rekenerer - Hello Poetry

i remember you like winter- untold a whistle in the heft of its dawn warm in the touch of numbing air another narrative yet to unfold i remember you like tempest- still haze and nimbus and blur neptune setting down quiet amidst the thrill akin to a morning dew sleeping on a leaf i remember you like midnight sky mirroring fragile stars gone astray beyond the compass of the pacific sweeping eyes wandering through the desert of space and time i remember you like an afternoon pouring rain running gently down my windowpane fog blearing the cracks across the looking glass another riddle yet to unravel until the last yet... still. i remember you like the summer campfire sea breeze a silver lining in the deep end that mellow tinge of red on the horizon amidst the serene azure no wind could mend i remember you like my fervid morning alarms a quiver that keeps me grounded a tune amongst the chaos that surrounds it the melody of a new day i remember you like the distant lies i tell myself that i will never be enough for somebody intensely during dark days like these i remember you. like i remember myself you remind me of a ghost feeling often swept off by thoughts that speak louder stingin spines, humming veins, that crease across your cheeks and all that is concealed under lastly- not i remember you as you are imperfect but mine.

0

Feb 14, 2021

Feb 14, 2021 at 6:26 AM UTC

an abstract memory

i remember you like winter- untold a whistle in the heft of its dawn warm in the touch of numbing air another narrative yet to unfold i remember you like tempest- still haze and nimbus and blur neptune setting down quiet amidst the thrill akin to a morning dew sleeping on a leaf i remember you like midnight sky mirroring fragile stars gone astray beyond the compass of the pacific sweeping eyes wandering through the desert of space and time i remember you like an afternoon pouring rain running gently down my windowpane fog blearing the cracks across the looking glass another riddle yet to unravel until the last yet... still. i remember you like the summer campfire sea breeze a silver lining in the deep end that mellow tinge of red on the horizon amidst the serene azure no wind could mend i remember you like my fervid morning alarms a quiver that keeps me grounded a tune amongst the chaos that surrounds it the melody of a new day i remember you like the distant lies i tell myself that i will never be enough for somebody intensely during dark days like these i remember you. like i remember myself you remind me of a ghost feeling often swept off by thoughts that speak louder stingin spines, humming veins, that crease across your cheeks and all that is concealed under lastly- not i remember you as you are imperfect but mine.

38

i want you back to **** me again perhaps this depression is better- at least i know what it is at least i know what i feel like dry acid down my throat like gold mines down my gut like a fly dead on my skin the certainty when i enhaled a mouthful of anthrax-enigma and swallowed it after screaming full full of content should i die tonight at least i knew the last feeling i had perhaps this depression is better by a hundred-fold of rotten rose petals by an extra cup of bane by a last careful blink perhaps it is perhaps it is than this feeling i will never fathom what how, why- why me again- how- again, again perhaps, it is not really what that matters perhaps, it is knowing what that leave dents certainty, i want you back to **** me again id rather die with your bare hands than these of mine smother me to death to death tonight

0

Jan 31, 2021

Jan 31, 2021 at 3:57 AM UTC

certainty

i want you back to **** me again perhaps this depression is better- at least i know what it is at least i know what i feel like dry acid down my throat like gold mines down my gut like a fly dead on my skin the certainty when i enhaled a mouthful of anthrax-enigma and swallowed it after screaming full full of content should i die tonight at least i knew the last feeling i had perhaps this depression is better by a hundred-fold of rotten rose petals by an extra cup of bane by a last careful blink perhaps it is perhaps it is than this feeling i will never fathom what how, why- why me again- how- again, again perhaps, it is not really what that matters perhaps, it is knowing what that leave dents certainty, i want you back to **** me again id rather die with your bare hands than these of mine smother me to death to death tonight

42

November is killing me, again pitch black ink whiff of a stygian crypt off me write, again. November is making me write, again same cause, same dram but a new soul- as pure as spit, foulest- drank all of it, again. November is making me drink again milk boxes of rotten denial on my porch you rang the bell preyed on me, again. November you came gently today but I deserve more than flakes of your pride masking your touch with words of half true lies.

