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jr May 2017
di ko alam
di ko alam
DI. KO. ALAM.
di ko kilala sarili ko
di ko alam kung ano hangganan ko
di ko alam kung may talento ba ko
di ko alam kung may silbi ba ko
di ko alam
baka wala
malamang wala
ang hirap mabuhay sa "di ko alam"
sa "baka"
ang hirap ng nakikita mo silang lahat, alam na kung saan sila magaling, kung saan hindi
pero bakit ako
ang alam ko lang sa sarili ko ay hindi ko kilala kung sino ako
kung ano kaya kong gawin
kung paano ako magalit
kung ano ba nararamdaman ko
kung bakit hanggang ngayon ang pinakanakakatakot kong kinakatakutan ay ang sarili ko
bakit di ko magawang pagtuunan ng pansin ang sarili ko
ni di ko kayang tagalan ng titig yung pagmumukha ko sa salamin
di ko kayang hayaan ang sarili kong matuto ng bagong bagay dahil takot ako
takot na takot sa mahusgahan
na malaman nila na wala akong kayang gawin
natatakot ako kasi pagtatawanan nila ako
takot na takot akong magkamali kasi alam ko wala na 'kong ginawang tama
ayaw ko na
ang hirap mabuhay sa "malamang"
sa "ewan ko"
sa "di ko alam"
pero mas mahirap mabuhay ng di mo alam kung ano silbi mo dito

j.r
Tuffy Mutombo May 2017
You are the drug of my choice
the strength in my voice
a thief in the night
you stole my heart on sight
robbed me of sight so I can only love you with my soul
I gave you my all and more  
I sacrificed my imagination and filled it with your sensation
Addicted to you I am
like a an addict is to their needle of joy
I get a great high when I am around you
a depressive low when I am not with you
I am addicted to your flaws
in love with your insecurities
you bring out the best in me
every kiss is as powerful as every breath I take
I need your touch like the veins that connect to my heart
without that I am like an empty vessel with no purpose
You are simply my addiction and I will never seek treatment
In you I find therapy, you have taken the best of me
Arcassin B May 2017
By Arcassin B and Dr.Strange

AB:Washed up is my middle name from all the
Goals of being worthless in this life and taking
Orders from a dead society,
I was always a loser even when I could not do
All the things  I've always set out be,
The end of energy,
DS: it seems my entire existence has been a false reality  As I claw my eyes out hoping I can't feel what I can't see  Mainly the society that always magnified the worse of me  Labeling me as loser before I could even breathe  Disbanding my dream to be great before it even manifested itself as a dream  So what's the point anymore  Life is as hopeless as it seems,
AB: trying to redefine all of our pedigrees and our innocence,
Praying to the Lord in our church's for the extra help to keep our
Jobs and maintain the confidentiality to stay from bad things,
You do you and I do me ain't rap lyrics, it means something,
Working for the man ain't easy but it's something,
I had a temporary love for crafting things into my own image
When I was in God's image and learning his sons sacrifice to
Make it right for all of us especially the good people with moral
Values and heightened awareness of the things that creep on this
Planet's surface,
You,
Can be as stable,
And you,
Can make it right,
Why don't you just start tonight,
Ya might as well, til judgment day.
©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/05/wings-awakening-official.html
Arcassin B May 2017
By Arcassin Burnham

Was superstitions about the wrong doings I've gathered up
In my memory to be the victim of my own demise of keeping
Secrets and perpetuating lies to the people that deserve love
even when they don't in hopes to see another day by God's wishes
Making everything seem clear as it was all along in the beginning
Of their births,
Everyday we know our worth,
The last thing we wanna feel is hurt,
Don't end up buried in the dirt,
Without a proper last word,
I feel bad for this poor earth.
©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/05/wings-awakening-official.html
Robert Ronnow May 2017
Purposes as incomprehensible and wonderful as these purposes
Either you had no purpose or the purpose is beyond the end
The purpose of sitting is not to be satisfied or satiated

Because the timepiece not only serves a purpose, it is adapted to that
      purpose
Except it was a secret purpose
The world is a mental activity, a dream of souls, without foundation,
      purpose, weight or shape

People in collective idleness are even more repellent than when purpose
      motivates them
God, glass, my townspeople! For what purpose?
His purpose and mine is to catch photons and store them in our bones

Lately, as have you, I have thought about our war and its purpose
To have a season for every purpose, Ecclesiastes was right about that
Names of plants, languages of mammals, purposes of insects, placement
      of rocks

My friend who is counselor to kings and presidents never lacks purpose
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Not to say there is no purpose necessarily, just I don’t immediately get it

Stately purposes, valor in battle, glorious annals of army and fleet, death
      for the right cause
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose, protect the
      young from the janjaweed, the crop from the ****
The knight, the penitent misses last assessment of life’s purpose,
      babbling for God to appear

I mean your entire purpose should be living, you must take living
       seriously
Sleep with a purpose
Or lose all purpose beyond ******, child *** and food hoarding

Counting is associated with primitive forms of writing, that is the
       purpose of poetry
The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world’s innumerable
       wonders
Their corners sharp, their lines exact, as if their purpose was to show
       the plane geometry of snow

That’s when everything becomes clear, purpose v. purposelessness
       matters less
Lonely physics, national purpose
This then is the purpose of purposelessness (and of eating less)!

