Apr

A Woman’s Lament

What if the only reason you’re staying is because he needs you too much? Love is as minimal as certainty and time and patience survives mutually along with the heavy burdens anchoring the relationship. Space, on the other hand, is only for comfort, a void feeding the soul, wide enough for it to breath. Intimacy is a dull assurance that this is not charity work. The other keeps on faking pleasure while the duration of communion shortens as the excitement fades its colors, as heat rests on a pathetic Celsius at room temperature. The future is a remote place where it withholds your ability to vow and to hold it long enough, like the kid’s contests–the longer who held his breath, wins. It later becomes a competition of the most faithful soul, the winner gets to blame the other for being a heartless liar. The past was where love resides and decided not to come along, it was where the movement of water was more understandable, fluid like the days passing and feelings tilting back and forth, but never spilling off the swaying bowl on the balancing scale. The present is where everything crumbles like over-cooked croutons, too dry to even chew, what more to swallow? Love is now reinvented as a lesser choice to make for yourself and your happiness. It happened that today as present not anymore becomes as past tomorrow, rather a cold cycle, a cursed routine that kills the other inside, everyday. While tomorrow, as the future can never be really sure. She keeps on smiling to be strong. She forgot her hand was on his back, rubbing it as he sobs like a helpless little boy got bullied in school or fell of the bike the first time. Sometimes, it just passes, numb and unfeeling like how the next day is going to be.

Apr

The Size of Your Head

A black hole roughly made with guilty pleasures and blood sucking desires fed the lazy fat mass that was hardly called human.
With a thin membrane juxtaposed with it, organic unity decays to an understanding.
What was weight and what was mass didn’t really matter because there was no gravity first to consider.
All that was familiar was size and the absence of its sense, their wrinkled sensibilities as texture.
You’re a post-modern Venus you claimed. Because laziness was far more obnoxious to ignore than sweat and work.
The elephants will remember what you said. Their ears flap but fly with thoughts and dust particles. Too old an excuse.
An orbit is too rude, but the moon is too beautiful.
Maybe you’re a gaseous planet that needs to loose some gas to shrink or work out with your gravity.
I’m certain you’re no planet of liquid, that’s lipids and low Celsius work, you’re too intact. Movement is only the twitching on a hot summer day.
You’re made of earth but not dirt. Remember your mold.
The continents await your feet lost in wandering.

41 days ago Short URL 1 Comment

creative/Dada/Dadaism/dream/poem/poetry/universe

Apr

A December Memory (written August 27, 2012)

“Stars grant wishes”

so I kept wishing

the stars

held wishes

like cold brittle fingers

metamorphose

as the secrets

of the night

plunge

down

from behind the clouds

in between

the skyline of the metro

and the street lights

trampled over by speeding cars

nothing disturbs

the sleeping city

serenity–or muted sounds

deaf ears

until the fogged dawn

i seek the truth—

found it

tangled

with my white sheets.

49 days ago Short URL Comments

love/night/poem/poetry/Stars/wish

Apr

Divinity

She had already laid
The frameworks of her body,
Her thoughts, and the fragments
Left she once called soul.
Gravity was never her enemy
But her weight misplaced.
It was nowhere her belly,
No it was a crescent moon
Mocking the night.
But it was somewhere above
Her head even higher than
The heavens she sought.
It was the heaviest shadow
Lurking, no, it is a cloud
Of memory or a thought.
She never knew. But
She wanted to know.
If there are mysteries beyond
The circumference of the rosary
Or relevance of the covenant
Of circumcision, why not,
Menstruation? For all we did
Was bleed because of natural
Causes. More than the role
Of women tiptoeing down
The altars only to be offered
To be tied by the finger that
pulsates, like the snapping of
Life just a tick toc away
Somewhere the area of her belly.
Yes, like the crescent moon
But the shaded shadows.
It was the mystery of her own
Like every man has. But not
This divinity of women they don’t.
As divine as an immaculate conception
As self-defining as a virgin-birth.

49 days ago Short URL Comments

body/divine/divinity/feminine/feminism/moon/night/poem/poetry

Sep

Monologue, Alunsina

Here, the joint place where we overlap

on the periphery, everything revolves

but passing, cascading, consuming

itself, lines are lights, vice versa, no

distinction only destination, yes like that cliche

“the end of the pot of gold”, I mean the end

of the rainbow. Distinction. Bleep bleep (a passing

car) I stand corrected. I stand connected

with the light posts and (a)wires

reaching–embracing the city and its weary.

I trace them to where you are.

