrecked on the rocks guarding your siren soul, twin to nymphs and wind faeries?

It was because of that brief meeting of our eyes that life has gone on without merit. Seconds to hours. And yes, these hours will turn into years. What I would give to see her again. Even if at the side of another. Even if to see her smile in the arms of another. She has stolen my dignity and my days have been spent pining with passion for a look, for even just a second glance of love that she spun so easily into her lore.

love...never gets old...losing it doesn't either. dwelling on Stephen Crane

[Ah, God, the way your little finger moved]
Stephen Crane

Ah, God, the way your little finger moved
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair
And a comb a silly gilt comb
Ah, God—that I should suffer
Because of the way a little finger moved.

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I heard thee laugh
Stephen Crane

I heard thee laugh

And in this merriment
I defined the measure of my pain;
I knew that I was alone,
Alone with love,
Poor shivering love,
And he, little sprite,
Came to watch with me,
And at midnight
We were like two creatures by a dead camp-fire.

ten past midnight

Your words have power just like my own

Time finds my lips carved out of yours

Entwined in tangled blankets and laughter

Your voice can no longer matter

We start out lanky and fumbling

But something else takes over and it overtakes

I feel small buried in your shoulder

Your arms around me feel like the world,

Like the world can no longer find me,

I’ve become small and your arms can cover the ocean

We start out lanky and fumbling

But something takes over and it overtakes

It takes more than silence to calm me

Maybe next time around your kiss will soothe

Tonight it can only lead to overwhelming

Bliss. Smile it away, and I’ll do the same

Love starts out oh so lanky and fumbling

But it takes over and it overtakes

dreams

the night is quiet, everyone else is asleep. she sits still, calm as i balance myself on the arm of the same chair. "we've talked before," i muse, "but why does it seem so different?" disclosure is made so much easier when made behind the mask of distance and networks of telecommunication giants. she sighs and slumps back, closing her eyes hoping perhaps that i won't recognize the anticipation in her stance.

slumber, during the camp-outs, usually comes early after all the strenuous activities. but tonight, with the sky full of dark clouds and the air pierced by the stillness, four spirits found rest elusive. we sat quietlyl together in silence. the other two took out a guitar and strummed melodies nearby.

"how are you ?", i ask, staring straight out, finally finding the balance in my make-shift seat.
"not so hot Dean."
"yeah, i wasn't really asking. wanna talk about it?", i smile, craning my neck around to catch her eye.
"no."
"okay," i settle down, planting my feet on the ground in preparation for the tirade that was sure to follow.

"he thinks you're trying to steal me from him. STEAL. direct quote. exact word. copied and pasted off his stupid ego and macho crap. . .
. . . it's true. i have tons of other guy friends and he decides to pick on you. he picks on someone i barely even hang out with in person. someone who's actually considred to be more of his friend than mine. blithering idiot."
"Sam, if i had planned on stealing you from him, i would've done it a long time ago."

"Dean? what?"
"listen, you should really talk to him. i mean, he has to realize that treating you like that is gonna kill your relationship. . .
. . .here. give me your hand. if you grip sand in a fist, like this, it trickles down through the cracks until almost nothing is left. see?
but if you hold it still, keep it open flat up, you lose nothing. you have all the sand you started with. and you can add even more, if you wanted."

she stares and i follow her gaze past the space, past the sand and all it stood for, to the image of our hands touching. she jerks her hand back, dusting it off, searching for something opposite me, anything.
"where are Jake and Sue?"
"over at the cottage playing the guitar."
"let's go over there."
"okay Sam."