0

Oct 10, 2020

Oct 10, 2020 at 8:21 AM UTC

Not November

November is killing me, again pitch black ink whiff of a stygian crypt off me write, again. November is making me write, again same cause, same dram but a new soul- as pure as spit, foulest- drank all of it, again. November is making me drink again milk boxes of rotten denial on my porch you rang the bell preyed on me, again. November you came gently today but I deserve more than flakes of your pride masking your touch with words of half true lies.

21

hers was a petal cannot be carried by the arms of chivalry but by the carelessness of the wind hers was a rock cannot be mended by steels of pride but by the warmth of ember fires not with a hand that cannot take hold but touch as light as the morning mist his was a cuirass promised gold now rusted alloy shed by half true lies forlorn from the battles of better men his was debonair white charming cape rustled with dirt and peril their vows forgotten All for pride was sold

0

Oct 10, 2020

Oct 10, 2020 at 7:57 AM UTC

delusions.

hers was a petal cannot be carried by the arms of chivalry but by the carelessness of the wind hers was a rock cannot be mended by steels of pride but by the warmth of ember fires not with a hand that cannot take hold but touch as light as the morning mist his was a cuirass promised gold now rusted alloy shed by half true lies forlorn from the battles of better men his was debonair white charming cape rustled with dirt and peril their vows forgotten All for pride was sold

13

here the cold creeps tonight like a thief slowly picking the locks of my cabins foresight how could i be at ease when the wind sails and the sails freeze i am. autumn sailing to the north where it all begins chilling waves come forth i am. september flinging amidst lost winds, allured had one too many but still unsure

0

Sep 28, 2020

Sep 28, 2020 at 11:58 PM UTC

Cold

here the cold creeps tonight like a thief slowly picking the locks of my cabins foresight how could i be at ease when the wind sails and the sails freeze i am. autumn sailing to the north where it all begins chilling waves come forth i am. september flinging amidst lost winds, allured had one too many but still unsure

15

This world is ran by chemicals and we are but a slave People **** because of drugs, people live because it saves. Not one of them? Fret People love because of hormones not because they're brave.

0

Feb 1, 2017

Feb 1, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC

Of a Twenty-first Century Junk

This world is ran by chemicals and we are but a slave People **** because of drugs, people live because it saves. Not one of them? Fret People love because of hormones not because they're brave.

8

and not so long later it passed not with a day nor a half merely a quarter but a blink of a name dearly spelled comes what i learn- the virtue is the refusal of sight of all shades but never that pact of white not even a tinge of the grayest gray white.

0

Feb 1, 2017

Feb 1, 2017 at 4:02 AM UTC

To the One I Forgot Who

and not so long later it passed not with a day nor a half merely a quarter but a blink of a name dearly spelled comes what i learn- the virtue is the refusal of sight of all shades but never that pact of white not even a tinge of the grayest gray white.

9

tick tack toe we were together; he kept glancing, but he never said hello. tick tack toe we never met again; weakling, it's sad to see you go.

0

Jan 18, 2017

Jan 18, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC

Cafeteria

tick tack toe we were together; he kept glancing, but he never said hello. tick tack toe we never met again; weakling, it's sad to see you go.

8

You know it's over when the scents you used to love now starts to stink. How once you adored every brief blow of air as it bled from his neck- as it drugged you like that favorite dose of ecstasy that always sent you to forbidden dimensions you never thought existed. When the touch of corrupted flesh once warm- like a dip in a hot spring in the middle of autumn now feels like an avalanche of arctic winds. And the eyes that once stared down at you with fascination and lust, now drowns you with depths of apathy. Looking back to the countless wasted midnights you both once shared and how you wrecked yourself every night in the memory of it, now you cant even remember why your heart throbbed for him in the first place.

0

Dec 24, 2016

Dec 24, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC

Cheers to the Wasted Midnights

You know it's over when the scents you used to love now starts to stink. How once you adored every brief blow of air as it bled from his neck- as it drugged you like that favorite dose of ecstasy that always sent you to forbidden dimensions you never thought existed. When the touch of corrupted flesh once warm- like a dip in a hot spring in the middle of autumn now feels like an avalanche of arctic winds. And the eyes that once stared down at you with fascination and lust, now drowns you with depths of apathy. Looking back to the countless wasted midnights you both once shared and how you wrecked yourself every night in the memory of it, now you cant even remember why your heart throbbed for him in the first place.

