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Bb Maria Klara Jun 2015
It seems as though I no longer conceal,
the things and nothings that I feel.
I comprehend not if these be real
not if such things I can with deal.
How strange my heart was quick a steal,
and I at a loss of strength and zeal.
The blanketing warmth seems so surreal
Unserene sensations make me their meal.
I once thought my affections were steel,
but strong thick layer perfectly feel
to your way of breaking my solitude seal,
my sentiments sway, so such they kneel.
Written on the Fourth of March this year, this poem had me spitting out my emotions like a heartsick adolescent. Well, I am only 17. Basically a bunch of puppy love feels... it is my first time writing a poem with a single rhyme though.
Bb Maria Klara Oct 2015
This is an era when men should think more than thrice,
of who should be president, who should be vice.
No candidate seems to be the right kind of nice,
and none seem to speak of any other than lies.

Should someone be righteous, it's them who don't run.
We just wish their rightness does see the sun.
However, some votes are rather triggered by guns
without thinking posterity, of daughters and sons.

It's quite dense to seek the usage of standard,
not all people out there are graduates of Harvard;
but using common sense isn't at all that hard,
and yet it's all nonsense on dire voting cards.

We might all have minds, but not all are used.
Eventually, all voting just ends up confused.
The persuasion of currency is always abused,
the one with most pocket is sadly most choosed.

In the end there is no one who will take the blame,
especially when country's all burrowed in shame.
The dilemma is cyclic, it's always the same.
Come to think of it, it's terribly lame.

It's not just the country, but the world that's gone lazy
of monarchies, parliaments, and democrazy.
At this rate, all futures are too **** hazy,
'specially thanks to human hypocrisy.

Power has been there, some killed for, some ****.
Presently, it's the most useless of thrills.
*Let me say this, heed me if you will,
Triumphs not who is good, but the less of two evils.
Well, this is something I don't write about all the time, but it's that time of the decade again.
Bb Maria Klara Jan 2015
A thousand what ifs, a thousand one years.
A thousand beliefs, a thousand one fears.
A thousand what ifs, to thousands of ears.
A thousand mischiefs, to the heart waiting here.

People know darkest is before sunrise.
But with these what ifs, it's darker than dark.
A thousand what ifs and a thousand one sighs.
What if my hoped flame was merely a spark.

A thousand what ifs, should I try to listen
And think and ponder and even consider,
A thousand more chances in my eyes glisten
A withering hope or a shot of wonder.

And thousands of ways, I could hope to die,
Or live, or feel, or end or begin.
And thousands of times, maybe I'd lie
To think that it's real or too good a sin.

A thousand and more, should the truth be told,
I've thought of and given too much my thoughts.
A thousand less more, it was never gold,
Maybe I never knew what I wanted sought.

People say darkest is before sunrise,
For you I decided to live in the dark.
Maybe I like how I lived a lie,
Or truth, whatever, you've made your mark.
This was written sometime last year, I believe. Even I'm surprised by this now. I just told myself "What the hell did I just write?" I loathe how I can be overly sentimental at times.
Bb Maria Klara Mar 2020
It's one thing to be known for, though it won't last forever.
This thing they say lies in the eye of the beholder.
And yet I see it not when I stand before a mirror,
what about my visage sends crowds into a fever.

Have I been reduced to nothing but just a fine face:
a pretty thing to look at in a crowded place?
Embraced by the darkness of an unholy grace,
I'm no more than a gem floating about in space.

What value is left for what's solely coveted
when tasted by many and left undefended?
When hope is a drug for one who's pretended
for so long that it's alright once it's ended,

Is there worth in what's empty? A hollow shell?
After heaving and spewing hot tears from hell.
But as long as I'm pretty, it will all be well.
As long as there's beauty and physique to sell.

There is pain in ignoring the words they say.
Nothing more than "you look beautiful today."
Nothing more than the contagion in the way
they say my smile can brighten up a day.

Yet with where I am now, I just wish I weren't
gorgeous, pretty, or lovely, a nice looking ****.
Maybe if good-looking was something I wasn't,
I wouldn't be hurting, feeling spent or burnt.

Will I spend my whole life running from hands
who only want to touch me and feel me up grand?
Only to run to hands who will be nice and
not leave me crawling in the gravel and sand?

Words and rhymes are valueless as my plea,
if it isn't something on my face all can see.
Though my heart is as vast and as deep as the sea,
It's the last thought of anyone who looks at me.
Long story short, here's a blurb after getting sexually harassed at work.
Bb Maria Klara Feb 2015
The best of logicians make the worst of lovers,
They do not believe in four-leaved clovers
Logicians know what's done is over
Lovers in love-drunkenness don't often think sober.