What now, we already came, or so

just I remembered. “No room for

memory”, my smartphone–smarter

than you said in the most formal tone.

A ringtone, for you, that’s all I can give

Photos stream with a touch–there I was

again at where you were. Remember when…

Caprice. Dial… Redial… Drop

calls for another round, a bucket of sweaty

beer. Tap, pop, cling–an open bottle

again. That’s your spot, why did you

move when you need not to the most?

in bed you’re a cadaver, a corpse

of a goddess that left the corporeal world

a long time ago. You remain. You are no longer

Tap, pop, cling, “Pare tagay pa.”

How did I even lost myself here?

I found your traces misplaced, you live

there? Not anymore. Address

my needs oh blessed spirit of San Miguel

as the holy ghosts of Philip and Morris

(lights) watch upon me. Alunsina, you are no longer

253 days ago Short URL Comments

alunsina/art/monologue/poem/poetry

May

“Siesta”

I drown

with your warm breath.

but with distance,

this dry weather

suffocates me.

Humid, sweat and skins.

We hide from the sun

but the summer steam

keeps on spilling in

turns the closed room yellow

and made our faces red.

Sweat

drips

down

your forehead

drops

on my cheek

stream

down

traces

below my ear

the back of my neck

my damp hair

was all over your face.

Humid, sweat and skins.

Somehow, we’ve learned how to swim

on shallow waters

that soak us.

But water didn’t really matter

as long as we know how to move–

our extremities,

“keep your fingers together

relax

let them sweep the waters

to go forward

then back

follow the water flow.”

Water didn’t really matter

as long as we know how to move–

our torsos,

so we’ll float

sink

and float–

sink

(submerge).

“Breath”, you told me

“Exhale

slowly.”

362 days ago Short URL Comments

dry/heat/humid/poem/poetry/summer/yellow

Apr

Breath

But soon

places

would be too small

for us

to move

or grow

we’ll suffocate

with our own breaths.

I remember your smile

10 years ago–we were so young.

What time has done

lines–deep, and profound

like fresh wounds, every time

or bark of an old tree.

traces on our foreheads, carvings of emotions or memories?

tears dehydrated our souls– made our faces warped and dry

our hands too

that often clenched.

Age

made our bodies heavy

we drag our feet now

to go places–

but we could no longer walk

alone

on our own.

You’re always at my shoulders

waiting for a mistake or two

then you’ll breath out on me all your blames

thick smoke of gray, brushes my face

burns my eyes.

I have forgotten how to cry.

You breath in

again

and again– on your own.

I exhaled.

My hair turned gray

with all the smoke and the many nights.

I have managed to live in fear

and to sleep guarded– or to not even sleep.

We fight for nothing. As nothing we have become.

The children. If it wasn’t for the children

who sleeps on the other room.

And here we are.

This was the room where summer love rose.

This would be the same room where the sun would set

on us– on you

finally.

You never learned how to let go.

You drown yourself with alcohol

You smother yourself with nicotine

As you strangle me with your regrets.

But it was all you–

all because of you.

I waited.

For so long I have let go

but would you?

You breath in

again–

and again. Heavy and wounding.

(like your words)

For the last time.

I exhaled with you.

You were so young.

393 days ago Short URL Comments

death/love/poem/poetry

Apr

Play

we’ve decided

to role play–

without audience

without a stage

only

closed curtains.

passing no paper–

application

nor affirming words.

nothing

but restrained signals

heart attack

accidental eye contact

every time

I die. a little

but words

kept blanketed

by breath held back.

waiting for the moment

for hearts to burst

or minds to erupt

when words

slip out

they mean nothing

but scripted lines

this role play

we wrote

hearts on monologue

wrong scene

cut.

395 days ago Short URL Comments

poem/poetry/role play/words

Apr

At A Tea Shop

From across

the white tables

I memorize

your face

the corners

and curves.

Right through

the waves of sounds

I battle with concentration.

Aroma of Jasmine tea.

A name being called.

Focus.

Behind you

rectangular rays of

soft sunshine

slips from

the fingers of the windows.

Your face.

The highlight of my day

brighter

than the white walls

the white chairs

the white tables.

“What’s the password?”

A few songs more

we would be home

with the sun

a little lower

we would be home

a bit glances more

home.

Last sip.

395 days ago Short URL Comments

moonleaf/poem/poetry/sunset/tea

Post-modern Venus

Tag Archives: poetry

A Woman’s Lament

The Size of Your Head

A December Memory (written August 27, 2012)

Divinity

Monologue, Alunsina

“Siesta”

Breath

Play

At A Tea Shop

Follow “Post-modern Venus”