Proto Poem

Grade bedazzles money
soul sell I remember
youth given choice
obey and obsess

range between multiplier
takings over exploited
magnitude assesses balance
suicide needs promise

Loiter

Stall relinquish decision
total brings down to balance
the ideal forecloses propriety
steps somewhere with direction

the stone blessed in oil
no revelation destines plight
just the gratitude we shared here
to mark giving never ends

offering burnt in halves
the reminder the yoke binds greater
not lesser
might convalesces in homage
rests from sacrificing sons

crossroads will countless
by the surrender of ears reattached
oracles guess certainties
the suspecting chose to heed.

Sounds Geek To Me

Over the radio one morning when the sun wasn’t shining

Heard was the voice of Mr. Geekly Googly Goo

Rain will fall; Storm will boil, down the city a-whining

Thus forecasted Mr. Geekly Googly Goo

Shall the wind head to West or down South go blowing?

Shall the rainfall cast deep floods anew?

Shall the clock tick and ring while storm’s still brewing?

Everybody asked Mr. Geekly Googly Goo

Should all planes stop flying? Should ships not be sailing?

Should kids stay home, and teachers, too?

What kind of storm is coming? What misfortune will it bring?

All kept asking Mr. Geekly Googly Goo

But before he could tally all the numbers he was counting

Suddenly storm hit, rain fell, wind blew

Thunder crowed and lightning struck right through the ceiling

Burning the top of Mr. Geekly Googly Goo

Of all the ceilings, of all roofs–everyone was left wondering–

Of all the heads, why Mr. Geekly Googly Goo’s?

But that’s the weather’s charm, no sense now crying

Let’s move on, said Mr. Geekly Googly Goo.

Disparity

After the seventh erasure
all in the zero both start and finish
signatures evoke laughter
for the fool’s reality hitting in tale

How one enters execution
another sanctified in confinement
same root sprouting
varying assailants

the mass begins with ejection
only worship no deity
thus truth to lop off rival rejoicing
the blood of the lamb burns twice the open palm

actual belief not property
shorn of intercourse
but the cutting through innards
to enter the impossible present.

Bittersweet

I can’t believe I’m writing this
Now that my heart is so naive
Three years I’ve waited for my hands to prick
Still no words written by my quill
Blankless I am, naked are the ink
thirty six months of my life you steal
eighteen months of bliss, eleven months of despair, seven months of distress is all you give
When I turn back, I won’t remember your name
That face, that smile, washed out by the rain ..
And as I slide to the brush of seven colors through the sun
I’ll wear a smile and welcome the sweetest bond

Diad

Two morning greetings
Two goodnight kisses
On his silver watch he glances
While on her front door she waited
The other fakes her smile
For she knows she was trapped
Chained on her lips was an angel’s kiss
A crocheted thorns wrapped around her legs
A piece of knotted gold on the bedside table it lies…
Onto her right hand, a sealed, inked paper that binds
While on her left she carries an offspring of his kind..
Clueless she is, to the things that she fears
More than a widow she’ll be when he finds his bliss
Blinded is he with the delight that she brings
Vindicated but yet suffocated
Almost strangled by his woman’s grip
When God’s fist thumps these three hearts
To the devil you’ll beg just to find solace

Acte Gratuit

Yesterday’s supplicated brainchild
Is now a fumbled present from behind
I should be assuaged from this day forward
But my grope shuddered enmity’s shards

I just want to be wafted on my shore
That’s all I’d ever implore
Apathy, sluggishness disheveled
It made me wince and waver

Look at me with your misconstrued compendium
Your eyes still prove contempt’s quantum
That chutzpah is despicable
My stay here is formidable

I guess my nocturnal gasps are fettered
Thanks for the throes, sinister of my quavers.

A Paladin’s Rue

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.

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Sprinkle miracles on this seed;

I planted a rose amongst the weeds

growing on a garden left for good,

behind a towering house – right where we’ve stood.

Seen from the cupola the patches form

around the emblem of the Word:

“Rise thee valiant, ardent soul”

once spoke the grave below

and abandoned — wild it has become

in time it will be broken.

.

In time it will be broken …

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.

.

Redemption

Alone, a man burdened by human frailty
That bore its weight on an intersected bole,
Struggled to a task of dragging the fatal rack
To consummate a divine promise made.

Bloodied brows and tortured steps,
Climbing towards a destined fate,
Midst shouts of a stirred up rabble
Braying like a herd of prodded mules.

A tortuous trek on sharp granite blocks,
Each drop a deep gash on weakened knees,
Quivering muscles at the stabbing pain,
Keeping the mortal charade to the last.

The years have not assuaged the suffering
Inflicted atop the tallest knoll of a hilly rise.
Mankind’s ingratitude impaled deeply
On a martyr’s side and open palms.

More than that of the grieving mother,
Man needs to bring down by himself,
The mutilated lamb from the impious rood
As an expiation of sins before redemption.

after one century, i still smile thinking of you

before, little me cherish you

neither that i know

i will be falling deep

never expected

 

and now, i am still nourishing it

cultivating one precious memory

handling one emotion

can you believe? so am i

 

years will past and youth will leave me

i will be someone’s wife

maybe a mother of adorable rascal

im hoping it’s ours, if not

 

i will be happy anyhow

being with  teddy alone

if no one will emerge

ill pass peacefully thinking of yesterday

 

then, days and months will gone by

the pest and worm will fest on me

i will be lying there, alone

in cold, dark, closed stone

 

there will be great desaster

maybe war

or the end of the earth

ill be lucky if my skeleton survive

 

and if my structure still intact

ill consider it as success

gladly, my long wait is rewarded

ill be lying here smiling

 

after one century

i still smile thinking of you

 

 

 

 

soldier of ruins

With bated breath midst the night
not bat an eye to cross the line.
the fear that serve each one’s right
just be ready now,prepare to die.

For the sake of our beloved land
tears and bloods are all in demand.
take leave of your wife and child
soldier obey as what i command.

Here we go for a great dilemmas!
take a popcorn to watch a perfect drama
greatly exposed by the entire media
the holocaust set in this arena.

Another child to sit in plight
A widow wails in cruel nights.

Just upon a Paper Kite

So sadly on a cliff you stare and yearn for a pilot’s life
as they glide on high, black raptors in flight;
the spindled arms spread without feathers to vie,
lips vibrating like ercoupes beneath the fiberglass;
components rattling – engines and machines, rumbling.

Oh, good little boy, what visions do you see
behind those gleaming, buttoned eyes of teal?
So little you know the fears of men — the puppeteers,
the men you see raging behind those silver steel.

Just keep a paper kite: allow your dreams to fly;
behind your paper kite transpire beyond the welkin pyre.

Oh fiery burns the pluck of yourn:
so youthful, the callow little fellow yearns.

Just drive your paper kite: allow your dreams to fly;
mount it on a paper kite – upon a paper kite.

Just upon a paper kite.

soldier of ruins

With bated breath midst the night
not bat an eye to cross the line.
the fear that serve each one’s right
just be ready now,prepare to die.

For the sake of our beloved land
tears and bloods are all in demand.
take leave of your wife and child
soldier obey as what i command.

Here we go for a great dilemmas!
take a popcorn to watch a perfect drama
greatly exposed by the entire media
the holocaust set in this arena.

Another child to sit in plight
A widow wails in cruel nights.

GOOD FRIDAY

Suntanned revelers
Frolic in raucous delight
Jesus impaled sweats