Logic is a thing of "the free men".
And lovers are not free especially when
They are chained to emotion and even then,
Love lets them fly free over tall feet ten.

When love set's you free, you cannot be caught
In so deep, haunting, immersing right thought.
When logic makes you free, love does not.
When love makes you fly, logic does naught.

There's no middle ground, there's no in between.
Only one or the other, only one could have been.
Tis a truth that only I might have seen,
So deep for someone who's merely a teen.

To concur, I say that even I don't know
Of on which side I would dare go.
I could have both, maybe, although,
Only one will reign a worthy glow.
Written 2/6/2015, the date of a major quiz in my logic subject. Written on a whim in the middle of my reviewing an hour prior to the quiz. I cannot say I am sure of what I've written now, but, I don't think that's important anymore.
Bb Maria Klara Jan 2015
It doesn't hurt to dream at all
That you would answer my heart's call.

It doesn't hurt to sometime think
That you make my self tickled pink.

It doesn't hurt to have hope that
My heart is where your love is at.

It doesn't hurt to maybe know
That I, too, make your senses glow

It doesn't hurt to become sore
The feel, thought of you and much more.

It doesn't hurt: give into dreams
defying truth for what it seems

It doesn't hurt to often sigh
for daydreams about you and I

It doesn't hurt--that I just lied
Without you, I have always died;

It doesn't hurt-- I love you now,
But you don't see it, anyhow.

It doesn't hurt, I swear to God.
And fairly, I am truly awed.

It doesn't hurt, but yes it does.
But for you I'd say I have just cause.
Longer than my usual poems, I felt the emotions are relayed best this way. I don't write about this often, even I am surprised. I believe everyone has come to that point... Love causing pain. Have no love at all, you feel empty; have too much love at all, you feel sore.
Bb Maria Klara Dec 2014
Were there things of I scarcely write,
Flesh-bound secrets: my darkest plight.
Unaided heat and aching skin,
A howling instinct come from within.

Such carnal longings... my guiltless crime
But none do know my mind sublime.
Left to myself, I twist and turn,
Frustrated flames in which I burn.

I feel the madness course through my veins.
I pull my hair; frustration reigns.
From my bit lip and furrowed brow,
Aroused, I ask myself "how now?"

In vast bedchambers, I lay alone.
My mind basking in depths unknown.
My toes curl tight and nails dig deep
for nowhere will my wetness seep.

I groan quite softly, left unappeased.
Such torment stands eternal tease.
Just one is tangled in pillows and sheets,
Trembling of wanting and unshared heat.

All over my skin the goose-bumps rise.
Perhaps a beast you'll find in my eyes.
What secrets be there in my physique,
Hidden within an element mystique.
Written sometime February 2014.
This may or may or may not have been my state at some point in time.(What fun would it have been if I said so?)
Bb Maria Klara Jan 2015
Hey there my dear,
It's been like a "year".
And yet I am here
Trying not to shed tears.

About that mistake
you thought it was fake
But then it did take
your one life and sake.

I recall that time
That afternoon chime
I heard that a crime
was your death's grime.

Oh, could you believe
How your mama grieved–
That it has been thieved;
That your life had leaved?

And then there's your father...
No one could cry greater.
You said "See you later."
But later was never.

Your sister was weeping
with each step she's taking
each closer she's getting
your record of dying.

Your brother looks for you,
and he's asking me too
Why we're all so blue.
We can't tell him what's true.

I can't accept this,
After all you promised
After that last kiss,
I'll remember in bliss.

I can't accept that...
you're gone. It's fact
Us all (and your cat),
Hope heaven's where you're at.

I can't blame your choice,
I could not stop your voice.
You were with the boys,
But you were just their toy.

A first it was fun,
You thought you were one.
A brother; yet when done
No longer saw the sun.

You prayed you would last,
But that time had past,
Fate's vote had been cast.
Frat had you harassed.

It just was not fair,
I can feel your lost air:
That you died in a chair,
And they pulled your hair

They had you in a daze,
planned to have you a craze
You died into a haze,
Big mistake: the frat maze.

See the bruises they made,
None of them were your aid
You prayed you don't fade,
I prayed you just stayed.

But you left anyway,
and without further a say
Frat took your life away
on a cold winter day.

Battered flesh, broken bone.
Altogether, alone.
That call on the phone,
Hung a chilling sad tone.

And again, they did tell
That you badly swelled.
That nothing went well,
That into death you fell.

I'm not moving on...
you're're gone.
But your frat went on.
and on and on.
This is a purely fiction work. I didn't lose anyone in my life to hazing, no; I'm hoping not ever to. I watched a documentary about it and seeing all those relatives suffer due to the false fraternity fad, I just thought of this. I sort of put myself in their shoes.

