You shine before the light,
All known light, except, of course, Jesus.
It is something one do not realize
With eyes wide open, but now that
Mine are at a slow close, sweetly,
Blinded by you, it suddenly hit me, braving
This expanding darkness, knowing
That love feels deeply and has deep faith
Which willingly abandons the sense of sight.

     I will see you. I see you...in a white dress.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

There is no way for you to know it, but
For me to say it, write it like I mean it,
A revelation, a firm oath, telling things like:
"My stubborn heart is a parked automobile
     Waiting to be towed away by you."

Because the word "Wait" can be deceiving.
To lie at our Homeland beach in the summer
Of 2017 could mean patience or indulgence.
To fall in line on a counter could mean
     Paying or just plain getting.
And to sit at a bus stop could mean
     Going home or leaving things behind.

And so this pen tries and tries and tries
And (because King Jehoash stopped short)
     Tries and tries and tries some more
To be a decent bouquet of flowers
Or an acoustic cover of a love song
Or a bag of truffles I never once tasted,
     Though you don't even notice.

Dearest, I'd rather pursue you
With all that I got knowing full well
That I can possibly fail than to stop short
And spare my self from shame.
I cannot go half-hearted. I'm all in.
     And I'm here to win your heart.

          So help me God.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

God must be really kind to spare you
From my impatience, but it only means
That you have to deal with my persistence,
     You have to tame my hard-headed heart.

It does not guarantee that I'd pursue you
With an equal amount of passion
Each and every time, but it certifies
That it can possibly withstand the length
Of wait it requires just to get into your heart,
And the objective is always not to captivate
     But to penetrate.

One's love must be generous, not stingy,
Nor cunning, nor selfish, nor proud,
For there's no sound sense in defeating
Your very purpose, being driven
By a hidden agenda. I'm in a battle
     Where I don't want to force a draw.
I'm here to help you win, against all pain,
     All fear, all doubts.

I want to be your warrior, princess of Jesus.
I want to be what I never got to be before.
I want to be a man, and man up
     For the cause which you deserve.

          You deserve, at all costs, to be loved.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

There is nothing more painful
Than having said goodbye
With an I love you, that you must
     Walk on, live life
And pass by an old park bench,
     Alone.

There is no night that could sate you,
No banquet can. You can’t help
     But crave for it repeatedly,
Her flaws are far away,
Her milk lips, her cheeks, sugared,
The pastry of her neck reminds you
     Of her eyes, condescending,
Her sshh, the disregard she has for you,
     That yet you always fall for.

You will think of her beauty, divine,
That left from and returned to her ponytail.
Her straight hair can unravel
    The emptiness of a thin moon.
Your heart would have left with her fully,
Or lies with you empty, and still
     You are confused.

And then you will find out
That there is no such thing, nothing,
Was as clumsy as her smile,
     Making a mess of hearts,
          The hearts of men.

And so, you sit
At a bench for two, alone,
     Drunk, nauseated,

     Knowing…
          …that you have lost her.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

Wrestle me well, my love,
     For we were star-crossed enemies,
          And I miss you.

My shoulders miss your caring arms,
My lips crave your pale-red tongue,
     A slice of refreshment, watermelon,
My chest searches the rise of your chest,
And my torso longs only, and is only,
     For your leg locks.

     Grapple me and my lightweight heart,
     As the backbone of this world breaks,
     As the sun sinks into final submission,
          But I will never tap on this love out.

               Never.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

Smile, hold that ever-smile.
Tonight, you will witness a brave star
     Unstitch the shadows off his feet.
He will high dive and unload
The weight off his chest
     Then burn himself gladly
     Towards the law of gravity,
Just to break the icy walls
Of the heart you once thought
Impenetrable, and you will smile,
     Sweetly, the smile of smiles.

