between a renaissance,
literature with crisp apple pie and bitter memorials
architectural exaction and
perpetual shadows to excommunicated
entities that you
intended to be a saint who grew weaker -
nadir then sleep deprived
insincere with over explaining
why I outlived uninhabitable checkboards
ancestral blood, step five to wilderness
through flowers but you make me
want to stay
because it's always been a misfeature
of my youthfulness in your unrest
realm - sexual violence
as the haunted implore coincidence by
'for I am a moth fluttering into a rib cage
filled with green moss'
Salty, brisk kisses from the ocean blue
Dancing rain drops bellow over your head.
Fresh, crisp drops over a morning dew.
New beginnings as to be lead.
Daring, flashing currents rumbling down.
Rivers of clean, cooling water.
Splashing, flushing sounds all around.
Crashing, high energy waves totter.
Calming, sweet presence of a gentle pond.
Quiet, tolerate puddles bounce inwardly.
A pleasant silence beyond.
Heavenly drops so free.
Throw your line down
and sit with me below,
beside the cray pots and the fish.
remember the gifts the sea gave up
the rocks and stories that made their way into my pockets
for your indifferent hands to overlook on the windowsill.
Throw your line down
beside the crabs and tangled weeds,
and remember a single line
is not enough to tame an undertow
that sings arias to the moon.
One of my favorite things about you Is the fact that I still get butterflies whenever you are near.
Don't mistake my silence as a means to push you away or the fact that
I don't have anything to say.
It's just that I am still in complete awe.
That fluid motion that doesn't complicate anything.
That selfishness that has lost track of exactly where our kisses have landed.
But still craves to have more to compensate where the others have went.
That somewhat nervous jitter that occurs with the slightest touch.
Your mouth crashing against mine.
Lost in a tidal wave of tongues.
Cheeks relaxed in steady current.
There is nothing gentle about how well we conduct ourselves, except in the calm before the storm.
A floodgate of teeth raising in euphoria.
Releasing the echo of emotion felt from one body to the next.
A complete unison of waves lost in gentle current.
Our eyes closed in search of the light seen across the wave of tongues.
Watching it fade to black, soon to reappear.
The light that flashes behind our eyes.
An eclipse of heads following each others motion.
Our ears like seashells, resting along the coast of us.
Hearing the sounds, cleansed in the current of waves.
This wave that longs to be near you.
The complete awe of becoming apart of something more than what's presented.
Although expressed physically.
This depth of emotion swims in schools of love.
in baler where the sun shines and the waves visit
is where freedom bathes under the blue skies
in the seaside realm of surfing
simple hotels line the shore
where you can run to the beach fronts
after settling in little white rooms,
and in the blue water
wait tanned, youthful surfing instructors--
local boys of the province who've grown up
with the salt water as their playground.
get on your surfboard and
join the waters,
"mag-timing ka sa alon,"—
"wait for the waves", the instructors say
and lie down on your stomach on the surfboard,
and when you do get the waves you ride them fearlessly,
you are lifted, invincible,
by the hands of the philippine sea.
and if you don't surf,
the smooth sands are there,
calling you to lie around
under the seaside sun.
and when night falls
and the waves are reckless,
you can sit on the sand
with a bonfire and some drinks—
watch the stars
with the sound of the tides as your music
and do not fear;
for in the morning
the waves will come rushing
back to the shores of Balers
to give anyone freedom
as they always do.
I wrote previously about the electronic implications on the written word
But the smoothness of this pen upon paper has made me neutral on the subject
It's insanely intoxicating when your words flow onto the paper just as they do from your mind
But, death has a way of bringing you back to reality
A birthday, In which the birth boy has passed
Twenty four red balloons, caressed gently by the wind as they are carried beautifully skyward.
Red of passion
Red of love
Because twenty four is infinite
Also is the love and the friends you left behind
But we love you,
I love you
And we will forever follow you
Upon these rising currents
Like those twenty four red balloons.
I float on crackers
Adrift in a red sea
Toast and tea
Butter and sugar
You would be
The briny fish
Vinegar and bones
We drift together
Where currents lead
Sweet and salty
I've given birth to many things
Cloudy nights, slanted rays
Set ways, uneven days-
Wet it, let it
Permeate its hues-
Like rock 'n' roll
from the womb of the blues
I got a whiskey-drinkin' woman
She waits for me around the bend
Starts harvesting the plants
Now, whenever I drop in
We both play mute, 'cause we know
Where glowing fingers of the fire
play blown wood, like a piano
I've given birth
to birds and snails
that have failed
Let it pour, let it roar
and pay its dues
Like rock 'n' roll
from the fertile
womb of the blues