the soft blue brown of your various poses
this is my Cebu, my Manila,
the soft new sounds of the streets and people
though not my home it is my own, my special experience of a people so full of love and service to others that they often can't even see themselves.  
the soft view of boats offshores in their fishing
their work is a joy for funding their leisure,
their leisure is a joy, refueling their work.
the soft hue of twilight as fiesta dies down...

The sweetest blue brown of various poses.

The heat and brightness, the brilliant show
The shadows, the glass and the glow
Beauty and mystery, leave fast, come slow
The essence, the glass and the glow
Peace in darkness, still bursting hope
The resting, the glass and the glow
The fate unaccepting and courage yet told
The struggle, the glass and the glow
The deepest held, the shallow goes
The waters, the glass and the glow
Drown me now, and then I’ll know
The ending, the glass and the glow

In soulish depth, in flame unending, flicker dance and gleam
It cracks and blackens, dancing ember,
Seeping, seeking, soaking dreams

In secret holding, dearly hoping love and lurking fear
Whisper, wilted, belted blisters.
Bursting, blatant, brilliance clear

In shining blindness. Least expecting guiding beacon purest flame
In the heat of truth and safety
Fiercest comfort, never tamed

Shame, a blur of red and orange, smudging the canvas
Lost, a jagged line, twisting and turning
Afraid, a swirl of blue and black, consuming the frame

Stares, a splash of yellow, piercing the darkness
Voice, a stroke of purple, trembling and raw
Frame, a smear of green, contorted and broken

No name, a drip of pink, fading into the background
No future, a smudge of brown, dull and uninviting
All bridges, a streak of white, burned and crumbling

Shame, a prison, enclosing the soul in a cage of color
Guilt, a shadow, creeping in and consuming the light
Freedom, a burst of gold, shining and radiant

Love, a flood of color, washing away the shame and the guilt
Hope, a beacon, shining and guiding the way

There was a man in my hometown,
whose fame never exceeded his station

He had discovered in the heart of desperate broken times
that distinct predisposition to attain glory apart from your opinion
His every day in the mundane created wonder in my heart that has lasted my life

He hid greatness and brilliance behind a thick mask of scruff and janitor's fatigues

I owe him almost everything.
His name was Clifford H. Banks.

One hundred holes to down the raft
One swam ashore just for the laughs
One along with all the other facts
One word disputed and unpacked
One blame for many in the act
One wonders if the teacher lacked
One simple plan to pass the class
One student left , the rest washed back
One More lesson with test attached
One might assume the last was last
One better answer to questions asked
One would be wrong, what's wrong with that?

Why when where would you put them in order or next to eachother or sort them back forward?
What did how could you leave them uncovered unsettled and cluttered right next to each other?
How did why when might you figure it out too late to untangle them out of your mouth?