#postpandemic - Hello Poetry

Ngayong ako’y nakakalabas na Ngayong ako’y nakakagala na Ngayong ako’y nakakabalik na Sa mga gawaing dati’y Di nagagawa Bakit may lungkot Kapag naaalala ka Sana kasama ka Sana nandito ka Sana… Nandito ka pa.

0

Jan 16, 2023

Jan 16, 2023 at 7:58 AM UTC

ram-b

Ngayong Pwede Na

Ngayong ako’y nakakalabas na Ngayong ako’y nakakagala na Ngayong ako’y nakakabalik na Sa mga gawaing dati’y Di nagagawa Bakit may lungkot Kapag naaalala ka Sana kasama ka Sana nandito ka Sana… Nandito ka pa.

11

Oh, you swamp me with charm - get out of my head. There’s something about you - a warmth - like the comfort of home - that pulls at me. I study your landscape of attractive surfaces like a star chart - logging my weaknesses - to strengthen my emotional firewall. I WANT you but my “wants” just seem untrustworthy after recent deprivations. To be honest - I can’t afford you - not now. You’re a delicious pastry - with strings - and I need to cut all my strings. You’re something younger me would have wanted - before the pandemic, when scandalous thinking was uncomplicated and freedoms taken for granted. Last year simplified my reality. Over time, boredom melted me like wax but a new me crossed some threshold of certainty - that to flourish - no, just to survive - I must become more than I am, or find I’m less than I hoped. In 2019 goals seemed way, way someday things - far off reference points to seek out - like an inchworm. Social details occupied me like an unfocused dementia - there was an unacceptable level of childish thinking. But now I’m an escapee on the run who won’t be taken back alive. Old attachments must be stripped down and the old world made disposable - if I’m to achieve escape velocity.

0

Jun 16, 2021

Jun 16, 2021 at 9:39 AM UTC

anaisvionet

escape velocity

Oh, you swamp me with charm - get out of my head. There’s something about you - a warmth - like the comfort of home - that pulls at me. I study your landscape of attractive surfaces like a star chart - logging my weaknesses - to strengthen my emotional firewall. I WANT you but my “wants” just seem untrustworthy after recent deprivations. To be honest - I can’t afford you - not now. You’re a delicious pastry - with strings - and I need to cut all my strings. You’re something younger me would have wanted - before the pandemic, when scandalous thinking was uncomplicated and freedoms taken for granted. Last year simplified my reality. Over time, boredom melted me like wax but a new me crossed some threshold of certainty - that to flourish - no, just to survive - I must become more than I am, or find I’m less than I hoped. In 2019 goals seemed way, way someday things - far off reference points to seek out - like an inchworm. Social details occupied me like an unfocused dementia - there was an unacceptable level of childish thinking. But now I’m an escapee on the run who won’t be taken back alive. Old attachments must be stripped down and the old world made disposable - if I’m to achieve escape velocity.

9

The breakfast nook brightens, suffused with impertinent sunlight, arrogant, intrusive, disrupting dystopian anticipations to dare yield the repressed, now untethered from their despondent moorings: grinning, chubby-faced sunflowers electing a cadenced dance, the pump, pump, pump of Hip Hop thumping behind bodega counters, the ponies of Assateague, slick with lather and hope, denuded thighs shifting in languid heat atop hillocks of powdered sand, the Jack Russell hurtling skyward, disc clenched, her smooth white coat suspended against nimbus curls tossed carelessly upon a blue-black canvas, Aquinnah, hallowed, striated escarpment, resplendent at the shank of day, fireflies, ice cream, and the irresistible beckon of the evening pines that rock to the day’s completion, whistling, familiar, reassuring.

0

Apr 19, 2020

Apr 19, 2020 at 3:00 PM UTC

philip-lawrence

Hope Untethered

The breakfast nook brightens, suffused with impertinent sunlight, arrogant, intrusive, disrupting dystopian anticipations to dare yield the repressed, now untethered from their despondent moorings: grinning, chubby-faced sunflowers electing a cadenced dance, the pump, pump, pump of Hip Hop thumping behind bodega counters, the ponies of Assateague, slick with lather and hope, denuded thighs shifting in languid heat atop hillocks of powdered sand, the Jack Russell hurtling skyward, disc clenched, her smooth white coat suspended against nimbus curls tossed carelessly upon a blue-black canvas, Aquinnah, hallowed, striated escarpment, resplendent at the shank of day, fireflies, ice cream, and the irresistible beckon of the evening pines that rock to the day’s completion, whistling, familiar, reassuring.

22