thoughts are the songs of the mind
only myself may hear,
louder than laughter
audible as low-toned whispers.
sanctuary of the fugitive heart
when all else has failed
or fled like rats
from a sinking ship.
untold secret of an heir
which seldom finds a confidant
if only not uttered in sleep.
unbreaking lance of the errant
with sinews rare
as his hands are bare.
thoughts rare.
thoughts *******
thoughts prodigious.
thoughts uninvited.
father of action
son of an idle cloud.
bereave me of my lance
my secret
my sanctuary
my song;
and oh…
how naked
i shall be!
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC
thoughts are the songs of the mind
only myself may hear,
louder than laughter
audible as low-toned whispers.
sanctuary of the fugitive heart
when all else has failed
or fled like rats
from a sinking ship.
untold secret of an heir
which seldom finds a confidant
if only not uttered in sleep.
unbreaking lance of the errant
with sinews rare
as his hands are bare.
thoughts rare.
thoughts *******
thoughts prodigious.
thoughts uninvited.
father of action
son of an idle cloud.
bereave me of my lance
my secret
my sanctuary
my song;
and oh…
how naked
i shall be!
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
and so i tremble
oh, need i even regret
having tried,
having been broken beyond mending
like rare china?
the years balm not
for as the shadows follow
the lean figure, they haunt.
too deep for tears.
sighs would be trite.
but, there is no begging.
would that i could hate:
love betrayed is vinegar
poured on wounds bleeding.
but you shall be with me
for every hair
i hesitantly smooth
with suspecting fingers.
i shall not forget.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
i
no less than two hundred souls lie
clustered along the shoreline
lowland they call a town.
there where the hilltops look
below, where salty waves
in unending sequence
lap the rocks.
the foam floating still is fading
and the icy gloom of night is gone.
the tug-tug of the diesel engine
interrupts the balmy silence
of the sleeping town.
perchance,
here is a variant
(or is it?)
on new island soil
tread one another foot.
ii
away now from the busy hum of
factory, from the hurrying trucks,
daredevil drivers, the unwelcomed
whistle of the morning train,
from the strained scream of the
lumpia vendor, from the sophisticated
melody of nightclub music, from the
alms-begging cries in crowded sidewalks,
from pretending graded glasses seeking
sheep-skin, high-pressured ticket seller.
away form the honk-honk of waiting
limousines, the haste of presses
accommodating headlines, the cackle
of the radio announcer.
it takes a sea to part the two,
and many others more, yet the
watery distance do mend the broken
piece-part of the broken whole.
iii
broken by the water barrier, part of
the broken scheme – a stray mass
the grown untamed.
blame it on the ills of war, a frenzied
sickness, a cancer-growth.
a callousness undisguised
the city’s pleasure is a farmlife’s
leisure and these
in different garbs exist.
not even mindful of the worms
that eat up the human heart,
like a rotting fruit.
with colored goggles
the hue is blood-red and shady black.
iv
o city of pain,
vineyard of desire
o burial ground
where lay bedfellows
they who came, stayed, gone,
where stumps and leafless trunks
are bare to the sun,
breathless and devoid.
while fingers are busy
counting metallic coins.
v
no, not a flood shall cleanse
this wild and wanton fleshliness,
nor upturn the barren farrows,
not the rise of the tides
nor the fury of the winds
not even the whiplash of a strong hand.
the deluge in every clayey figure
in the farm and furnace.
the going up beyond the worldly
watermark of the passing tide
that is man.
the man
the self
is the starting point
from which the line
of the circle revolves.
and in our chambered brief hours
of aloneness, shall speak
a shrill deep-seated voice
to which we shall be all ears
and shall tremble.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
the clay watched with rented breath
the red robe genuflect before
the dirt-dark nailed wood.
strange words were uttered
choral echoes flew
they too would bend their knees
those veiled long hair
those oval faces with scanning eyes.
the red robe spoke
they moved the corners of their mouths
till they were too far
they nodded, and nodded, and nodded
they did not know how to stop.
the red robe did not speak
he read from two slabs.
the air cracked by a
tip-toe cadence of metallic muttering
they held their breath
but there was panting.
with one unseen flicker
that stole as fast as
light shot from up beyond
there
perched on that dirt-dark nailed wood
a dove of light of blinding vaporous whiteness.
we hid our eyes.
our faces too.
we only saw a tall slender spiral staircase
that ascended a long, long,
long way.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
green hills, rolling green
i like you
with fresh dewy innocence
you speak in hushed voices.
your sides are guilded
with coral white
your tops are crowned with clouds.
green hills, rolling green
i like you for the majesty
you wear your verdant vestment
forever stretched your arms to the blue
forever sheltered by the stars.
green hills, rolling green
tell me, do you like me too?