"hey Dean, can i sleep on your lap? Jake won't let me use his for a pillow", says Sue in welcome.
"She's too heavy," Jake shrugs continuing to pluck a classic.
"sure Sue. come 'ere"
Sam watches Sue's head on my lap and then looks at me with eyes as mysterious as the night. i smile and she smiles back. nodding over to my lap, i offer her a spot opposite Sue. she smiles and shakes her head.

i continue to look at her, not smiling anymore, feeling everything i wasn't supposed to. i nod, beckoning her. she knows. i know she knows. her eyes search mine for the answers i can't give her. she shakes her head again, refusing the lap and leans her head against my shoulder. her breathing is light as if she were barely there. i keep from looking over at her for fear of finding her gone. she is light and all that is part of her is softness.

i take the courage to finally turn my head and look at her. she sleeps with her mouth open. her eyes move back and forth beneath her eyelids. she doesn't snore. her hair falls across her shoulders, across my shoulders. these are the tiny mementos i can keep. these are all that i can keep of her. when she wakes up in the morning, i won't be beside her. i know that she knows now. i love her. i love her enough to leave in the morning.

blase

The weather didn't help. She blanks into the screen a while longer and wonders what next to do. The prompt flickers. On. Off. On. Off. The backlight pains her eyes and the almost imperceptible hum of the drive creates a pulsating throb in her forehead. What to do next? There was bound to be something better. Better than just sitting, staring, remembering.

"yes?", a window pops up unexpectedly.

what the hell?
She thinks and replies unsurely, "?"

"you were about to type something in?"

damn pidgin messenger plug-ins.
"oh. nothing. 'that's one ugly head shot' wasn't worth the trouble of saying", almost convincing herself with the sentence. Almost with herself. But hopefully completely with him.

"haha. *winks* come on, Stace, i know you better than that."

"pig" Stacy types in, trying to remember what had driven her to think she could talk to him again in the first place.

"how have you been?"

much better. happy. happier. happiest. without you, thank God. in love. he's perfect if you ever ask by the way. nothing like you. okay, maybe a little bit similar. a pain in the ass. funny. impossible. different. he treats me better. like somehow i matter. i'm absolutely happy. most of the time, anyway.
"okay. you?"

":)", Kevin keys in.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"it means i miss you."

"oh . . . right. . .?" i miss you? i miss you. i miss you! say it again. that just doesn't sound right. i miss you. he misses me, he says, like that's enough. is that enough?

"it's been too long"

":)"

"haha. touche"

":)"

"How's Rod?"

way to go Kevin. you pig. you arrogant motherless swine. "what?"

"nothing. forget it."

"i got to go Kev. life and reality beckon."

"okay. . . Stace. . ."

She drags the cursor across the screen to the next window. Stealth settings. Appear permanently offline to Kevin. Her fingers hover for a second. They feel heavy. Not just her fingers but her entire body. As if she had just woken up from a fitful sleep and the covers had become drenched with sweat.

Delete. "Are you sure you want to delete the selected contact from your list?" the window begs. Yes. No. Yes. Why is there never an option that says "maybe"?

January rain begins slowly like tiny memories falling from the mind, travelling across the pane, daunting, shattering on the sill.

Her gaze strays back to the previous window. "Kevin is typing a new message", it warns.

"Are you sure you want to delete the selected contact from your list?" Yes. Click.

disillusioned

because life was supposed to be easy...er
easier
like taking a stroll, taking a trip, taking a friggin' journey
but it's not

sit back, relax
the tension strains my bones to breaking
enjoy the ride
who can when it turns out to be a race

shooting past the scenery, forgetting the names
straight up
one, two, three, four, five million pieces
making it count. counting instead

it's about time i hit the brakes
stick it to the man
rage against the machine
cash in that first-class ticket

delayed flights aren't so bad after all

fireworks

falling stars. descending slowly, deliberately.
waiting for someone to catch them, for rescue
a knight perhaps, or just someone brave enough
to break the enchantment before they touch water

pixie dust or fairy powder all too soon released
from the hands of an escaping nymph of lore
streaking through the sky, upwards
destined for neverland or somewhere just as forgotten, lost

unnamed glitter-sprinkled arthropods, skittering, trailing down
the length of a deep onyx curtain
highlighting fringes, pleats, at times entire lengths
at times creating a mesmerizing veil of their own

past lovers, shooting up in a moment of ecstasy
broken down, torn apart, brought slowly back to earth
unaware of love having lost its flavor
as it scatters around them, beautiful for that instant but soon gone

droplets of fire and color in which we dance
regressing back to childhood, holding hands
clapping in joy and shouting at the promise of rebirth
a rain of new hope of forgetting, rebuilding and being together


- = happy new year everyone = -