Poetographie

your face in the dark
the stars and constellations
hallowed in the bush

simple ramblings unveil
short talks and forgotten hellos
slid inside our pockets

spaces between fingers
still are spaces-empty
unnoticed

we walk along the path
we once dreamt
only to imagine how it is to be a company

still the lonely veranda is alone
two souls fused into one
lying in the cornerstone of hope.

i breathe through poetry
digesting the same words,
letters and pains

i catch emotions through poetry
with a butterfly net
tiptoeing

i shed tears through poetry
where tears are but
a cry of solace

i smell heartaches through poetry
the scent
seems a forgetful memory

since the day i breathe poetry
the senses
become pure-
raw and organic.

Shelter me into thy arms
Contain me into thy mold

Let me be your banana
Let me be your mango
Let me be you sweet clementine

the fragrance, the glory of thy heart.

I scribble letters on the shore
they were s,o and s

the waves dissolve the scribblings
there left an S

i wonder if the waves
disregard the S

forgiving enough
not to hit the shore

it is different
the waves are absent this time,

but the letter is still alive-
cold and numb

resting
on the shore of fantasy

Express not to Impress. Perhaps It was a collective feeling I felt after attending the 2nd Mindanao Bloggers Summit. October 25, 2008 marked one of Gensan's Big Events where Family Country Homes was peopled by bloggers coming from the three islands of the country.

Blogging is a way of self expression so to speak. The summit was attended by mostly Mindanao Bloggers who in one way or another firmly believe that we have something to say, we have a knowledge to impart and a consciousness to develop.Voices from an entrepreneur blogger, student blogger, photo blogger, tech blogger were also heard. A talk by Hector Minoza was delivered. He highlighted the Mindanao Consciousness. Filipinos in general have been blinded and victimized by the distorted image of Mindanao not knowing that Mindanao if once seen behind all the bullets and wars is an enchanted paradise of a rich culture.

The 2nd Mindanao Bloggers Summit paved the way on developing Mindanao consciousness among the bloggers not only for the Mindanaon. We communicate information through blogging. We should uncurl the dire reputation of Mindanao that the news have been feeding us. Mindanao is a place inhabited by rich and diversed culture. Mindanawon, Paminawon Intawon.

aroma of earth
penetrating the body
of wandering thoughts

staring at the blank page
creating contours
of words,
invisible images
grasping, getting
a touch of a thought

blue merges
with the light above me
creating a color
before bliss
nails the numb
to euphoria

scratch the savages
of guilt grudging
somewhere, sober
in its silent sanctuary
feed the food
right on the mouth, melting

breaking bones
crunchy carcass
of dead syllables
now, knock
slid beneath the boundary of
licking letters

wail, words, wail
deep, dark and howling
sail, sail
fading beauty
painting the dark
sky of pain

lead me to you wonder
possess me in thy name
gather my wandering souls
at the center of the page
as you encircle, caging me in a poem

tonight i shall write twisted lines
where words fly nowhere
hitting the corners
of the page
searching
for their
souls
inside
coffins
and puffing
cigarettes
catching the
mystery of the night

leaking
tears squeezed
flakes of pain

cascading
beneath those
cleaved thunder clouds

by George

send me to the heart of your poetry
to the deepest of their world
mirrors of pain should be broken
when i enter

poetic jesters
should speak of their epic poems
until i rest my eyes to sleep
i hear no laughter- all but poems and seriousness

lonely jovials
should serve my dinner in their most elegant attire
the night should be lovely,
adored like them

the holy servants should dance
the way you do
i want an arabesque,
a passionate rhumba

while doing all the show
i should abandon them
you should send me a cab playing a requiem
command him to your throne

a red carpet should welcome me
yes, purely the red carpet
none of the servants should be delivered
it's more private if we only have ourselves

send me to the heart of your poetry
to your holy master Shakespeare
and Aristotle
serve me the sweetest their sonnets and criticisms

I would love to dine with you
that is if you could bring me into the deepest of their world.

i can't give you letters
i'm selfish.
i can't offer you my words

i can't write poetry
none of which is fiction.
i know nothing of literature

i can't travel
my legs are weak
my mind's searching for something else

you always ask me to do this and that
but i always (as always) refuse
sorry.

i can't give you my poetry,
my words,
my treasures and my plans

but here's one thing,
i can give you cheesecake and a bottle of wine
the next time you ask me a thing i am incapable of doing

will you smile and eat the cake
or let it rot
or else days after you'll notice something
inside the mouth of your cat