would that when i harken
to the trumpet call, when there would be
no excuse to tarry
i should lay spattered on thy peaks
first touched by the divine finger
piercing the nimbus mantle.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC
when you
so dear to me
do hurt me
a pinpoint *****
is a razor’s slashing edge
make gashing wounds
and bleeding drains me
bound scars to testify
to the hurt
the doer do magnify
i flee my brittle tiny shell
and don the mask of mirth
but fleeing never find
a chambered nautilus
which i would exchange for mine
a twig is bent
a leaf is fallen
a grain of sand is lost
a page is torn
teardrop falls
a lost one calls
when trust has grown
when choice is blind
when reason cannot reason
a little twist
a careless wink
an unintended turnabout
eats up a painful way
to the heart that loves.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
cease awhile
and hold commune
with his fabrication
and admire
every cordant note
of a symphony yet unwritten.
t’was a nymph
saw i a-Maying
her comeliness
beggared the reach of art
outreached my arms
to touch her tidy traces
alack, gone she
in the mists of morn.
the moon-kissed bed
was light and life
with verdant dewy leaves
astride the speechless
mountain tops
a journey was begun
to rain again
his darts of gold
to every waiting one.
the blanket of
the skies was azure blue
on limpid waters seen
along her hurried way
she dropped those
gaudy flowrets beam.
saw i her locks
in every nodding palm
‘neath the tropic sun.
t’was birds do counterfeit
her melody the
rustling bamboo stole.
they utter now
sweet words of love
as winds doth
beat and blow
the roar and rush
of the swollen river asks:
what is it to you?
sprightly now
the winged ones
from bud to bud alight.
athirst, searching for that
self-same delight.
the crown of earth’s
flowing seas of grass
its mighty arms apart
attentive to the
incoherent whispers of
the breeze that chances by.
what now
messengers of the skies?
what saw you beyond
the floating clouds?
what find you at the
end of the rainbow?
what secrets lie hid
in yonder hills?
pray tell this
to the hurling spar
of the ever-running brook
for down and down and down
she goes to her anxious
ocean-brother.
could she have paced
the grotesque shore
to appease the bleating sea?
now she laps up
the sand-white beach
now she beats
the rock-bound shore with
shrill indignant murmur.
the shore and plain
nod assent
nay, my search is done.
twelve knotty hours
of day are gone and still
my find is none
to tease the gloomy
brow of night
aflame is all the west
in its expiring redolence
my happy nymph adieu.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
i
a wee shaft of beam
across
a sea of chilly darkness:
dashing on, dashing long
a chain
of disturbing crispy waves.
a haunting pitch
of sirens, of winging gulls.
…then
a whistle in the dark
ii
i have bled.
and ever bleeding
is resurgence.
the stones are stained now
not all are stained yet.
but i can hold no more.
no more.
iii
to listen would have been enough
but spoke i
to deaf-mutes, clayey forms.
and every uttered little word
faded like receding undertone.
and then
conspiracy of silence,
misquotations,
sharing of once
too friendly shoulders.
a nod would have been enough,
or a pat,
or any like gesture;
they turned askance
and i fled… fled away.
iv
back to my chambered shell
back to my cradle
where there are many whispers.
and every fateful swing
of the pendulum
i reel and ride the wheel of fancy,
embrace false idols
like one fearful of his god
if only to escape the haunts
of conscience;
tremble at approaching footsteps,
shriek at every shadow.
v
i shall walk barefoot again
past leafless stumps
windborn, heated, and bowed,
‘cross an oasis grown desert dry,
past anthills now dunghills,
‘neath rapid flutter
of widespread murky wings,
past cliff edges
where resound pampered echoes,
while arched in deceitful hues
a rainbow.
…i scan the blue… i pause…
vi
i await a lily-white stork
or there shall be no curtain speech.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
i
how like a napping innocent
the song was stolen away
when i my reason bribed
could not find where i belonged.
a patch is made of unrimed rime
and *** by *** it tore away
telling awhile
never will, you may.
i groped. you lingered
you waned. i waited.
when i would
to the solitude of
the rocks have gone
alas!
i found,
the singer of the song.
ii
bend bamboo
to the gusts and gails
that sweep, sweep.
swing back to whirl again
as the winds its fancy bend
so do – ne’er complain.
on windy ludes
so low you bow
after you kissed
the earth below
embrace you the sun.
sing now you violins
the rustles of enchantment
of dancing toes
it’s a mellow melody
… lingers on…
iii
useless are
the wings of birds
if the wide and brimless sky
to them are yet untold.
if none to care
and none to pine
how can a sign
of triumph bare
as birds and sky
as twains do share?
iv
full moon and empty arms
for every setting sun?
i fled thy silvern chatter
of vanished cries
and curling past.
suns have gone now.
and seeking never find.
no moon and empty arms
but when were you
not starbeam
and when not star
not beam.
if you could be
but how!
if you could see
but now!
v
came here, but,
did not tarry long.
a handful of sand
a greedy grip
a clutch, and,
through the fingers slip
till naught is left
but an empty grip.
she is come
know i
when gone.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC