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

Habitual Pilgrim

She thumbed the beads
of what seemed to be
a neverending litany of her sorrows and
somebody else’s
on bended knees she walked
the long mile
oblivious to the pain
of the burning candles
staring at her wake
her soul spoke familiarity
of verses and hymns
and prayers probably older than
the crucified man in front
that only she and her kin
would understand.

Morning After

Woken by the tired radio
once more
like all the other
wasted

nights
of painstakingly waiting
for sunrise
aware that the forthcoming day
would be squandered
an offering to the
wastebasket of eternity
morning sun
burns my already
withered body

drought
I’d slay for
a drop of water
Make it two!
But I am paralyzed
the smell of alcohol,
cigar, sweat, and bile
remains concocted frivolously
in my nose

foul
empty bottles on the table
shattered glass on the floor
like the once broken relationship
with the breathing corpses
around me

friendship
ruined by untold proximity
and unmerciful minutes that
turned to forgotten days
of separation
nursed only by
the burnt birthday candles
of last night’s
festivity of lost souls.

Cadaver
beside me moans
and twitches.
A friend has resurrected.

Storm Surge & 2 More Haiku

storm surge…
the wails of people
drown in ramblings

storm aftermath…
I couldn’t take my eyes
away from debris

no man’s land
too small, the eye
of the storm

Detached

Your fingers
Let them weave threads
Around my skin
And spell tranquil and chaos on my spine
Salted moist on my thighs
Glide
Your waist from behind
You pull my feet about you
And you taste my neck
Let me ride you slowly
A carousel high
Tonight
My feet land on your thighs
And you
Speak in me with
The tongue of gods
And I am possessed
With claws of cats
I lose myself
In you.

 

30 October 2013
When words make one believe in what can be versus what is.

Self-Destruction

Distract

men with women,

deluge them with mammon,

count one to ten and they will self

destruct.

Tanka: Old Flames

morning fog
the longings of the heart
light the furnace…
rekindling and keeping warm
this almost forgotten love

___

fiery night
the echoes of love sealed
in your sweet smile,
never a distressed ship tossed
in the bosom of  a storm

Monoku 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
lying down on a full stomach… crescent moon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
painting the town red… night owl
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a wish the water rustles at a nearby fountain
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
midday fun the shaky feet over the grass
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
birthday wish clearing the table for some cake
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the leaves fall with the wind… autumn sun
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
scratches… coming out from an orchard
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 so soon… the city dresses up for Christmas
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
noon break… the jazzy sound of Christmas
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
just the stars…  the moon all but retires
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Monoku 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

obsolete the snail in the mail

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

shifting the crescent moon’s thin blanket

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

autumn wind… colder and still getting colder

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tiger barbs… the world in an aquarium

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

by the open fire coldness shies away

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

beaming the sun in my heart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hidden in the trees a different chirp

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

calligraphy pen sketches that dazzle the eyes

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the way home… struggling past the railroad tracks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a walk home… two miles of asphalt jungle

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monoku 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
bright morning the moon still hangs in the sky
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cobblestones the narrow road of a dream
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
wave after wave the stillness of a lagoon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
low tide the shadows of smooth rocks
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
this little room just an old bed and coldness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
moonlight the hawkmoth’s flight
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
moon song… could it be the crickets?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tao Te Ching the master speaks of wu wei
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
fog lights… still the eyes could barely see
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
early Christmas carols in the air this November
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monoku*

1.) the dog barks – some faint footsteps

2.) rain the cold night lulls the baby to sleep

3.) coffee cup brewing a haiku in the air

4.) aims at the Jelly Bean baby’s smile

5.) rainy morning the kettle is whistling

6.) a visit to the old wooden shack autumn leaves

7.) asphalt jungle the soothing effect of the breeze

8.) golden the flowers that share the sun

9.) grape vines the main door’s attraction

10.) autumn the last leaf falls to its golden bed

11.) black stones the fragrance of a yellow flower

12.) down the winding track and autumn leaves the Choo Choo train

13.) setting sun the asphalt road all to myself

14.) undecided to shine or not the sun

15.) setting by the Manila Bay crimson sun

16.) silver and eye-catching this ring

17.) trick or treat the festive mood ’til beyond midnight

18.) dog barks adding wings to the cloud

19.) on the walkway the leaves of autumn

20.) my grandparents’ tombs alone with sixteen candles

* A monoku is a one-liner haiku… “Monoku is a senryu/haiku with a slight enigmatic/ambiguous flavor, written in its earlier Japanese form as a one liner. A caesura (pause) may be appropriate, dictated by sense or speech rhythm,and usually very little punctuation. Seventeen syllables or less. They may also be in a sequence form.” (from: http://monoku-ichthys.blogspot.com)

Unspoken

Talking to a loved one is romantic,

It’s when I lay my words between our glances,

But my love are best said in pauses.

Quash

Condense unclean hearts

let defilement dissipate

take it down and thwart

procrastinating, quash it

until you’re freed from its bait.

Extinction

Deepening each day
species’ apocalypse
as men desecrate its way