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Orchid 1d
He ran from my demons
so I wouldn't have to.

                                      He yearned for more time
                                                     like I should have.
He lived as me.

He broke as me.
                                                          He spoke in me
                                     so I wouldn't have to.

           I didn't tell him he was human.
annh Jun 3
The light is dim, but I'm accustomed to working in the dark. Besides, it's safer this way. My eyes are not what they used to be, but it has become second nature to me - the pull of the needle, the tension in the thread.  

I stitched my first collar when I was six years' old, sitting on my grandmother's knee in the parlour of the old house at Innsbruck. ‘Isaac,’ she used to say, ‘you have your father's gift. Use it well.’

Ah, Papa, if you could see me now. Such expectations you had for my talent, but I assure you that the occasion for invisible seams and fine beadwork is over. Nowadays I work with a different fabric. A cloth perforated with ****** fire and riddled with shrapnel. The wounds - forgive me - resemble red Venetian silk embedded with black pearls; the bone like the baleen strictures of a dowager's corset. And the red dye runs. God help me, how it runs.

As I work, Papa, I imagine that you are standing in the shadows, your frayed sewing tape draped around your neck. I am praised for my quick hands and my ability to embroider life into abbreviated limbs. And I pray that you are not too disappointed in what I have become.

'Who is left in the ghetto is the one man in a thousand in any age, in any culture, who through some mysterious workings of force within his soul will stand in defiance against any master.'
- Leon Uris, Mila 18
Oculi Mar 14
What a spiceless world.
One full of orange, then blue.
One full of purple, then brown.
To get through the waters of the womb, you need steel.
Where blood is flighty. And mud is shallow.
To love, you need to ****.
To hate, you need to birth another.
A pool of men stronger and faster than a colony of ants.
Who are you, when you've lost all your feathers?
When the bridge above you has collapsed?
Who are you, once again, when all you've known has turned to order?
When there is a hierarchy? Where do you fit in?
To make wings, you need a brother and a hammer.
To fight those orderly *******, you need to call upon your own filth.
To waddle through your own ****, your own ****, you need to drink the elixir.
Not some shallow nectar from the gods. Who are they, anyway? Who, who are the gods to question the almighty? You were always better anyway.
Who upon this mound of dirt, ****, ***** and mercury shall question the authenticity of your command, when they're all dead in the ground?
Will there be anyone?
Will it just be you?
You knock on the door of the rich man, but he does not answer. You paint his door red in your own blood and scream.
What has occurred here? A clash of babies dressed in stardust under a sky of light violet?
Maybe a marriage of scales and feathers disguised as ones you could care about?
You know nothing of this world, and that's how you always got by.
You dig through the pool of used needles, you drench yourself in others' diseases, you embrace a death of most painful circumstance and you cut off your limbs one by one.
Only then, at your final moments, tongueless, waddling your chunks of once arms, legs and wings around, drowning in your own *****, can you ask the most important question.
What if the world was the opposite?
A story that I could claim my own. Something that resonates with me. I hope you understand.
zen Sep 2018
Coupling wind and fire
an terrific, tumultuous, take
Time waits for no man but of him
his fate,
the fellow frets and is frightened by fame,
Son of Father Time,
cannot merely hide inside its vase,
Blooming, what a fellow
hath he grown noble and sublime
soon to love and learn
the great burden of his time.
zen Aug 2018
From whom are you wanderer?
The road on which you unravel,
and on the brim of infinity
the body becomes nest for neighboring
Ineffable, microscopic, macroscopic
And in the (in) between
on the peak of no where the whole widens,
the well wanes a wish deeper,
All the while
diamonds crest beneath aim
Gold, my galore...
of whom, are you
JC Jan 2018
Take heed, you great Forty-Four!
Steady your steed and draw fire from
great old Romans of Constantinople!
Bring hell, you demons, Forty-Four!
Carry your lances and splinter your shields
for the hour calls on you for battle most noble!
Ride thunder, you swift Forty-Four!
Leave your foes' hearts aching and trembling;
and meld beast and man and steel into one!
Feast hearty, O hungry Forty-Four!
For God's hands smite your puny foes
long before the long march has begun!
Strike hard, you mighty Forty-Four!
Into the fray your swords shall ******;
for all blades unsheathed shall taste blood!
Weary not, O fearless Forty-Four!
The hour grows dark, and you are laden;
and all rage will burst and carnage will flood!
Be still, you silent Forty-Four!
Hear the tremors that rumble and breathe
for the clamor for justice shall be served!
Rest well, our great Forty-Four!
Lest many forget, you ring through the eons;
for the freedom we have is undeserved!
For the fallen forty-four SAF commandos in the Mamasapano clash. Rest well—you have done your duty
Josh Mayesh Jun 2017
“What's wrong with you?” they say,
“Can't you calm down for just a moment,
Take a deep breath--
Slow down,
Get centered and
Stop being so **** negative,
What's the worry,
What's the hurry?
You can't solve every problem,
Let it go--
Hey not so fast.
Maybe, yes just maybe
If you stopped being so **** frightened
Well then maybe for a moment
All those fears would dissipate,
If you just stopped your overthinking
Your hypotheticals,
If you let life flow all around you
You'd have that peace you say you crave.”