5

Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi. Maisusulat, halimbawa: “Ang gabi’y mabituin, at nanginginig, asul, ang mga tala sa dako pa roon.” Umiikot sa langit ang hangin ng gabi, umaawit. Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi. Siya’y inibig ko, at kung minsan ako’y inibig din niya. Sa mga gabing tulad nito, niyakap ko siyang mahigpit at hinagkan sa lilim ng walang-hanggang langit. Ako’y inibig niya, kung minsan siya’y inibig ko rin. Paanong hindi iibigin ang mga mata niyang malamlam? Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi. Isipin lang: Hindi ko siya kapiling. Nawala siya sa akin. Dinggin ang gabing malawak, mas malawak pagkat wala siya. At ang tula’y pumapatak sa diwa, parang hamog sa parang. Ano ngayon kung di siya mapangalagaan ng aking pag-ibig? Ang gabi’y mabituin, at siya’y hindi ko kapiling. Iyon lamang. Sa malayo, may umaawit. Sa malayo. Diwa ko’y hindi mapalagay sa kanyang pagkawala. Anyong lalapit ang paningin kong naghahanap sa kanya. Puso’y naghahanap sa kanya, at siya’y hindi kapiling. Ito ang dating gabing nagpaputi sa mga dating punongkahoy. Tayo, na nagmula sa panahong iyon, ay di na tulad ng dati. Hindi ko na siya iniibig, oo, pero inibig ko siyang lubos. Tinig ko’y humalik sa hangin para dumampi sa kanyang pandinig. Sa iba. Siya’y sa iba na. Tulad ng mga dati kong halik. Tinig, maningning na katawan. Mga matang walang-hanggan. Hindi ko na siya iniibig, oo, pero baka iniibig ko siya. Napakaikli ng pag-ibig, at napakabata ng paglimot. Pagkat sa mga gabing tulad nito’y yakap ko siyang mahigpit, diwa ko’y di mapalagay sa kanyang pagkawala. Ito marahil ang huling hapding ipadarama niya sa akin, at ito na marahil ang huling tulang iaalay ko sa kanya. “Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines” ni Pablo Neruda sinalin sa Filipino ni Jose Lacaba.

0

Dec 16, 2016

Dec 16, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC

Kung 'di Man

Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi. Maisusulat, halimbawa: “Ang gabi’y mabituin, at nanginginig, asul, ang mga tala sa dako pa roon.” Umiikot sa langit ang hangin ng gabi, umaawit. Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi. Siya’y inibig ko, at kung minsan ako’y inibig din niya. Sa mga gabing tulad nito, niyakap ko siyang mahigpit at hinagkan sa lilim ng walang-hanggang langit. Ako’y inibig niya, kung minsan siya’y inibig ko rin. Paanong hindi iibigin ang mga mata niyang malamlam? Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi. Isipin lang: Hindi ko siya kapiling. Nawala siya sa akin. Dinggin ang gabing malawak, mas malawak pagkat wala siya. At ang tula’y pumapatak sa diwa, parang hamog sa parang. Ano ngayon kung di siya mapangalagaan ng aking pag-ibig? Ang gabi’y mabituin, at siya’y hindi ko kapiling. Iyon lamang. Sa malayo, may umaawit. Sa malayo. Diwa ko’y hindi mapalagay sa kanyang pagkawala. Anyong lalapit ang paningin kong naghahanap sa kanya. Puso’y naghahanap sa kanya, at siya’y hindi kapiling. Ito ang dating gabing nagpaputi sa mga dating punongkahoy. Tayo, na nagmula sa panahong iyon, ay di na tulad ng dati. Hindi ko na siya iniibig, oo, pero inibig ko siyang lubos. Tinig ko’y humalik sa hangin para dumampi sa kanyang pandinig. Sa iba. Siya’y sa iba na. Tulad ng mga dati kong halik. Tinig, maningning na katawan. Mga matang walang-hanggan. Hindi ko na siya iniibig, oo, pero baka iniibig ko siya. Napakaikli ng pag-ibig, at napakabata ng paglimot. Pagkat sa mga gabing tulad nito’y yakap ko siyang mahigpit, diwa ko’y di mapalagay sa kanyang pagkawala. Ito marahil ang huling hapding ipadarama niya sa akin, at ito na marahil ang huling tulang iaalay ko sa kanya. “Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines” ni Pablo Neruda sinalin sa Filipino ni Jose Lacaba.

43