     But someday I will circle you,
          One in six, seven on seventh,
     Forevermore, and you'll hear me
          Say I love you, then you will fall.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

     Hope is active, it is a verb more than a noun. I cannot let it be defined by the weight or the length of wait, for patience is another thing. My hope is mobile, nomadic, hard-headed, went astray and was lost, but now is marching straight ahead, focused, headed towards your direction.

     If I have to settle in the uncertainty, allow in wilderness of time, just to find my self writing these silly love poems, then I'd rather live among the tents around your heart. I will stand by and for it and vow to guard. Shall I be doomed to be the fasting wolf that fends the other wolves away, then so be it. My heart will be yours as your secondary shield.

     I am persistence and I am endurance, because they have to go hand in hand, I cannot forsake one over the other, nor lose them both. I am an old train, diligent, opening all doors for one. I am a platform, wide, immovable, a place you can always stand on. And out of thousands and thousands of passengers, I am making up ny mind, you are the one I choose.

     You are the one I would wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and (for the 7th time, for in the Bible 7 means completion) wait for, and pray for and gladly fight for, for you are worth it, all of it.

          Love perseveres.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

I want to be what I should be
In the context of consistency,
Your early morning ritual, the coffee
And the egg that you would like me to be,
     A habit you can never get rid of,
A certain pose for the cameras,
A certain post on Instagram, the way,
Exquisite, unique, and endearing
That your mouth motions, your lips lead,
Your cheeks cast the skip-a-beat
     Magic of your smile to my heart.

Dearest PVC, I want to learn cardiology.
I want to be the Michael Faudet
For your Lang Leav soul.
I want to move a japanese mountain,
Then be a sushi or a truffle, yes,
     I even want to be a truffle.

     And I just want to court you...
     ...like always...
          ...and after always.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

As soon as I have left, I have returned,
Such is my fate, as though
A sudden wave recedes
From the shore, the nomadic wind
Brushing your shy cheeks by,
Lifting your hair, glorious,
     In a captivating moment.

No shadow, nor faint light,
Could ever walk with me
Like you do, always. I will roam the Earth
And will not lose you, for a part of you
Is etched, scratched, on melancholic fibers
This heart has. You are,
But a far-off thing I see
     In sleepless nights.

I have limited my words among the crowd.
     I have limited my self
To an “I love you”, day by day, intending
To say it right there and then,
On that soft cloud you are sleeping on,
     Snow angel.

My mouth is not satisfied
From our last kiss, for your laugh
Is for my lips, your lips are,
     Your silence.

I have limited my steps into an island.
     I could never stray from you,
Though you tend to stray from me,
Little by little, word after word,
     Look after look, blink
          After blink,

Pardon me, if I see to it,
That you sit gracefully,
     That I see to it that you are simple
As a white rose, that I deeply feel
That your heart, dear, is across from mine,
That I see to it that my feet
Are across from yours, even that,
     Even just that.

Forgive me,
If I have limited my self
Into a question
     For you to answer.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

I would draw a curve like those
Of a fishing boat, its bottom,
Or the body of the moon sometimes
     In its perfect time
          And begin to dream.

And google things like,
"a small depression in the flesh,
Either one that exists permanently
Or one that forms in the cheeks
When one smiles",
     And then write poetry,
          Subpar to the actual thing.

You don't know the magic that you are.

Through your smile,
I learned to cheat all death, all life,
All me, all being, all being,
     All what-ifs and trying-to-be-s.
Through your smile, I knew,
     That God is good, has been
          And always will be.

Through you, I knew,
     I have always been happy.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

We are talking about years,
Endeavors, dreams, moments.
A day has enough problems on its own,
     And you are stronger than
          You will ever think you are.

These scars, these ceremonial
Scars you bear, imprints
Eternally embedded,
     Proudly present to you
          The true challenge of the heart.

2017, in the cold, calm winter, Germany,
January, prematurely, you will open
What you fought so hard for just to close
     In hope of letting some healing in
          And fiercely love again.