And yeah, this is a poem much much longer than the sort I often craft. Even I'm surprised by it. The lines were short, but the poem in general was wrong. I hope it is still alright though.
Bb Maria Klara Aug 2019
There were ten adorable dogs at the dog cafe,
the one you took me to on my official last day.
From there we planned on our would have been first adoption.
Little did I know I would only mean to you an option.

The size of the pair of ballet flats you bought me,
As I needed a good set to walk to work (and you) daily.
You also made sure that they fit nice on my feet,
and yet here we are now, at circumstances' defeat.

Were the short weeks from our beginning to our end,
I was hopeful, as you said there was nothing that could bend
Our dedication but it turns out it was just on my side
As my photos and faces were deleted as you decide.

Here was the floor that had started it all.
The elevation from which I had jumped and fall.
From where you also found the next best thing,
and, love, now you'll never know the greatest I could bring.

Were the places and locations that meant most,
from my joy at conventions to our intimacy hosts,
I may never walk through them the same way again
But you'll never be there again with an absolute ten.

I had five trips without you, but you were carried in my heart
though, admittedly, it wasn't the plan from the start.
But from here on out, my path is surely without you
Yet at times I would wonder if you'd think of me too.

Names of good people, who you and I let down
at the beginning and the end, thought of us with a frown.
Finn, Casey, Gayle, Blake... They hoped only the best.
They once rooted for us, darling, but now only detest.

Three words that were never simply said as is,
but shared in a language I shared to you with bliss.
Despite this, I'll know I'll probably care forever.
Though many still tell me I should have loved you never.

I know now that you breathe with both lungs for another,
and hold tight, with your two arms, some other lover.
I'm certain that with your two eyes you would see,
You've got two hearts as well, yours and the one from me.

There was only one us, one you, and only one I.
Looking back at our history, I could happily sigh.
I have only one life, one I'd prefer not to waste.
Now after you, I think I've got much better taste.
Nothing like a good heartbreak to write up an amazing poem, yes? I feel proud of myself for finally finishing this piece. I've had this idea for a month now. When I first drafted it, I couldn't think about it without crying, but now the final edit seems so satisfactory.
Bb Maria Klara Feb 2015
I met an angel in church today,
With a heavy heart I sought its eyes.
Somehow it pierced me in every way:
My shattered soul and scornful sighs.
I asked, half teary, half mad and weary,
to it's stone face, marble visage;
Why did just living need be so scary,
Life but a sorry and sober scrimmage?
I begged the angel, still wings and all,
to save me one day, if it could do.
Though I, as human, run short of gall,
Lose hope, and end up praying too.
I met an angel in church today,
Don't know if it heard what I had to say.
About time I posted a Shakespearean Sonnet. This was prompted by the cliche moment of almost crying in a church.
Bb Maria Klara Dec 2014
I refuse to sink;
I refuse to falter;
I defy to blink,
In reality unaltered.

I refuse to fall;
I refuse to crumble;
I will stand tall
Right after I stumble.

I refuse to fail;
I refuse to not win;
I will myself hail,
whatever I have been.

I refuse to in give;
I refuse to let die;
I am to live
With all that I try.

I refuse to dim;
I refuse to go do gown;
I will be the steam
That powers this town.

I refuse to flee;
I refuse to abort;
I, one day, will see
my vengeance retort.

I refuse to sit;
I refuse to fall flat;
I will the top hit
and become all that.

I refuse to fold;
I refuse to blunder;
I shall one day hold
For what I one wandered.

I refuse to sink;
I refuse to falter.
I know what I think:
My future I'll alter.
Written September 12, 2014
It is highly repetitive, but I suppose it was the best motivating way to go about not giving up.
Ikaw ay isang pambihirang hika
na hindi mailarawan sa anumang wika;
Ang pagnais sayo ay tulad ng ubo,
Sa pagsikip ng dibdib ikaw ay tumubo.

Ang pagtanging naganap ay bukod tangi at
mainit, tila isang pagsibol ng lagnat.
Pangalan mo ay pahirap sa aking lalamunan
daig pa likidong apoy sa matinding inuman.

Tila ako'y nawalan ng panlasa,
sapagkat napaibig sa irog ng masa.
Na-abisuhan man lamang sa idudulot na sakit
ng hamak at panandaliang pagkaakit.

Walang manggagamot ang nakakilala sa kaso
nitong nakakawalang-hiyang trangkaso.
Walang mabuting dinulot sa katawan:
sinumpaang pangangailangan lamang ng laman.

Nawa'y ang pagkalalin ay hindi nakahahawa
sapagkat sa ngayo'y mag-isang tumatawa
dahil sa pagtangkilik lamang ng mga alaala.
(Isa sa mga sintomas na talagang lumala.)

