My head
                                                   is a graveyard
             full of echoes
                                         of dreams
                                                          ­            of memories
                       of days long gone

Rainy days
Make the world smoother
Breathing easier
And my head clearer

Rainy days
Are a tranquilness
And contentedness
Anxiety competing with perfect silence

Rainy days
Oil the machine called life
Sanding off the rough edges of strife
Halting the reaper's ever-impending scythe

Rainy days
Are a gently cozy reprieve
So when the sun comes, please believe
This lost bastion of peace I shall grieve

Today was a quiet day
The first in awhile
I slept a long, dreamless
Shapeless sleep
And was not roused by panic
Nor need
Hardly a word was spoken
Or a face recognized
And I felt profoundly alone
As I retreated into
My beloved solitude
-
Goodnight, my dear quiet day
May we meet again
In some extraordinary way

Hindi ko alam paano ko to sisimulan
Pero bawat gabi ako ay nadadatnan
Sa tanong na laging dumadaan
Dito sa sarili kong sugatan

Pero ang tanong na ito,
Ang laging nagpapahinto
Sa kasayahan kong di aabut nang minuto
Sa pag iisip ko, sino nga ba ako?

Napapaisip ako gabi gabi
Kung saan nga ba ako magsisisi
Ang hindi pag hanap sa katanungan kong tangi?
O balang araw malaman kong ano nga ba akung klase..

Ang mundung ito na malawak
Ay napakaraming tanong na hawak
Iba, mga kababalaghang di tiyak
Nasa kanila ba ang sagot kong tiyak?

Ano nga ba ako dito sa mundo
mag-aaral? anak? Kaibigan? Bestfriend? kalaro? Classmate? O Baka naman isang tagapayo
O baka wala lang talaga ako
Dito sa mundong tinitirhan ko

Baka isa lang akung extra?
Sa buhay ng iba,
Na mahalaga lang pag may problema
At wala nang kwenta pag lahat masaya

Baka nga ganon lang talaga ako
Dito sa mundong tinitirhan ko
Pero minsan sinasabi ko
Baka mahanap ko ang sagot ko dito

Sagot nang isang tanong ko
Sino nga ba talaga ako?

You can pretend
That the black gloss
On my lashes
Will glue my eyes shut-
Make me blind to truth;
To ‘true knowledge.’
Go ahead.
Tell yourself
That my red-painted lips
Only spout nonsense.
It will only make it sweeter
When my wing-lined eyes
Give you whiplash
as I walk past you
To get my degree;
My award;
My paycheck.
Maybe if you’re ‘nice’
I’ll buy you an ice pack.

being a poet is not planned

~for Gabriella Garcia~

~~

a sixteen old soul says she understands,
being a poet is not planned,
forcing an old mans re-collection of the first time,
he made love to a virginal white
papyrus with muscles trembling,
body bent, chest bursting a rockets red glaring,
eyes marking the sheets with salty drip spots

what possessed the wrist veins
to wrest a cheap ballpoint pen to transfuse pain,
in a semaphore of uncoded ink blotches,
what was he thinking

was he thinking?

that it was an ejection
that it was an *******
that it was a tribulation expiation
that it was a tribute explanation?

that it was an injection
that it was a circumspection inspection
that it was a circumscision surgery of emotional complexion
excising an infection with a written genuflection?

try, but no might, the first is subsumed
by the thousands that followed dutifully
though his one poem  flawless, expertly recalled,
it will always be the next,
and unplanned just like this one too

who anointed his brow, the hair and forehead,
with oil pure, dripping down onto, into his cut cain marker,
who is not answering a query relentless
is this his plan, his appointment,
is this his flawed excellence,
is this his imperfect penance perpetual?

knowing well and full
now

the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloraturas

~~

upon this he reflects,
praying that
god protect the
young poets
from planning
____
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2893127/unplanned