You will make space, bridges,
Towers, arrange your stars,
Set your cardboard, pick wild flowers,
Eat one cup of rice instead of two,
Do some sit-ups, and let yourself wait
     And wait and wait
          For her to get here.

Here, in the middle,
In the very scar you reopen.
     There.

Happy New Year.*

© 2017 J.S.P.

True lions ruling their pride.*

© 2016 J.S.P.

When you make love to me, you unbutton
     The black jeans of the universe,
You discover worlds, paths, stars,
Dwarves and giants, the viciousness
     Of a blackhole, a machine,
          Swallowing everything.
Yes, you make love to me,
As though to pour milk on the full moon,
     You turn q into d, my love,
          A crochet to a demisemiquaver,
And you make rhapsodies and raptures,
     And records, as I make them envy,
          All the suns.*

© 2016 J.S.P.

Poetry is my public apology, for loving
     And hurting you too much. I bleed
In adjectives. My scars appear
Randomly at the last pages
Of your old notebooks.
     I am revision. I am bare.
I do not know darkness which can
Shadow me, but this: that you
Can see, somehow, this cosmos,
     This timeless chaos,
The divine, the celestial, guiding you
     To count on, and count
     And count and count
          The stars again.*

© 2016 J.S.P.

I am a crimson crescent
     Encircling you, embracing you,
Not quite fully, as though me
Understanding you, no,
     There is a space enough for you
To open up to the world, and cover
Yourself for me as a mystical wonder
     Or beauty, my flower, my lovely,
My hollander tulip, a heat, a tidal wave,
     A gift, a butterfly.*

© 2016 J.S.P.

This is your hand, your finger,
The bond of our laughter, the ring
On your ring finger, to draw
     The number eight
Wrist after wrist oftentimes
With our fingers, to show
The inked small heart, a smile, genuinely,    
     Returning back.

These are your eyes piecing all the darkness,
     Heaping, keeping all stars on my head,
Fending off the sheep, colliding all the worlds, opening the close,
     Whisking holes in the cold, cold universe.
The lost words taste, fade, melt
In the whole mouth, like a flame,
     A signal fire.

All is illusion. Love
Is the spirit between two souls
Inside two hearts
Beside two minds
     In one understanding.
It's the only defining truth, that,
     As always, there is.*

© 2016 J.S.P.

It will never be clear to me,
     If stars have shadows,
Or was it the deep, dark night
Altogether, proud
     Of its profundity?

If so, then
Why do I wait for you, you,
     Who turbulently loved me?
How come each of my night
Has to be for star-gazing,
     And yours an early sleep?

Why do I bother,
Staring
     At your closed eyes?

Tell me, why do I dream
     Ahead of you,
Miles, lightyears,
     A future away?

Love, perhaps, is a journey
To contentment. It is either
I am looking for it, or, with hope,
     Finding someone
Who will be contented
     With what I have.

So, If I will do this, bravely,
Just this, just this one kiss,
     Will you kiss me back?

Because if you do, dearest,
     With an impenitent sweetness,
Then I would be running out of queries,
And it will all go down
     To one last question, graceful,
          Unfurling,

     Which I’d rather not ask,
          That I’d rather leave answered.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Minutes are myths
     Seconds seemed syrupy.

Each time, when we kiss, as smiles
Pave way for us, ever so close,
And the mood is righting all our wrongs,
     Dear, you eat away from Time,

Biting at its ear with a giggle. No wonder,
When Manong Sorbetero passes by,
     And when we hear one shouts Taho,
The passion lives on, stirring from within,
     We will touch with our tongues still,
     Precise, tugging at our words,

Or the sword of approval, sometimes,
Uniting us. In the distance,
There's a jealous light on a staircase
     In the distance, carefully descending.

And the flashes in the sky, how majestic
May they seem, anger in colors
Of leaves and daffodils, are nothing
     But a Man-of-war embarking
          On the deeper seas.*

© 2016 J.S.P.