Sa kabila ng pagkilala na ito'y sakit lamang sa ulo;
ipinatili hanggang sa luha ay tumutulo.
Itinuloy ang pananabik sa tuwina,
kunwari ang gawain ay ligtas na bitamina.

Ang ibubunga ay malalaman lamang sa wakas
kung sasapat pa ba ang natitirang lakas
upang sugpuin ang delikadong damdamin
at ang sariling katinuan ay panatiliin.

Sa kabila nga ba ng mga dinanas,
may matatagpuan bang ganap na lunas?
Upang lahat ng aspeto'y manatiling malusog
at sa karapat-dapat na lamang ang loob ay mahulog?

Masakit na uri ng pangangalaga,
ang payapang makakamit ay mahalaga.
Wala lamang ito sa sapat na distansya;
kailangan rin ang pagpaparaya.
2019 was the year of the heartbreak that I thought was going to **** me. 2020 was the year of the virus I thought was going to **** me. 2021 cannot POSSIBLY be worse; this is me synthesizing both killer life experiences thanks
Bb Maria Klara Feb 2015
No longer news, to hear men die
For powerful *******'s battle-cry.
Where are the people who ask "why?"
Among the many who simply sigh.

Not at all fair, to beg world's change.
While not accepting our puny range.
We may be people, but we are strange.
To wish to give nothing in exchange.

No right at all in giving ears
To men who've theived us all these years.
Powers and businesses have their cheers
Unminding the abandoned and the queers.

Nonsense, our nature to tolerate lies
Just beautiful to fool ignorant eyes.
How cruel must it be for reality's spies
To expose ugly truth all men despise.

Not theirs to solve, but whoever is next,
To make things right, to check from X.
But youth today, they delve in ***!
(not kidding, not jesting, not even a vex)

Not that we are doomed, this say I
As I watch my world blunder by.
With these mere words, maybe I'd try.
To reach out, maybe. I can't just sigh.

Never will I feel so great,
To live on a planet thriving on hate.
Economies failing, having no rate?
Someday nothing will be on men's plate.

Nothing but war, and negative
Aspects and things on which to live.
What is there to blame? Admistrative,
Judicial branch or Executive?

***** humanity, we'll all lose faith.
Right now I see the future's wraith.
This wound we can no longer swathe,
A filth we can no longer bathe.

No one can move, I change my mind.
Even my own hopes I can't find.
Show to the deaf and yell to the blind!
We are all part of an ill-starred grind.
This poem, I wrote nearing midnight. A start of another day down. Like that's relevant. It's long, I know, but there's still more to say and we all know it. Where is humanity going as a species anyway? I can't be the only one filled with rage and disappointment in the human race, right?
Bb Maria Klara Dec 2014
I said "I've had enough", you didn't hear me.
Right now, it's too late. It's too late for you clearly.
No life is left for you, and I've got no rue,
There's no way I'll ever feel blueful for you.

You have bones that crushed, some were just broken.
The sound of neck snapping? It is truly golden.
Blood that was dried up, and blood that was dripping.
Oh my my my, I was not even tripping.

Your skin would make a mighty mighty fine gown.
After all this time of you putting me down.
I do want to **** you, no questions asked.
Let me have my moment of brutal bloodbath.

I think your teeth would make fine accessory.
Again, no, I will not be ever be sorry.
I'll stop when there is no more fluid in you:
Saliva, blood, sweat and maybe *** too.

Now this seems unlikely of someone my age.
Yet maybe you weren't warned of what fits my rage.
And maybe, just maybe, it is your own fault,
For flaunting too much until I've lost my gall.

Perhaps I will tear you, your sad flesh apart.
Watch 'til it stops in my hand, your beating heart.
You and I both human, I wish to live longer.
I wonder if you look pretty hanging from the rafter.

Ending you swiftly won't be all that fun.
Slicing you with knife or shooting with gun.
Maybe I'll make art, creative, intricate.
Maybe you got no guard up, check and mate.

And this question lies: Where my sweetness went?
Well I'll say this is the furore years spent.
Let me bite my lip, appease bloodlust call.
I present my masterpiece: ****** in the hall.
November 5, 2014
Written to quench vengeful thirst, was on a whim. My need to write it came to making up words and vulgarity. My apologies
Bb Maria Klara Mar 2015
Love me. Praise me. Fear losing me.
Tell me, if not else, that I am all you see.
Crave me. Want me, forever and always.
Make me feel important in all your able ways.
Seek me in your sleepless hours of night
or moments of bliss or tormentous plight.
Journey the roughest or smoothest of roads
Share with me, always, all of my loads.
For sometimes, I'll be right, and seldom be wrong
But still I want to be your heart's only song.
Despite subtle danger, you must be beside
Me; stay with me, my love, wherever I hide.
Remind me so often, how much me you love
As though I'm a blessing from heaven above