We will live with the question What was our purpose?
If we are not at home in the world, contributing purpose, we lose our
       desire to stay here—and we die
The men who left the machine have started their own business, a new
       endeavor by which they will keep warm and purposeful

You go the way of an unknown soldier, unable to assess the purpose of
       the battle
Let Greece then know my purpose I retain, nor vex with new treaties my
       peace in vain
And shake the purpose of my soul no more
www.ronnowpoetry.com

--Eliot, T.S., "Little Gidding", Four Quartets, 1942
--Deutsch, David, The Beginning of Infinity, Viking Press, 2011
--Chasar, Mike, "Conches on Christmas", Poetry, The Poetry Foundation, September, 2005.
--Borges, Jorge Luis, "Break of Day", Spanish, trans. Stephen Kessler, Selected Poems, ed. Alexander Coleman, Viking Penguin, 1999.
--Petri, Gyorgy, "Gratitude", Hungarian, trans. Clive Wilmer & George Gomori, Eternal Monday: New and Selected Poems, Bloodaxe Books, 2000.
--Williams, William Carlos, "Tract", The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams, New Directions Publishing, 1938.
--Amichai, Yehuda, "A Man in His Life", Hebrew, trans. Chana Bloch, The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai, Newly Revised and Expanded Edition, University of California Press, 1996.
--Lowell, Robert, "Mr. Edwards and the Spider", Collected Poems, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2007.
--Tennyson, Alfred, Lord , "Vastness".
--Millay, Edna St. Vincent, "Spring", Collected Poems Edna St. Vincent Millay, Harper & Row, 1956.
--Hikmet, Nazim, "On Living", Turkish, trans. Deniz Perin, The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry, Ecco Books, 2010.
--Matthews, William, "Homer's Seeing-Eye Dog", Selected Poems and Translations: 1969-1991, Mariner Books, 1992.
--Yeats, William Butler, "Under Ben Bulben", The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats, The Macmillan Company, 1956.
--Borges, Jorge Luis, "Everything and Nothing", Spanish, trans. Kenneth Krabbenhoft, Selected Poems, ed. Alexander Coleman, Viking Penguin, 1999.
--Harris, Roy, The Origin of Writing, Open Court Publishing Co., 1986.
--Zukav, Gary, The Seat of the Soul, Free Press, 1990.
--Francis, Robert, "Old Roofs", Robert Francis: Collected Poems, 1936-1976, University of Massachusetts Press, 1985.
--Olds, Sharon, "The Race", Strike Sparks, Alfred A. Knopf, 2004.
--Larkin, Philip, "Church Going", Collected Poems, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2004.
--Levine, Philip, "You Can Have It", New Selected Poems, Alfred A. Knopf, 1994.
--Milosz, Czeslaw, "Ars Poetica?", Polish, trans. Czeslaw Milosz & Lillian Vallee, New and Collected Poems, The Ecco Press, 2003.
--Homer, The Iliad, IX & XIV, Greek, trans. Alexander Pope, Penguin Books, 1996.
Jerrad Johnson May 2017
Confined to the womb, living – yet alone
As we came, so shall we go

To this world we enter, our accounts empty with souls full of hope
We’re small and weak, then we’re big and strong
We’re lonely and afraid, but we become loved and brave
Without direction, without purpose, we find our way

As we came, now we are going – but in reverse, it’s certainly a curse:

Our accounts are empty, the optimism fades
Now are we small and weak, though we were strong
Once we were loved, but now we’re lonely and afraid
Without direction, without purpose, we have lost our way

As we came, so have we gone
Confined to the grave, we die alone
From my book, "Aimless Wanderer"
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1544626347
Is the futility of life, the beauty of it ?
Is the beauty of life, the futility of it ?
Pisceanesque Apr 2017
It is here
in this bottle-necked existence, locked
into days captioned by ticks and tocks,
where time resides in each of us
until it stops,
rotating the same hands
inside the same third dimensional clock;

it is here
where every breath exhaled is a universal kiss –
it is simply one moment and
the space in between this
that binds together our journeys, which,
as uniquely defined as we feel each is,
are all chapters of the same book
we write to reminisce,
primed and pained with the same theme we
create to self-exist,
scrawled by the same pencil, held
by the same hands as we persist…
each of us artists
with the same precise and leather-bound twist

It is here
where we long for real purpose or true faith –
to believe that something
‘other’,
external,
or
majestic
awaits…
but in nothing we trust
yet, cry blame for our fate –
each a different monologue of the same hate;
the same distracting soul state;
the same periodic and prolific bait –
God would not want us, at any rate

It is here
in darkness, arms around each other’s back
that war hangs overhead in stasis,
circling, cycling on a track and
wearing thin our patience
while it leaks like yolk from all our cracks
(we watch it drip indifferently as we huddle tight within our pack)
S
I
L
E
N
T
L
Y
preparing
for the next surprise attack:
we, like wolves, insane
and seeing red with every flash –
our lonely pain inciting hunger,
our deep abyss as black

It is here
in this cosmic explosion,
and it is now just as it was then,
that peace is nought but a tragic parody
of the dreams of passing men,
and nothing changes but the theatre of stars
in lines, in queues, end to end,
enemy to friend to
ENEMY
for decades once again,
consuming pain like greed as our bellies all distend,
living every angle of the lie like it is money we MUST spend,
the broken tales of each of us
portending, true, our end;
dangling one more burden
like a dog-tag for a past we’ve penned
at rest beneath a headstone
in a yard of human bookends
© Tamara Natividad
www.pisceanesque.com
Written 14 April, 2017
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