The grand turbulence, the fury
Of the flower's first opening,
     The song of spring
At the tips of the leaves,
     Dripping the delicious
With the buzz and the sting.
The nectar-lady, the juice
That she brings, and
     The chaos of a thirst
     In the mouth, with a burst,
          Scrumptious, satisfying.*

© 2016 J.S.P.

The thing about love is that
     It is strategically tragic,
Built to last, made to make you feel,
Feel good and alive, to feel enough,
     Gracefully and sudden
Like a gentle kiss, the spreading
Of wings of the soul, the fall
     Of listless stars, but
          Just as lasting.

I do not know what else to feel
Upon seeing this ocean, except
To remember you with the same
     Natural feeling, inexplicable,
Like the color blue catches on
     With the bleach of white,
Aiming to accentuate, searching
     For the old burn of red
          In vain.

And beauty is felt more
     Than it is seen. Eyes have
Seen more than they have rested,
And they have seen things best,
     While they are closed.

More than sorrow, pain and suffering,
More than sure looped-goodbyes,
     It is the serendipitous affection
That rules over all, overthrowing
The flowing madness of passing worlds,
Passing all the lovers by, mad enough,
     And mad still, yet the fight
          Is worth loving for.

Love is worth fighting with.
Life is worth it. Love
Is priceless, yet, I love you
A little less
     Than love itself.

Love never grew, it just stays beside,
Just beside, them, us, blown
     By the havoc of life, fate and time,
Drifting amongst the drifters
Surrounding us, dizzied,
     Ever-tested, enduring all.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

It was her first frolic,
Raw, non-prolific, she has eyes
On the ceiling, staring at her, her feet,
     Bare, tiptoe with the wind outside, yet
Her brittle body aches, as though
     To embrace the hardest pillow,
A realization, a brand, a scar, a grand
     Turbulence, somewhere
On the inside, the fury
Of a soft rose, it's first opening,
     Too early for the spring, bitter,

          At the applause of one.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

You giggle for the simplest thought
Of pickup lines. Next to you, feeling
Like I won, feeling like I’m new, is to feel
That I have lost the sadness somewhere,
As we fearlessly fall, further, entwined,
My baggage, unfurling like a parachute.

You came for my love
That I would love to love you with,
A romance rid of readjustments.
It is like, each day, all I would want
To believe-in is that, when I feel like
Putting my best foot forward,
I must do otherwise, act stupid, for there is
Nothing sweeter than a woman’s laughter.
There is nothing sweeter
Than your ever-laughter.

And now, with so much pent-up
Energy, and synergy, my soul, sweetly
Soul-touched by your eyes,
I feel like kissing you, over and over,
For showing too much teeth,
And tongue, and chin, those paired
Provocateurs on your cheeks,
I religiously swoon over,
All calling out to me.

So now, I advance, move forward,
Braving forth to the heavens,
Your humbling haven,
For your smile is for my lips,
Your lips are, your laugh is.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Our love was a tragedy,
A bridge, a gap, a separation,
A masterpiece, somewhere,
     In Edvard Munch's The Scream
An unknown affair, a farewell
     With very few witnesses.

          Nothing can save us.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

And even if you had to hurt her,
And bare yourself like a broken
Promise, shedding off your wool,
     Make her moan in petals,
Let her curse all butterflies, and
See to it that the stars ache with her,
That way, your cheek won't miss the beauty
     Of being thumbed.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Of all the many that had fallen
From and to the love-bed of love,
     He was the one to take her heaven,
The white-winged monster
Under sheets, her blankets,
     Devouring dreams
          Between her legs.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Life is short, and to think of you,
Long and mad, is to long the longing
     Of long bond papers, stretched,
Untouched and unmolested,
An ice rink awaiting
     Its solitary soul.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

You are this certain factor
     In withdrawn I love you-s,
A constant, nonpareil kick in my blood,
My veins, knowing full well
These distentions, the holy perfusion,
A cardiomegaly which ever so sweeten
     Like a plump fruit.