*For you are my blessing from heaven above.
I'll remind you, so often, how much you I love.
I'll stay with you, my love, wherever you hide.
Despite subtle danger, I must be beside,
You, who I want, you are my heart's only song.
Though sometimes you'll be right, or seldom be wrong.
I'll share with you, always, all of your loads;
Journey the roughest and smoothest of roads.
In moments of bliss and tormentous plight,
I seek you even in my hours of night.
You are so important, I show you this way.
I crave you. I want you, forever and always.
I tell you, if not else, you are all I see.
I love you. I praise you. I so fear losing you.
I just got in touch with my inner hopeless romantic. I'm hoping this poem will be the first and last whim of it.
Bb Maria Klara Jun 2015
It is a curse, to feel so ******.
When love’s salvation is a fail planned;
When even at best, all is not enough,
there is no way to still be though.
When your strength attacks your weak-
ness and fear the hurt so refuse to speak,
wrap it in riddles and locks and questions,
bundle the worry in subtle depressions,
Carry it lightly, as though it a babe,
break not the fragile, make it be save.
And pray really hard it repairs itself,
so whole and displayed on a shelf.

A shattered pride, I do not mind,
I just now hope that I do find,
the courage to pick up the shattered pieces,
by emotional maladies, sentimental diseases.
How do I begin to try and heal,
after being struck at Achilles’ heel?
It’s what I can’t admit, feeling so pierced,
by one I had hoped to have me blissed.
A careful thing, to hide the hurt,
hide bleeding scars beneath a skirt.
all so quickly, down it falls.
my heart feels vacant, hollow halls.

but shallow, but true,
holding unreasoned rue.
emotional sighs, and the best of my lies.
to disguise and hide my bitterly cries.
a pathetic thing, to fear and self hate
the failure to entirely captivate.
The desire to be the center of the world,
too much for a pretty but stupid girl.
Perhaps it’s what makes me not at all enough.
possessiveness over the worsest of stuff.
but as I tell anyone, I don’t know if I care.
because trying is all that I could even dare.
Bb Maria Klara Nov 2015
I sat there and saw you at the dinner table.
To speak up, I couldn't. To get up, wasn't able.
But now if I tell you, it's not like you would listen...
Right now it is hell, not our usual heaven.

But you won't understand, even if I tried,
Even if my eyes dried from the hours I've cried.
I hoped that you would have been instead so gentle,
But now I feel broken, into pieces unsimple.

But I'll take the heat, from your offense so brash...
'Til burns can't be cooled by my tears and a splash;
And I do not know if you'll ever understand.
To be safe, I'll just do whatever you command.

Just like how I sat there, involuntarily froze.
I'll take my place with you, forget what I know;
Just like how I took it to myself not to cry,
I'd rather live with you than I'd want to die.

I'll take the nights tossing and turning in sheets,
Accepting my losses and suffering defeat.
I'll no longer move the way I used to...
I'll paralyze myself, like that night, for you.

Except this time it won't be fear or surprise,
It will be the product of too much from my eyes.
I'll choose to be with you, just how you like it.
Til death do us part, in the heartaches of it.
It's never too early or late to walk away from a potential life sentence.
Bb Maria Klara Jan 2015
Studying, hear them?
Students dying.
Losing more than the gained knowledge.

Madness, coming
quicker than light.
horrid torrents of things to learn fast.

Lectures, pointless.
No actual skill.
Where's x and why for the speed limit.

Teachers, idle.
Just talk and talk
and talk and talk and talk and talk.

Students, worried
of what to do next.
They learned nothing since school system *****.

Grades, so cruel
but merely so little.
A way too important letter or number.

Lesson, learned.
If you want to die.
Do the student's way. Stu-Dying.
How many students out there relate, I wonder.
Bb Maria Klara Mar 2015
Why worthy wonderer, whispers no words
About fleeting feelings falling featherlike,
Better than bickerings boasted about
Sweeter than sugary surreality.

Truly a challenge to change nonchalant
Thoughts and then think so thoroughly that
At once and all over; obviously, we ought
To learn love in life like a listening lot.

Say, sharper than a sparkling star-filled sky,
Simply, I sigh seeing sight of your eyes.
Proven so purely precious prized promise,
Marvelous mystery making me most meek.

And although all acts are always adored,
No one knows nothing nor never alone.
Really, rough loving rivets writing wrists,
Yet you, I yearn you, yes, your yearning of me.

How had my heart helplessly heed no hails,
Empty of every eager everything?
It is indescribable, indefinite, infinite.
We would be the world's wishfulwise wonder.