(laughs)

let me tell you that we need to book our tickets as early as now
you need not worry for the expenses
dad will be giving me a lot of dough as promised

free of worries, away from responsibilities
we will be reading Paris in a week's time
or journey a cruise after a week or two

just tell me when you'll be ready
i'll pack our things one by one
thoroughly with our dreams

you love black, don't you,
how's that, white's mine
neutrals aren't they?

say yes always
never ever to no
we'll be together

lost in Paris
smiling with Mona Lisa
erecting our plans with some brilliant architectures

forget about worry first
let's kiss art
let's journey with our hearts

eyes closed-
dreaming that someday we will get to Paris
hand-reached.

compose a poem about death
even if you hate to discuss it

try to become funny so as not to
be drowned by the theme

crack jokes if you want
as long as they don't veer away

euphemism or irony
choose which one will work

the more honest it is
the more poetic it becomes

don't over do it
over sentimentalizing should be absent

a poem about death
should always be happy

jovial as the innocence of the children
they should talk about death

but never mourn for it,
never mourn for it

i know how you hate about death
so now

let me ask you a question
have you written your death poem

as spontaneous as mine?
or you just mourned over it

to the point that death
is still present in the last stanza

like how a sentence ends with
a period.

no one reads you poetry except him
when you beg her to skim through your poems
she refuses-
"not now, please?"

she knows you're writing for him
with the most grandiose language
in the light of elegance
he knows how to possess you

your hands scribble his muted love
the fantasy and the unreachable
you believe him,
you hear him speak of non sensical things

yet you still believe
he knows how to trick you with his magic
with his words, like a love potion
freed in the air

you dance together invisibly
like two timid eager souls
she knows all, all about you and him
but do you have even the slightest idea

that it is not him
but her
who sacrifices anything
just for the two of you?

indeed sunflowers are yellow
a reflection as bright as the morning sun
as lovely as an infant's first smile

i pick the sunflower
the glow vanishes
i think of the soil

it is darkbrown
how come it becomes gloomy
suddenly the world turns black

i had not a single knowledge
of losing the bright
of losing beauty

not until i search
for might
in the absence

light

like how you thirst for poetry
like how i eat you inside my head

like how i break a better line
like how you make simple sonnets

like how I value poets
like how you value Shakespeare

like how I love searching for lust
like how I dip hands to yours
like how I love your body curves whisper a silent poem

Like how I eat you inside my head

I saw you swimming like a dog

it was me who taught you the basics of swimming

you never learned

I saw you eating balut

it was me who taught you to break the shell

you never learned

I heard you singing like a star

we both sang the song, and we were out of tune

I felt the tears rolling from your eyes

(it was painful, it was you)

It was me who taught you not to cross beyond the line

It was me who taught you to save your heart

I said your heart not your love

(for it was easy, as simple

not like love

abstract and vague)

I told you before to keep yourself away from him

oh sorry,

i
was
about
to
say
keep yourself from any
harm

you NEVER learned.

i have heard your resignation
sad and silent for the second time

baby,your boss told me
hey, you did hide behind your words

hush now honey baby
cry like a crow if you want

but never like a child, change!
daddy doesn't want you go astray

doesn't want a dumb dog
inside his house

close that book instead, interesting
are the words when they run

as silent as the stream
with whimpering grievances

cry, cry come on
your boss Bonnie

willingly wanted you back
its just that there are better girls

who could make
him fuck.

i wish you were my falling star
that would journey me somewhere
far beyond the distant sky

like my dreams
wrapped with silver kisses
you sent

during my 25th birthday
they will soar like angels
singing me a lullaby

not to cradle me to sleep
but to awaken me from
a long, long traveled journey

only
my sorrows
could weep.

you said no to opportunity
when things were chosen by your choices

you sniffed joy
the smell of cats
the smell of street girls

you said your children
wanted to see
the color
of your country's flag
furling to and fro
beneath the sky

but haven't you noticed
that your children once
hated the primary colors
and wanted
the shades of black
and
white?

i once was kissed by a man
on the forehead,
tip of my nose
on my hands

he was not blonde
nor white

we drove his big bike
roaming the outskirts
of the city-
freedom here and there

he was neither
professional nor
a construction worker

who works
day and night
feeding the mouths
of his children,
wife
and
mine.

