Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
To miss you is
to see your face
in the light of intolerable yearning
and trace its outline
in the blind memory of my fingers
knowing, knowing
I will never see you.
On a day that pain is abundant, memories begin to escape.
Remembering his face becomes harder every day.
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
ryn
Deadly
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
ryn
.
•such grace carelessly
riding•the currents of my heart
and mind•beauty of your biolumines-
cence ensnaring • my thoughts amuck and
senses blind•membranous crown bears much
truth yet laden with lies•malicious tendrils,
unassuming but ever ready•immune to
my pleas and woeful cries•how could
something so captivating... and delicate,
be so painfully deadly•

••   •••   ••     •••
•••     ••      ••        ••
••       ••      •••      •••
••         ••       ••        •••
•••       •••        ••           ••
••           ••         ••             ••
••          ••         •••         ••
     ••         ••             ••          ••    
   •••         •••            ••       •••
   ••            •••         •••         ••
      ••          ••••        ••         •••
  ••         •••          •••         ••
   •               ••            ••            •
       ••            •••
      •             ••
                       ••
                           ••
                           •

.
Concrete Poem 13 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
.
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
asmall
Because as we sat there under that tree one chilly Autumn afternoon all I could think was, "****, I could love her forever."
-and this is why we would never work // a.s.
~~¤~~

I wear a mask tonight
So that no one can gaze at my windows
I have been sad for almost half of my life
And yet the gift of bitterness is what I receive
From you...

Let me wear this mask tonight
And just look at my smile
Which brings sunshine in your eyes

At least for tonight...

~~¤~~
Subject inspired by the Masquerade Ball I attended last night.
Bakit 'di pa tanungin
ang aking ngala't numero
at 'di lang ang petsa't
anong sinabi ng ****?

Bakit 'di pa alamin
ang pintig ng puso kong
inip na inip
nang maghintay sa iyo?

Bakit hanggang tingin?
Bakit hanggang ngiti?
Aking pag-ibig,
sinta, batid
mo na ba rin?

Bakit umiiwas;
bakit natatahimik -
bakit sa tuwina'y
lagi kang walang imik?

Para kay seatmate
na 'di ako pansin.
'Di mabatid,
'di mabalingan ng tingin.

'Di mo ba alam na sa bawat
wanfort na ihinihingi
*ay naitatangay nang utay-utay
ang aking puso't damdamin?
more over callherangela.tumblr.com
I don't believe in ghosts.

Or maybe,
I think,
I do.

I do not believe in ghosts
that reek of blood.
Of those who ebb
out of tv screens;
of those who slither in
each dream.

But I do believe,
and fret, perhaps,
those who come
unexpectedly.

And leave
- then leave -
every piece of them
in each piece of you.

Of those whose kisses
trail down your spine,
only to find each tingling,
*gone.
mor eover callherangela.tumblr.com
She doesn't recite poems in the darkish sunset

like golden corns dying to be reaped
she needs a hand to cut her through
reach to where a fleshless lust is still not ember.

Seasons come and fly away.

Her own poems withering
she pines for one simple nest
to rest.
i.

Miracle baby
Cometh from
The hand
Of paradise;

ii.

Miracle lady
Cometh from
The land
Of turquoise sea's;

iii.

Miracle queen
Sleepeth sweet
Tonight;

iv.

Miracle angel
I am thou;
Thou art me.

v.

Miracle cherub
buss me in thy
Bathe;

vi.

Miracle lass
Forget thine
Past; now we're
In today.

vii.

Miracle gift,
Mine heart
Uplifts, when
Thou art near;

viii.

Miracle Jane,
In pleasure
Or pain; thy
King shalt be
right here.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Buss means to kiss someone or kiss if anyone wondered (:::
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
ryn
My Mom
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
ryn
.
     *(              |                      •    ||    )
   (   •|               |                )
(          |||     •  |  )
\   |        |   //
\ || •   | //
•       ••     ••
•like clockwork,
  her day would begin
•pressures of life like no
one could imagine•toting the
crushing weight upon her tiny shou-
lders•responsibilities and expectations that
would overwhelm before she falters•she'd ***-
ble as she groans her duress•her skin would crack
to release pent up stress•then there would come a day
•her exhausted veins would rupture and then give way
•she has the most terrible temper•but we would still flock
to her•
why?*........when time and again she offers us strife•

simply because she provides,
she gives us life•
Concrete Poem 12 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
.
Next page