Come clean, conclude, close calmly this cast.
Admit all affections are ardent and awe.
Truth telling ties tongues too tight to twist--
Here, have my heart, hear hopes howling hell.
I always had the thoughts of writing a poem entitled "Amazing Alliteration" or "Annoying Assonance" or both because I was really fond of it. Now I have a sort of masterpiece for it and it isn't what I entitled. I do not know if I should. Anyhow, I cannot exactly say what this poem is about: love, perhaps, most likely. When you are in love, things are bound to be sweeter than surreality.
Bb Maria Klara Apr 2015
How strange it seems for one to see
at once all that they’re meant to be.

Unlike the man who wanted flee
by death. “To be or not to be?”

Perhaps now do I ask to thee:
How is it to live and to be?

Not to the immobilized tree,
that knows of nothing how to be;

Perhaps ask not the humble bee,
A bee is all it is to be.

Oh! Our knowledge is like a flee,
which is a tiny thing to be.

Or is it like the deep blue sea,
A vast blue strange odd thing to be?

The strangest thing: the stranger’s plea,
asking on if we are to be

more than this. Is the question key
to knowing what one is to be?

Oh let it be, I say to me.
What you will be, you are to be.
I was actually informed that this was not a ghazal. It rather disturbed me, but I suppose it will pass as a flawed one? This was prompted by Shakespeare's Hamlet as it was the class study at the time (March of 2013). It has been posted on Tumblr for quite some time but I believe it deserves a share here. I hope it delivers.
Bb Maria Klara Jan 2015
He was sleepless that night, the buffoon
Who questioned himself if he was a loon,
For he desired so deeply to compose a tune
Inspired by the darling moon;
Similar to those who died so soon,
Immortalized all by fading rune.

Across his desk, did lay the rune
interpreted by this buffoon.
He realizes in it far too soon,
That he was like the other loon
Who fell in love with the lovely moon
And also wrote a rhythmic tune.

He began to hum his heart's humble tune
And began inscribing his personal rune,
praying that he'll be loved by the moon.
He is quite a fool, this valiant buffoon;
For he never did care if he was a loon
And either if he would be gone all too soon.

Seemingly, somehow, so soon was soon.
The buffoon had sung his final tune.
There goes the buffoon who was a loon.
He lands on the pavement, made it his rune.
That was the end of this loving buffoon,
Who jumped off, thinking of flight to the moon.

There hangs the modeled, magnificent moon,
That was never too early nor never too soon,
That was died for by our busted buffoon,
That had been dedicated several tunes,
That had been depicted in plentiful runes,
That turns gentlemen to lunatic loons.

Tonight was the night of demise of the loon.
of the man who died for the love of the moon.
The moon's loon becomes part of the runes
of men who loved Luna yet died too soon,
of men who serenaded Luna with their tune,
of men who we may call "buffoon."

The loon became rune far too soon,
The loon who wanted to be of the moon.
He sleeps at last, the late buffoon.
Written 1st of March 2013. "The Loon of the Moon" was the first sestina I have written. I believe there is an error in the form of the last stanza, and I have always been tempted to correct it. In the end, however, I decided to leave it as it is. Poetry needs not be perfect.
Bb Maria Klara Sep 2015
I give you my way past midnight tears,
My likes and loves, my hopes and fears.

I give you my wildest moans and screams,
and most surreal hopeful dreams.

I give you more than my supply
of smiles to share and drops to cry.

I give you all there is to me:
The flaws and not flaws that you see.

I give you my tortured, broken mind,
perhaps 'twas pretty at first find.

I give you my weaknesses and strengths,
and the loves I swear of unending lengths.

I give you my joys as well as my sorrows,
the reasons why I hope of better tomorrows.

I give you and just you more than what I am.
Should I lose my mind I would not give a ****.

I give you the things that might make me perfect,
and also the mean things my devils reflect.

I give you my brightness and darkness as well,
and all I can give you, more than I can tell.

I give you your needs so that you would stay
and simply be with me each and every day.

I give you my body, my soul, my love,
hoping I'm something you won't dispose of.

I give you my life, freedom, and heart;
and all things I can't say in this way of art.

I give you my past, my present, my future.
Everything for you, my dear paramour.

I give you all it will take to convince,
that you are my love, my master, my prince.

I give you what I hope will be enough,
though I fall apart when times get rough.