But they are wrong.  

Anxiety isn't nervousness.
Anxiety isn't cowardice.
Anxiety is a call to those
Whose eyes are open to the fight.

It is a certain sensitivity
An alertness;
A war machine never idle
There’s a buzzing below the surface,
There is no calm before this storm.
It is the constant sentinel
Vigilant in clash with
There is no honor,
No heroism in this struggle
Whose burden countermands reward.

It is not the soldier’s nature to relax.

It is an instinct,
It is concern for you, for me, for others,
It is a special steadfast mutiny
Psyche fights the soul.

You say it is a weakness.
You subject me to societal court martial,
Though you cavalierly create conflicts
You say I am afraid.
But those consummate in combat,
Introspective and insightful,
True veterans of life’s battles
It's fear defines the brave.
solEmn oaSis Jun 2017
Tatlong Bituin at Isang Araw
Isang Bandila, Apat na Kulay
Dilaw Pula't Bughaw, Puting Dalisay
muling nagugunita sa aking balintataw!
Nasaan ka na nga ba?
tanong namin minsan ni kuya
habang sa amin si Bunso
iniaabot ang papel na piraso.
Nakatupi iyon at aking binuklat
nang masilayan ko...katotohana'y sumiwalat.
Damdamin ko'y halos gustong sumambulat
sumandaling napapikit, sa aking pagmulat
agad ko siyang hinagka't niyakap
tumulo ang luha, sarili'y hinagilap
hanggang matanto sa aking hinagap
Bunso kong Anak... Ina'y INAAPUHAP
Ang kanyang mga mata'y nangungusap
huwag malungkot! ibig kong ipakiusap
unti-unti ring matutupad mga pangarap
waring singsing...hinugis ng alapaap

Kahit walang ulan, posibleng magkabahag-hari
Hangga't may pag-asa, lumbay mapapawi
balang-araw mommy ninyo siguradong babawi
makakapiling din na parang buhawi
kasi di tayo gaya dati
dapat Apat tulad nitong  Talumpati
Kaso ang nailapat ay Labis
pagkat panulat ko di Lapis
Limang salita sa Bawat Taludturan
sa mga saknong sana'y matutunan

Kulang man kayo sa Pagmamahal
tayo'y Family Three na Literal
ako man ay naging Hangal
Mga Anak Kayo'y Aking Dangal
MAHAL KO KAYO! inyong tandaan
pagkat ako'y Haligi ng Tahanan
magmula pa sa inyong kamusmosan
hanggang Mahalin ang INANG BAYAN !!!

Philippines Independence Day June 12, 1898 - 2017
Ang Pamilya ang matibay na Pundasyon ng Lipunan.
Lipunan na may Pagkakaisa upang bumuo ng Malayang Gobyerno
Gobyernong magpa-HANGGANG NGAYON hangad at Ipinagbubunyi ang Araw ng Kasarinlan!
Na siya rin namang Araw ng Kalayan!
" i Love You Daddy " that was what is written on a piece of paper my daughter Mimi gave to me!!!
and i am so touch!

Some people believe that the families generally like a beautiful box full of things they want: love, joy, companionship and other beautiful things;
But other times the word " family "
-can compare more likely into an empty box!!!
we must first put something inside it before we could get anything unto it.
Being a single Parent i realized that if we want love and joy...
we must raise affection, service and encouragement within to fulfill whatever emptiness ! and the release of more than we put in the box can make it  vacant!
Scarlet McCall Sep 2016
[These are quotes taken from a New York Magazine article around 10 years ago. They are all from firefighters]

"doing funerals....getting the bunting, hanging the bunting...step by step...

When it became a myth, the whole event...

people were terrified, crapping their pants...a woman in the legs...her someone took it off with a saw.

Why did I survive?

...None of 'em were ever found. Not even a tool.

I didn't see victims. They were dust... When the wind blew, you couldn't grab them.

long spears of glass...Huge panels turned into shards...a piece of window, a small piece....It's right here in my hands now.

...can't look at a plane landing"
Not long after Sept. 11 I was getting stopped by tourists on the subway asking for directions to "Ground Zero." I was incredulous. I avoided the area until it was cleaned up. Now of course it is a memorial and an ongoing construction/development area.
M G Hsieh Apr 2016
They march
withered but undying
with mud
fallen sweetly on their faces.

A new sky and a tender wind
grant severance from the sea.

Haunt us no more
with your pikes and arrows.
Blend our moanings and call our names:

the sunflower,
the wind,
the moonshine breaks

a mirrored frame,
a knighted sky,
and iron cast in embroidered lace.

I lay my hopes in
a hinterland of grace/waste.

What will a soul bring
that a body cannot
in sorrow or in death?

When sentiments of corpses
hang high from windows
paneled by offense,

stars fall on broken strings.
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