A woman
so proud of herself
asks a street vendor
for
a nearby playground
and its direction

the street vendor
pointed
out his index finger
towards a narrow street

where none
even himself
would dare spend
the whole day
playing
in that
playground
alone

An eager daughter
her heart is searching him out
"Papa":Sunday Blues

fingers dig the earth
life creeping beneath the soil
a birthchance waiting

The door slammed
bang!
a fallen jalousie broke the silence of the morning

you know how she hated
to be awaken by your anger
you know how she would love
to see you going home with a viand
(not a bitch)

the rhum you had at the kanto last night
smelled badly for her
your breath
warm as the sun's stirred your daughter's mood

she zoomed out the door to buy bulad
and so she couldn't passed by
your bitch

you know how she hated the smell of filth

she walked past the sari-sari store
there were people,
cars,
children
and happy faces

and the smell of cheesecake and butter
was breathed like sweet potions of romance
in which
it was a missing
flavor inside the house.

the sun leaps
a wet afternoon-
a gleam hitting the windowsill

Scissors cutting umbilical cord
A shrieking cry beneath the
transluscent window-
5 fingers waving.

One night
I was sitting beside this blatant city
with a hurricane of thoughts
fucking my mind,
hovering like vultures.

One night
I was dreaming inside the yellow roomwith no thoughts-
thoughts i wished would linger
like scents of blossom in the air,
there was nothing,

there was nothing,
only

YOU!

Keep clicking,
keep digging
keep searching
for nothing.

Keep speaking,
keep ranting
keep blogging
for nothing.

Keep your thoughts
Keep your emotions
Keep your passion
Keep yourself

Keep your all
Keep you pen and paper
Keep your secrets

BUT don't ever forget to
keep my

w
o
r
d
s

It dawned hazy and wet
I hid beneath the coconut leaf-
I flashed a smile and anticipated the Rain,
I sat ∆pside dφwn- waitin’,
Feeling a bit bored.

The chore started:
I s t r e t c h e d my r e a c h and
spun the silk thread-
caught the neighboring limb of an oak tree.
I finished ten spΘkes,
But an unknown creature
suspended
my errand.

I saw a shuttered light,
Still, the aroma of its flesh is doomed to be dined.
I cut across the signal thread-
[trapped]
and pierced it with chelicerae.
The injected poison crawled into its veins.
Shriveled. Dangled like mucus in a filament .
I sucked out his juice,
Triumphed the free zone.
A tiny silk ball was just
D
I
S
C
A
R
D
E
d.

When black and white collide…

When Mockery overpowers…

Puffed-up

Good Morning Juno*!

~ by scarletpoetions on February 16, 2008.

~ by scarletpoetions on February 16, 2008.

~ by scarletpoetions on February 18, 2008.

Poem # 3

We’ll sail on amidst
this saddened overcast-
with its gentle slabs
of cotton hurled
over the skyline,
concealing
our confined qualms,

which churned whitecaps
into their finality.
Serenaded us by
the ghost of the wind,
through its bosom
as it penetrated
the cracks of stones.

These armored hands –
fra-
gile as our hearts
concealed the earthly vows
sworn before heaven
and
earth
which drew the demarcated thin line
between each extremities.

I stood
before
you
with a
camou-
flaged
sin

as though imparting
the other me-
to you
with this pure ether of
whites and hopes,

Brought us to the very

depth of
unfathomable love.

like how
you value
literature-
poetic lines,
epiphanic endings

like how
you value
music-
graceful movements,
enchanting arabesque

is the same
as the way
I cherish
our friendship-
goodbye
selfish ire
we had have enough of you.

8-28-08 (DULA,UPmindanao)

She was busy with you-
Pants.
Breathes.
She did converse with you-
Sips coffee.
Throws away the cigar's filter.
She smiled and did it again-
Gets a paper.
Crumples it.
She stood beside you-
Offers a drink.
Sighs.
She was dancing with you-
Flickers a smile.

Whistles.
You serenaded her with your look-
Shakes her hand.
Asks for another drink.
She kissed your hand-
Goes inside the C.R,
puts lipstick.

You held her hand,
stabbed her with a look-
Sits,
Stands-
disturbed;

She sashayed her butt-
Looks at her bag.
Reads her text message.
You asked her for another-
Opens her wallet.
Sees a picture.
She willingly agreed-
Dances.

Cries.
Pants.
Breathes.
Cries.
Dances.

You sat in the corner-
Sips from the bottle of vodka.
Smiles.
She approached you-
Screams.
Holds his hand tightly.
You dragged her away from you-
Kisses hardly.
She slapped you-
hands wrapped around his waist.

You held her face before yours-
Armies invaded the colony.
She begged for another-
gave you another chance-
Everybody's enraged with excitement.

That was enough.
Glances the picture-
a family.
Music off.
Lights on.
Clothes put on.
Open door.
Closed door.

Solitary-
rugged ambiance,
Jeepneys' absent,
Moon's in gloom.

Skies in darkness.
Red bikini's in shame.
Pride's aggravated.
Hands of shame behind body's in flame.