I give you everything, my sun and stars:
The old and the new of my heart's battle scars.
This was written 8/20/2015. Minor revisions upon posting. I struggled, because I read the stanzas from bottom to top and I could not decide whether which way was better. I'm just going to stick close to how it was written as an emotional wasteland on my bedroom floor.
It's divinely inscribed that loving means patience
and kindness, honesty, humility, and hope:
Most things that are lacking in my personnel essence,
a setback tying me down like a rope.
Now the challenge arises, to tread a new pace.
Take the road less traveled, unlearn what I knew.
As for weakness written well all over my face,
I'm not only hopeful, I'm horrified too.
To watch things unfold to the slow beat of my heart,
see things as they are instead of how it might be;
and though I am eager to see the next part,
I revel in the unrushed, gentle moments of happy.
Because good things come to all those who wait;
I know that one day, it will surely be great.
I haven't written a sonnet in forever, but this one came to me with ease. Consistency in things have been painfully absent in my life, but one can definitely be surprised about which things last when supported with the right amount of work.
Bb Maria Klara Aug 2020
It all began with a simple search for a cure.
But tomorrow is filled with fear for sure
Crocodiles and snakes will now need to lure--
Who will go to jail next to keep the nation “secure”?

The Filipino ferocity is finely defined.
We will always fight until the end of the line.
For the justice, we’ll charge then add a finel
Everything that has started, finds an end in design.

What would the past “terrorist” Jose Rizal say
If he knew the elected far from duty astray?
Would he join the gagging nation in this age and day
For rights and freedoms nabbed like thieves all the way?

Politicians aren’t gods to be expected of mercy.
So we’ll do all the work and then make them see.
Do they witness and laugh, lay back, take it easy?
Are their souls still present or just absentee?

Do they not hear all the people who sing
In the Kawit-like pride at independence’s first ring?
Where now is the candidate who won by promising
That he’ll be fine in hell if we were paradise-living?

Everyone who was chained will meet freedom too.
Just so if peace was the goal, real and true.
Won’t stand anymore for a sky in dark hue.
There’s a change coming in the way the wind blew.

Don’t walk away, and keep your eyes open.
Listen to what was spoken, read up on what is written.
History will remember all our actions taken,
If to God, people, or nation, your loyalty was given.
This is the most direct translation of the poem "Ano Na?" Which I've written in Tagalog. This piece was written from a deep place of anger and disappointment in newly "improved" Human Security Act of 2007, and the methods the administration of my country has executed in response to the COVID-19 pandemic. The original Filipino version of this piece is set to be published on Panday Sining's Karatula VI.
Bb Maria Klara Apr 2020
It took valor to deal with what the water gave me.
It took grit to jump and fall into the sea.
Though at loss of my bearings, I have no regrets,
for what little comes of it, it is still the best.

What the water gave me struggles, as I am the storm.
But water is complacent, and takes whatever form.
There's not a lot I won't give to live life with a tail,
chase this high 'cross the ocean with a fragile sail.

What the water gave me came through and overflowed.
The current rushed in too quickly, I can't pay what is owed.
It was never a sin to ride the waves of your emotions,
but fear the undertow and surf only with all of the cautions.

What the water gave me was the white whale to my Ahab.
The difference is I can't give what I don't think I have.
So it comes back to me, the pointed end of harpoon.
Like a paradox tale, everything was "too soon".

What the water gave me ever slips through my fingers.
Either way, best let go 'cause it's harmful to linger.
Like a sailor fallen prey to a mermaid's last song,
one can only wonder where it will all go wrong.

What the water gave me is a treasure I hold dear,
the best dream, strongest vision, my weakness and fear.
It is love and compassion, everything I wish I could be.
All this time, it was you who the water gave me.
For William
Bb Maria Klara Jan 2015
Here is something I might not ever say,
but something sitting in my mind everyday.
How could I have done it in so many ways?
And end up so tragic like Shakespearean play?

I might be a saint to tell that I love you,
When you aren't listening or taking the clue.
Lately I find myself huddled in rue
and regrets and shades of the color blue.

I think it was obvious in other things said,
in how you're the one making me not want dead.
I hoped you'd catch on when I'd say go ahead,
telling me of your worries before I lay in bed.

I loathe it now how I never told you straight
but now feel so rushed that my words are too late.
If I wasn't anyway, then that would be great;
but if I am, I don't think I can clean my slate.

I love you, I have and I always will.
It's too late to think that this feeling I'd ****.
I fear that to say so, I needed this skill--
I'm too **** adept and it's barely got thrill.

Strange how I need to voice this out in rhyme,
but not to you directly, I've left that sublime.
We've had so much minutes, hours and time,
I don't know if this can get any more prime.

When you just don't hear me, I told you the truth.
That my heart was yours forever; forsooth
and it's in our nature, to make errors of youth.
But we're ahead of our age, reality's sleuth.

Maybe you won't read this, I won't be surprised.
But for my sake I've written, and gone undisguised.
My sentiments for thee have been compromised.
Once more I could love you before my demise.
Love's a *****. I'm working out the kinks of telling the truth and coming clean about it. I'm too young to be stressed about it, but C'est la vie. The heart wants what it wants; there's no way you're leashing and chaining it from what it craves.
Bb Maria Klara Feb 2015
I told you yesterday what my new motto was.
I said "Who dares, wins" and that is because
One wins because they bravely dared,
But then I realized what should have cared.

