Thousands lie in rows, for years,
Brewing with impressionistic tastes,
Making their debuts all the time,

Or are they clinking and rolling out, until
A poster is discoloured down the range, or
Someone's back painted red.

But in honesty, I don't get what you mean here.

Because while
It's true I'm ageing a little slow for my liking,
I'm not sobering up, yet I wasn't drunk to start,
Yes, I'm being a little too selfish,
And I guess I have played paintball before,

You see
I don't seem to need to hit the metaphor,
Or play on words, or wonder,
Any more.

Will I be able to wander as I get older? Either I'll mull myself to senility, or maybe I'll get a hole in my foot.

the pillow hearts me redder than you do,
      crowns my dreams regal over murky lands,
from somber realms to the wake of blue;

into her clasp, my wingless wishes skew,
      as her cuddle bids two ears to my demands,
oh, the pillow hearts me redder than you do;

she seethes my mind, till dreams vapor thru’
          the sky, bodies pitching, wings for hands,
from somber realms to the wake of blue;

they gnaw unto the moon, shave its bare into
     mirrors, reflecting the truth, so I understand
that the pillow hearts me redder than you do;

in her cradle, dismal storms I can't subdue
      so she showers the sorrow out of my glands
from somber realms to the wake of blue;

and when my barrels empty, floods issue
   upon her, but she stems peace from her sands
for the pillow hearts me redder than you do,
from somber realms to the wake of blue.

...and i am suffocating
under the weight of your words

i ask you nicely to
please stop

you laugh and mock me of
my pain

and when i cry
you look to the side,
pretending it wasnt you who hurt me

stop crying, you ask,
but not nicely
and i have to put a bucket
over a barrel of
T
E
A
R
S

Grab a barrel cause,
if life is like a river
then there is a cliff.

© Matthew Harlovic

I wonder while perusing a pile of personas
at why I don't write love poems
of a wistful and musky air
that froths, overflowing
with emotive schema
towards some ******, yet tragic end.
I suppose I actually do.
But they're much different than the usual fair,
less dramatic at least.
Sort of like wine you've let sit for a while
in a barrel
before you let it out again.
Mellow.

Tinugis ka ma’y
Buong bayan ang nagtiis
Ika’y reyna ng katiwalian.

Maghugas kamay man
Putik ng katiwalian
Babangon sa hukay
Siya’y bangungot
Sa’yong paghimbing.

Sa Senado’y
Sino ba ang salarin?
Niluklok at binoto
Hindi para manloko
Kawangis nila’y
Naging isang delubyo.

Itong si Juan
Pulubi na nga
Pinamihasaan nyo pa
Kaban ng bayan
Winalis nyong bigla.

(12/2/13 @xirlleelang)