and the face
that reminded her
of what loss was,
arose in full circle.
the light shone on
what the darkness kept
hidden: the dead
bodies of little furry animals;
all the white rabbits
(as if pulled out from that magical hat)
appeared, surrounding her.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
after painfully separating
the colors in intricate patterns
she allows herself the full glimpse
of her daily labors. and without
hesitation brushes the dry earth,
along with her work.
her long fingers unfurling,
the long and brittle parts
breaking into sand.
7 November 2018
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
my ribs were pierced and the last
vestige of life kept pouring out.
and when the last word was said,
my body was lain among the mute.
I was a carpenter once, yet I will
Soon be carved from wood
To sit in silence like furniture,
all dressed up and well kept
with expressions on my face:
Of pain, of hope, of kindness.
But let us keep our eyes
on what cannot be seen.
What is visible is seldom what it shows.
A man I once knew kept with him a jar of seawater
He reasons that when he wakes up
He is reminded by the vastness of the sea.
And he embraces its fragrance:
Salt and water.
Can not a jar claim a portion of the sea as his?
Or to put it in perspective is it not the sea that embraces us?
Our mouths and minds are still, left open and dull in silence
Waiting perhaps in solitary meditations
or in many tongues we will talk.
and the crowd will call us drunk.
I and my other self are one.
But soon, after I have gone another will take my place,
he will embrace us like the sea
Even in places where no sea is in sight.
One thing is certain: salt.
The tasteless air will ink new births of sea.
Today let us clothe ourselves in the nakedness
of our adopted innocence. We will walk with the many
and again converse in the greater garden.
- 5 September 2018
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
I.
*“You can only fight the way you practice”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy*
His lessons started late
As always, and as always
What is thrown is a question
You grip tightly
around your fingers
as one would,
as one always should.
With a branch he beckons:
“Come” he asks,
*“if a stick is struck from this angle,
what would your answer be?”*
Always, the old man taught
With each strike, each parry,
Each disarm and lock,
Each time my knuckles
Would hurt. This way
he makes it sure
that my body
remembers.
This is always
the first step.
My mind might forget.
But the body
Remembers.
II.
*“It is difficult to realize the true Way just through sword-fencing. Know the smallest things and the biggest things, the shallowest things and the deepest things.”
― Miyamoto Musashi, The Book of Five Rings: Miyamoto Musashi*
With him, everything starts
The vague quality of nonwords
Taught from pain, simplified
Through science:
the fulcrum and the lever.
Each joint, each turn,
a pattern to comprehend,
all things work in context:
*A framework of the undeniable
Fact:*
*the world is separate
In only these two words:*
Taub at Tihaya
The colloquial words for
Face down and face up;
This is a pattern
of the body.
III.
*“If you wish to control others you must first control yourself”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy*
Tihaya
The lesson starts
When he presses
His thumb forward
to a hand asking for alms
like turning a doorknob
too far to the right.
Taub
when I pull back
four fingers
on a giving hand
too far to what is left.
these are the means
for control.
When I know
How much is necessary
To push or to pull,
To teach or to break.
- 18 October 2017
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 5:56 AM UTC
the rain sifts through my attempts
to grasp it with mere hands:
one cannot understand
without going through its constant
shift and change of faces.
As to another, one learns
to ask the right questions,
naturally, at the opportune time.
Like in all things
Every conversation
Which pass through us
Were never truly there.
Those that do stay are bereft
of meaning.
What remains often
is the damp, moistness
of the late -ber month showers:
regret, loss, a tactless remark.
They share the same fate in all
of this, the slow, uptake for words:
closure, a second chance, a bad joke
like the heavy traffic we always have
to endure - a cartload heavy
-laden with stockpiled souvenirs
with no particular use except
for reminiscing, a flickering hope
for the last bus ride home.
One day, you will
miss all of this.
And the only thing
that is left to endure,
is memory.
14 October 2017
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 6:00 AM UTC
The Albatross
Lone de-odorizer of the toilet
Its smooth contour covered in a clear blanket
Wrapped around with cheap plastic,
Adorned with cheap silk, the semi-lucent plastic
Like unwrapping a yema
It smells very sweet. Very, very.
You seldom notice this white bird
In your long hours of comforting, brooding
Hungering for attention beneath the swollen toilet
Asking for unwanted pleasures
The toilet asks "why must I feed?”
The Albatross mums in its silent reprieve.
Still you didn’t notice the wounding
Of your smooth oily toilet
In long comforting hours of sleep;
No, only excretion is wanted here.
The albatross takes away the scourge
The scourge beneath your noses
And still you didn’t notice
The glory in its inexistence
(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 28, 2008)
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
and the boy drew a line
with his stubby hands,
feeling the roughness
of the pavement.
and it is his stubbornness,
when his name is called,
he doesn't look back
pretending not to hear.
with dirt on his hands
he watches the sparks slither
into smoke through his mouth
to taste something ominously sweet.
24 March 2017
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 8:11 AM UTC
She would scratch the surface
To let the old paint fall
Exposing the barrenness
Of the walls.
Then she would,
As she was hired to do,
Cover it up with a foliage
Of green. Nonetheless
Mimicking growth.
- 01/20/16
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
It felt strange
The first time
I became aware
I just happened to
Walk up
The stairs and the wind
Blew.
I really didn't feel
Anything
Nothing, really
its just as if
you were stealing
chocolate and you feel
As if someone knew.
No words for it.
Yes, i know it's
An understatement.
It's them again.
I catch them glancing
Too often, too long
And Waiting
For something
To turn up.
- 01/21/16
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
For G.S.L.
1.
Lover:
Write, we must of the moons we spent
Weaving our alien languages together
Deriving meaning from each other
by what it meant for us
to be home in our shell.
Words we've bound each other with
With histories of our forefathers,
How we delved in the intricacies of the mind
Carefully, and as surely as the waves
Caressing the shores from distant seas.
Coupled with the cresting of the wave,
An ocean's promise lies in wait.
To you I am like the soil that does not empty
Its thirst for answers from the rain.
Yet you cannot give me access to your inner paths
So instead, I have knelt down in silence
and cupped your hermit house to my ear.
You have found speech for words you cannot say.
2.
Beloved:
I am like the shallow portion
of the sea where you can clearly
observe the rocks and stones
That cut, as well as the coral
that thrive Like fiery coals attracting fish.
We are of different tongues,
Yet despite the separateness
Our strangeness connected us to each other.
You have raised old foundations
And pulled the sea to come to me.
There i knelt on uneven sands
Confident that your own voice
Will lead us to the birthing dawn.
Now it is not just the sea that divides us
but the very same wildness, that impetuosity
that gleamed at dawn, Which led me to you.
Where now is the cradle
for the pearl of the night?
How you have drifted away
I cannot know.
Birthed from sand, Foundations crumble.
Your words are carried away with the rising
Of the tides. Numbing the island in me
Leaving a mark visible only in old maps,
Which sunk the moment you left.
On the very same shore
I see you searching still.
- 13 November 2015
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC