I've traced maps and shorelines across my own skin
to find exactly what it is I mean to you
and I have found it's just a mere puddle.
The knife in my back pocket
is still a sharp reminder
to always watch where others stand.
Beside or behind you, they're both dangerous places.
I have spent years building mountains
around myself so no one would get close enough
to climb and I turn those mountains into excuses
and somehow let you in.
The heart on my sleeve is worn out like the latest trend
and i'm not too into fashion.
But fasten your paper heart onto mine like a seatbelt
and my tears will disintegrate what is left of it-
Together we will crash and burn.
I have spent my days paranoid and cautious
of what surrounds me and I can't help but wonder
Do all of these pictures I paint with words
even mean anything to you?
Or are they arbitrary and insignificant
like my defense mechanism while looking in the mirror-
my reflection seems to win every time.
You painted your apologies across my lips
and told me I look better without makeup.
I will not fight for your consideration.
I will not mourn over what should be mandatory.
Early was the mourning
Of the glory that would pass
Cold was the night
As I dreampt of the past
In the days of old
The knights were still bold
Now its foretold
The nights will be cold
This cold night of mine
rode in on winter wind
freezing the vine
And my heart in the end
I woke to the mourning
Finding glory had passed
The knights became cold
And frozen hearts don't last
I was typing a poem but I lost it halfway.
Was typing from my phone so in error I press cancel.
I cant find it again, oh its all gone away.
Guess now I see my need of a pad and a pencil.
I was typing a poem; cant recall the first line.
The verses were three but now I cant see a sign
Of one line of text on my mobile phone screen,
If I didn't know better I would say someone wiped it clean.
I was typing a poem, wait let me recall;
Was it about daisies and roses?... No, not at all.
If only One wish could be granted me;
I would seek inner eyes to help my deepest memory see.
I was typing a poem I thought you would love.
It was the result of my oversight that made me write the above.
So while I morn my lost here is some heads up.
A pad and a pen is always safe for your write up.
always write down your writes in hard copy. Its safer that way.
There I would cry
As if it isn't enough
To see her cry upon her knees
You are a crusader
A wild beast
With your crown of thorns
Will your hate cease?
Like abandoned homes
You stand alone
A heart of no peace
Your 3 feet from your grave
With your mind speaking louder than your heart
Who will be there to mourn when you part
The Old World copulated with the New
conceiving a most fortuitous fetus
with a Semitic-Sumatran nose
and a prehensile Papuan tail.
The head’s Javanese Middle Kingdom,
the heart’s Balinese-Hindu,
the torso’s mission-Catholic,
the extremities Oceanic-animistic.
This is a creature in transition,
a shapeshifter in the hall of nations.
It takes quantum leaps over the old lines
demarcated by natural scientists.
Monkeys give way to marsupials;
banyans shift to gum trees.
But this creature is most dangerous
because its transitions are driven by a rapacity
that goes beyond mere survival.
Overfishing destroys its coral reefs.
Strip mining defaces its wildlife habitats.
Chemical fertilizers and pesticides trash its rivers.
Reckless natural gas drilling leads to
marauding mud volcano eruptions.
Deforestating Borneo and Sumatra for lumber and
endless palm oil plantations endangers
thousands of species and feeds global warming.
This creature’s become a whore,
a greedy slut playing with fire
until in the mother of all cremations
it all goes up in smoke.
What will remain of this reckless beast
is the noisome stink of diesel,
creosote, dead fish, smoldering forests
and the rotting carcasses
of 300,000,000 consumers.
To cite just one example, in Borneo alone, WWF notes that satellite mapping has revealed that commercial development for large-scale land conversion — especially oil palm plantations — was the largest single cause of the 1997-98 fires, some of the largest ever known. These burned some 9.7 million hectares of forest and non-forest land and caused estimated economic damage of more than 9 billion dollars and released 0.8-2.5 gigatons of carbon into the atmosphere. In Kalimantan, more than 6.5 million hectares burned and the smoke over the island "covered an area measuring 2,000 by 4,000 kilometers....Logging in Borneo in the 1980s and 1990s was some of the most intensive the world has ever seen, with 60-240 cubic meters of wood being harvested per hectare versus 23 cubic meters per hectare in the Amazon. According to Curran, more timber exported was from Borneo during that time than from Latin America and Africa combined. In Kalimantan, some 80% of lowlands went to timber concessions, including virtually all its mangrove forests."
P.S. I live in Indonesia with my Javanese wife.
It is morning,
The sun is awake
Comes with the break of day,
As I wake up once more
To face the world
And I'm supposed to
Cry and be still,
But it's morning,
There are things in their own time
I looked to your closed eyes pleadingly.
I listened to your heart beat desperately.
I analyzed your body thoroughly.
Are you just a dream?
Or are you the one that has decided to stay?
Your eyes flutter open slowly.
Your lips kiss me meaningfully.
Your hands caress me gently.
Every morning you are reality.
Every morning, you relieve my mourning.
Like a lighted candle
You illuminated and radiated
Melted, light extinguished
My soul perished
Like an ill fated crow
My dress is black as the night
My eyes are filled with grief
My soul mourns in sorrow
You left a gibberish heart
A lot of unspoken words
Too many undone deeds
My mourning soul regrets
As you lay awake in heaven each night
I know you also bereave
Your melancholy resonates as you weep
Your tears, the morning dew.
Rain pours down on the window
tip tap, tip tap, tip tap
The bluebird sings a mournful song
The squirrel chatters sorrowful encouragement
The wind whistles in grief
All is silent.
The rain clouds break into a beautiful sunrise
Beautiful songs of unison emerge from above
The angels of heaven above
Sing their never ending song of joy
For the spirits of the departed
Have risen from the dead
And united with the Holy Savior
Plagiarism is illegal. You have been warned.