You accentuate all the divinities
I long longed for, slowly,
     Infused within me.

Now this is love,
And love is nothing else...
     ...but you, but God.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Let us send mosquitoes into exile,
To the obliterating cold of Antarctica,
     In hope that the stars will take refuge
In this corrupted Archipelago, till then
We shall tire this full moon, lay our lovers down,
And burn the shadows
     As a campfire of our love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I got caught up in poetry,
     Her eyes, her hazel, are poetry,
Hair, swaying smoothly, this artistry,
Cinematography, languidly left me
With purpose, the tussle
     Of a clumsy serenade.

Since she left, the strings of the guitar
Echo her questioning. They move
As though to flicker back to her eyelids,
     To sway a feeling back to hope,
To dreams, returning,
     Coming back to me.

Cruel is a day so calm without her,
You would wish for clouds
To be the serpents, envenoming your heart,
     Your infallible heart.

Her soul, surreal, is poetry,
     Hyperbole, that she got me singing,
Covering that Bic Runga hit,
Over and over, lulling the sun
     To its blue blanket, to sleep
          One afternoon.

And yes, I miss her,
     Clear as a sentence well put,
A ballad, aching with me, the longing
Of a five-minute song, yet
There is no fear in love,
     I convince myself,

          Love is patient
               Before it is kind.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I do not complain the slow singe
Of sun above our heads, nor
     The blue berserker which is before us,
          A thing of beauty and treachery,

I do not mind the moisture, the salinity,
Beads of sweat, eloping with the spray,
Diaphanous and are one, escaping us,
     Departing into thin air.

I would trade all energy, the distance
Of this journey, the labors of our feet,
Just to witness you, the black bird
     Of brows I love, surveying the horizon,
Those teeth of linear pearl, or the red
Gates of kiss immortal, all risen
     From the summery sshh of heat.

There's nothing that would equal
The squinting of your eyes, those
Thinning of the stars, the doubled
     Supernova, which now are phoenixes
That are not born, burned, nor are revived,
     But carry death, my death, my only,

          My life.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Without you, without the flirty melancholy,
     Without your memory, without love poetry,
Which from leaf to leaf sets off
Into yellow crisps, and sad crimson,
     Congregating somewhere,
Crackling at every strut, a pixie,
     Graceful, treading on,

I will, I would seem as though the root,
Which, in vain, motions its longing,
Long arm, no hand, nor palm,
     A lone finger, saying that I miss you,
No wind to disintegrate, no lungs,
A heart, meditative of emptiness,
     Dreaming of carpentry.

The dormant doormat of yours,
Even that, could not welcome me,
     Without you.

Without you, it is only you
That moves, not me,
     Not even time.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I am witnessing
The great mauve the sky is,
The same one, as she divested
Closures from all four winds,
Cutting her hair off,
Depriving her nape of
Tickles, my cold, cold fingers,
But what can I say,
That was the afternoon
Of afternoons.

Here’s to the kiss of blue
And fire, of this very life and the next
(whatever that means).
All the cooing never got to me,
The nth star did not. So frown,
Laugh at me, but here’s what I think,

Love is not walking, nor talking, not even falling.
Love is not stop, nor go, not even wait.
Love is not probable, nor improbable,
     It is certain.
Love is not right, nor wrong,
     It is true.
Love is all, not us, not me, not even her, but
     How I love her, all of her, with all of me
Having her, us, even if
     I just have us now.

This is all,
That I can love (and I will love, I did),
     And I chose loving her,
     Choosing to,
           Even now.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

If hearts can fly
     To find the wind of longing,
Then wings, why grow from her back?
Why not embrace her, for me,
Warm her and wipe those tears away?
     Why not seal love?
Why close the distance still,
And toil, tire and shed
Just to encircle us both?
     Why not seal love, light
          And forget me?

