It's that time of year again, for expressing gratitude and stuffing ourselves silly--two time-honored traditions of late November. I can't let it pass without thanking HP for giving my scribbles a home.
My first book of poetry was just published and every poem but one appeared here on HP first. The encouragement of this community allowed me to take the risk of sharing my words.
A giant toast to the uber talented scribes who took the time to comment and send lightning bolts of support. I can't thank you enough: Raj (my first commenter!), Timothy, Harlon, Robert Howard, Sven, Nat, Pradip, betterdays, Louise, Lorraine, Sia Jane, CA Guilfoyle, Paul Lyndon, r, Zuffy, RA, Amitav Radiance, Weeping Willow, and many more. You guys rock. xo
You can check it out here if you want https://finishinglinepress.com/productinfo.php?cPath=4&products;id=2228
i remember the way love used to taste
it crept up my sternum, crawled up the back of my throat, strangled my tongue, and leaped out of my mouth with a trembling, shaking "i don't know how to feel like this anywhere else so please let me stay"
although there was an eviction notice stuck in between the door and the frame but i didn't open the door, to leave, to see it
and i used to look at people who could find something good and run from it and wonder how they could possibly do that when i ran to every doorstep, pleading for someone to let me in and planting my feet firmly into their ground as soon as they did
there are pieces of myself in every corner of these rooms, every crack in these walls, clumped in bathroom sink drains and i understand now
the more love you give that is unrequited, the less you have to give out again
and i'm only a few drunken, empty i-love-you's away from running dry
also, i'm wondering how my family was completely demolished this week and i spent thanksgiving with strangers and have felt more lost and alone than i have in years, but this is all i can muster up: something about not being able to feel like i used to.
sometimes I find myself
in my reindeer pajamas
legs intertwined and folded under
eyes vacant, staring off into space
and a head full of
what ifs and maybes that
might just become whens
and sometimes I find myself
lost in thought
yeah, you can see that I'm there
but not really
and think I should quit
when I should be gazing at Your beauty
and sometimes I find myself
under velvety covers I don't deserve
shutting my eyes tight as I
cover my ears and stop
listening to wisdom
and sometimes I find myself
-- a pile of faded medals and rusty trophies
sitting on browning certificates
breaking and sinking lower and lower
until I am but a tiny speck
in my delusional mind
sometimes I find myself,
but most of the time
but fill me, too
No need to say a thing my dear
Just a sepia snap of your beautiful face
Is enough to flood my love with tears
Did I tell you in my life there's space
For someone with your sultry smile
But there is so much about your beaming beauty -
Your sensitive caring, and gentle style,
The way you calm my soul with just one sigh,
Since the day we met, I've been on this high -
Can you join me, my darling, my sweetheart, for life
Come stitch my heart together with your surgical knife.
Dance your way out of my head, dark eyes.
Sparkling and shimmering out of view to the tune of
El Bimbo and silence. Slither your voice out of
my ear drums. The way memory moves in
the gravity of absence, like ripples in the water
fading and fading and fading and vanishing out of sight.
Forgotten and unremembered. You and I.
Take out the shards you've left in my heart, prism smile.
I buried the memory of joy in blue skies and rainclouds.
My hands slide down the smoothness of your arms,
twirling to face the void of missing you.
I remember you taught me the steps into
this world where we wouldn't know what to do.
And I still don't know what to do.
Maybe the old records kept under my bed would serve as proof.
Or the vinyl of our El Bimbo left in pieces is haunting
the broken phonograph in my living room.
And a song is playing in the radio saying that you
used to look like Paraluman. Years and years ago.
And when I close my eyes, I can still see you dancing.
(I still see you dancing.)
There come nights when the gravity of absence is gone,
and the memory of those days return in fleeting motion,
I can make out the smile you used to have.
With the broken phonograph belting out our El Bimbo blues,
we dance the night away in my dreams, Paraluman.
Because that is the only way for me to dance with you again.
And all of the time, I wish I could never let go.
"Sa panaginip na lang pala kita maisasayaw."
(It is only in my dreams where I can dance with you again.)
- Ely Buendia (Eraserheads) ; "Ang Huling El Bimbo"
I've loved this song for as long as I can remember. In my childhood my siblings and I would sing it at times when we had the guitar out, and the words have left their mark on me. The beauty of the song, though years have passed to say that it has become an "old tune" to the generation today, is both haunting and infinite. Beautiful.
I've written stories that revolved around the song, but never a poem. Maybe a poem would suffice, but of course, my words are nearly not enough to totally explain the feelings I would have when listening to this song.
This song will always be a favorite of mine. It has been for more than half of my life.
YT link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEgiODtDj44 (orchestra version) ((i like this the best))
I'm not sure
if I love you
If I ever did
If it was ever real
Because you see
our days were so short
so long ago
and when I lost you
I wanted you more
so much that
I dived into a world of
and for years
years of my short life
or did I?
Did I love you?
or just the thought of you?
Despite what it means to admit
that there was real passion
and real want
I want it to be true
because then my life
When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,
And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings,
Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say,
“He was a man who used to notice such things”?
If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid’s soundless blink,
The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight
Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think,
“To him this must have been a familiar sight.”
If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm,
When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn,
One may say, “He strove that such innocent creatures should
come to no harm,
But he could do little for them; and now he is gone.”
If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at
Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees,
Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more,
“He was one who had an eye for such mysteries”?
And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom,
And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings,
Till they rise again, as they were a new bell’s boom,
“He hears it not now, but used to notice such things?”