I dared to love you, but am I to win?
For you do not seem to let anyone in.
I still dare to love you, but now I do doubt,
you will not love me the I way I thought it out.

To love me, I dare you on a daily basis
Don't mind me, fine, leave me to this crisis.
You'd win me, my body, my mind and my heart.
Dare love me, you'll win more than wordy art.

I still dare to love you, to win I await.
While learning to myself bathe in hate.
I dare myself to stay and love anyway,
give at least some reason to rise everyday.

I dare you to love me, I dare me to still
Continue, pursue, as long as I will...

I dare me to realize you won't come around,
That my love is nothing you will have bound.
I dare me to accept and live with the truth.
Find someone else in our own era of youth.

I dare me to let go, to let go of you,
If you were meant for me, I would know it true.
I dare me to pray that you find your own,
She need not be me, nor someone you've known.
A sudden change of heart for my affections. How rapid, yes? For the past years I have been writing prologues to Valentines' Days, now I write an epilogue of sorts, not quite what one would expect, but I dared, and I must have won something, anything.
Bb Maria Klara Aug 2015
You pointed out the obvious,
how I was taking time;
and I was fairly cautious
not to be sublime.

I didn't want to tell you,
that I was just afraid,
that I feared every piece of rue
that made me feel so strayed.

I took every step slowly,
never wanting to part.
For in the end, I lowly
cradle my aching heart.

I would rather conceal our bliss
in awkward daylit hours
than spend a moment so amiss
in a place ever so sour.

I stalled to keep you near me
for happiness, I knew.
I hoped you always did see
and hoped you were happy too.

I stalled because when we are not
together, things do change.
For more time I wish I had fought
but home was out of range.

I stalled because I wanted,
(I'd say so without shame)
to never be so haunted
of the nights with barefaced blame.

I stalled because I didn't
want to argue tonight,
I don't know how to hint it,
but I fear a direct fight.

I stalled because I disliked
how it felt to be away.
Unknowing, fearing, nearing psyched
if I'll see you the next day.

I stalled because I couldn't
bear to let you go;
But I'm just a young woman
and we still have years to go.

I stalled because I didn't
want to feel alone.
Without you, just your imprint;
I feel lost and unknown.

I stalled because I love you.
I have loved you and I still do.
I still love you and I will love you,
and I will remain true.
I do not know what to note about this. Sorry.
Bb Maria Klara Aug 2015
I write of wrath, of rage and anger,
And murderous thoughts towards my betrayers.
I write with vigor and blood-lust,
In violent tempests, if I must.

I write of the madness she incurred,
In piercing fury, my heart concurred,
For solid as a rock it shows,
And red with rage my aura glows.

I write of indifference, my violated
persona can take only so much hatred.
Await me filling my soul with black,
Dark things as though there was ever a lack.

I write of the tolerance I have left,
For a loving patience of me was bereft.
In faces around me, I wish them only death,
My thought: I wish not the same air in our breath.

I write of the fires of my flaming hate,
The lack of gall in the events of late.
I no longer know how to remain humane,
in a state where anger drives one insane.
What is there to note about this... well, for one, I was very very angry at the time of writing. It has been a while since I have written at all, and I suppose this satisfied me for what I felt.
You're a pest that plagues me though I never ask.
You linger in my head at every one of my tasks.
You are where I look for where you shouldn't be,
You really are becoming an obsession to me.

You are also a fear that I might not admit.
You are something I've lost, though were we ever "it"?
You are the wish I make at every 11:11;
You're always protected, as I pray of the heavens.

You are a dream, and you, you're a nightmare too.
You are intrigue, making me want to be with you.
You're my first waking thought, and I have no idea why.
You're the whisper in my heart saying the last line was a lie.

You are the truth I try not to loathe so.
You are the home I want to carry wherever I go.
You are gravity, but stronger-- like Jupiter, not Earth,
You're the reason I acknowledge a deeper self-worth.

You're the root cause I longed to be from a different town,
You're the last excuse why I will willingly clown.
You've brought ink back to my fingers and words in my heart;
You, you most mythical masterpiece of art.

You, who I want to protect from the pain.
You could gain it or lose it if with me you remain.
You are the destination of both my heart and mind.
You should leave my daydreams and see what we find.

You are not just the fantasy I have in my head.
You are not just the deep aching I want in my bed.
You are more and I know it, but how can I be sure?
You are someone I want but can't act on for more.
First month of the year, I now accept that these feelings are very real. GGWP.

— The End —