               Why defeat the darkness?*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I longed for love but never lacked,
Perhaps an ounce of you
     Way back when I was yours
Seemed sufficient for me to show
Such affection until now,
     Undiminished, and have endured,
A sign, a shoot, a sprout,
The rewarding cause or curse
     Of resiliency,

For we can never un-love,
     We just forget.

Seasons, and poems
     And poets passed, yet,
Those withered leaves might have
Outlived the weeds around, so I can say
For another day, another month,
Another year, and though I fear,
     Be it a lifetime, that I have loved,
And will always love
Until this heart
     Speak no more,

For it will have become dust,
Waiting for your breath...
     ...to have it carried.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The sight of ice being swirled
Inside a glass, the sweet
Sound of drink being poured, the taste
Of thirst in the saliva. Her kiss—
     A mad mirage.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Despite the moon, the mood
     And stars on foreign skyline,
From having seen the Earth, this world, teeming
With life, with breath, and breath Almighty,
     And spirit in things which are perceived,
Still, I feel a deep longing, a chasm,
The feeling of missing, the want
     For reliving a lot of things,

Like the beaches on the South,
Sagada, Batanes, the tarsier,
The reefs, and the mangroves,
Our fellow Filipinos eating Adobo
And the so-soft fluffiness of rice,
In celebration of our heritage,
     Our famed resiliency,

I am a tourist all my life,
I remind my self,
     Until I found you,

For they are all yours, all finest things.
     You are the islands of our country,
And all these call me
As though to take me to you,
As though you were calling out to me
     For an embrace.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Inside a department store,
Busy day, busy people,
Second floor, sound of floor, sound of leather,
And at the corner, a section
Full of picture frames.
O how we ache
For the shape of rectangle,
Then we start to count the places,
The faces,
As we pose ourselves
The question.

     How do you rid yourself
           Of memories?*

© 2015 J.S.P.

My love is a tower, a stone,
Cold stunner, here,
     I can see you, notice you,
As my sad arms long
     To carry you.

I like your blush at midday
Which are blossoming aptenias,
     Or female flame of poppies.
It does not matter if your friend would giggle,
     But how I long to carry you.

I am a dreamer and my love
Is a tower, the city tower,
     I despair oftentimes for I cannot go with you.
My feet are nowhere near your feet,
Your front door is the closest
That they can get to, as I would
     Slow down near the open window,
A long streak of line,
Of contrast, of vagueness,
     Or disintegrating light.

A dark sail comes in the afternoon
     To take the sunset away,
And how I wanted you like
     Its hunted filament,
Having it in my hand,
     Only that, even just that.

You are no princess
And my love is a tower,
     I think it is quite clear.
I harbor the giant gears
Like a burden, the haunting histories,
My torn being, the dragons
     Of a dying rose.

See, my heart is a tower,
Ever old and ever new,
     And it has lost you.
The song of night hurries itself into being,
     It is not satisfied that I am lonely,
It despairs along with the artistry,
The architecture, the scenery, the cooing
     Of an exhausted bird.

For in this night, and
In any given night, I belong
     Among these millions.
I have a giant tower, and
     I am never low enough.
My soul, blue, bows
     Like stooping water.
The hopeless stars look at you,
Vindemiatrix, Ain, Acamar,
And it is you, solely, that
     We ever want to reach.

The deep night starts to sing to me,
     In lights and memories,
But there is nothing like your voice,
Voicing out the echoes
     On my lips.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Say, a star has the eyes
To gaze at you, holding out its telescope,
     And decide to leave its post to be with you,
Or on second thought, just to get a better angle
     Of your laugh-smile-wink impeccable,
Would it still be foolish
To say, with all profundities,
     That you, indeed, are beautiful?

What does it matter, tonight
     The cicadas sing of hyperboles.
There's a certain cold, sometimes,
     In the wind, as in a heart.
The warmth is in the blankets there
On my bedroom, something
That your sweater will never know.
     Friendship is basic love.
The moon has its own old course,
As shadows, timely, vary,
     Faithful to its better half.

Now, tell me,
Laugh at me, reason with me,
     With those agitated eyes,
Which are foreign to the idea
     Of these mysteries.

Isn't it possible, terribly so,
For one, for anyone,
     For someone, for me,
To fall in love with you,
     My friend?*

© 2015 J.S.P.

There should be no eyes
That could travel with you, these eyes,
     Having seen home in your eyes,
Brows, your doubled moon, pronating,
Both getting a massage, and lips,
Naked like soft fruits, as I think
     Of my islanded country,
Of getting one more
For you. Hands, not
Wanting to let go of your hand,
Its creases, portending love
Or not. And there's so much
Treasure like your chest,
     Undiscovered.

I have been told of them, all of them,
Yet, to have been blessed
     To experience things first hand,
Is a thing of forever. Your heart
Steady things which I couldn't,
This gaze, the lightest mood,
     A ballpoint pen,
Not to mention your laughter,
Unbridled, and free, as I could only
Describe them like the hunger
Or a craving for pandesal,
     This bread of my youth.

You, the thought of you,
Immensity,
Too much, too deep,
Though you only reached me,
     Like a lost pup.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I can stare at you all day,
Though people say
     That love is blind.
And love is blind for me, for me,
Only for we have faith
     To live by.

I love the thought that eyes can be
Windows, that I’m starting
To fashion an idea
To serenade the feminine soul
     With the chivalrous heart,
With all strings of it,
     Of its acoustic guitar.

Seeing your eyes–
     The daughters of their parent dreams,
How they looked at something
Less prettier than them
For more than twenty years,
How they stared at someone
Much prettier than them
On bodies of water,
And at the face on the mirror,
     And at the very heart of God,
Seeing how their glances at me,
Excite me, terribly, (though having no coffee)
     Into palpitations,

Hunching that their closing
     Are just as equally endearing
As when they are opened,
Smiling, for the love-blind to see,
I realize, I understand, sweetly,
     Why two gaze-bound stars
     Are blinking, beautifully…
          …apart.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Eyes and eyelids,
     Smoke and fire.
Eyes and eyelids,
     Star and sky.
Eyes and eyelids,
     Shell and pearl.
Eyes and eyelids,
     Cat and fur.
Eyes and eyelids,
     Light and blur.
Eyes and eyelids,
     Close, unfurl.

Eyes and eyelids,
     Her eyes and eyelids.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

This better be love for you, a kiss,
A stranded sail you could believe in
     At the far-end of the shore.

I await in the distance as though
To throw pebbles to your window.
Steadfastly, I would wait for signs
That should soon come
     Or might never come.

Dear, I sing winds away to your hair,
And as fingers, to pinch
     Those doughy cheeks.
I am making this
     Most obvious.

Still, if you would take these lightly,
Find it strange that you matter most to me,
     Then pluck among the petals,
Pluck among the hyacinths around you,
     And hear me say: "He loves you",
     As I always say, because I want to.

So this is love,
     Love that can't be measured,
Love that is not bounded
By time, nor distance, unfailing,
     Like new hope,

Like two roses
     Blossoming further
Into full-grown butterflies
That are to meet
     In this lifetime
          Or the next.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The known world will destroy
Itself with absurd propensities.
Our past will start to hurt, just as
     Our imaginations would.

Soon we will act like dogs,
And you know the old, old trick,
Dog eats dog,
     Then eats men.

Your beauty will reave me of words,
And words, dream. My silence
Will deceive. I will pilfer through
The works of those before me--
     The timeless liars,

Then my mind will front my heart
To mask itself, and these poems,
Easily, will fall to the category
     Of deft pretentiousness,

And yet I love you, I love you,
It is the sole truth
     I did not think of.*

© 2015 J.S.P.