"The link with exiguities was abundantly clear,
It exists there in the cloth's she wore,    
It takes currency to purchase what one wears,  
Exiguity is in the language they speak,

Present in the language or words spoken,    
Speech begins to feel as currency to one as they interact,
It is everywhere it stains everything as it hovers about,
It oscillates about It watches from every corner of the page,

Exiguity is not something one can leave behind,
A child born into exiguity will always feel its presence,
At the edges of everything existing matter that shared,
At any moment they can feel the fractures of exiguity,

It is in there gaze back to others as it seeps and oozes in ataraxy,
These abhorrent things of exiguity as the daily impecunious,
Even right now its presence is apperceive surrounding thee,  
As you fear it is in thy words these tiny fractured words of dearth,
Fear not for you shall ascertain knowledge free from EXIGUITY"

By Andrew Guzaldo © 3/08/2021 Posted HP #197

When you are already here you appear
To be only a name that tells of you whether
You are present or not and for now
It seems as though you are still summer

Still the high familiar endless summer
With a glint of bronze in the chill mornings
And the late yellow petals of the mullein
Fluttering on the stalks that lean over their

Broken shadows across the cracked ground
But they all know that you have come the
Seed heads of the sage the whispering birds
With nowhere to hide you to keep you for later

You who fly with them are neither of those,
Before nor after you who arrive with blue plums,
Those have fallen through the night perfect in the dew,
As a swaying bead chain slipping in the moonlight,
You are but a perspicuous lucid fluttering in the night,
“By Andrew Guzaldo © 12/14/2020 Posted HP #196

“My writing poetry is a way to loosen sensitivity that surrounds me, an atonement that dissipates
Over the writings that appear from my ink well to the ephemera in the moment as I state my dexterity”
“By Andrew Guzaldo © 08/25/2020

“Continuum poetry chicanery doggerel of opulence,
A beguilement dedicated and procured into words,
In all end it may become a reality of beneficence,  
To those that have induced the fine artistry of poetry

But is a poet’s best way to live is in art of interpretation,
In the art of interpretation that fall on the ears of readers,  
A poet is that of a philosopher with continuum of words,
Of life love happiness sadness or a spectrum of obscurity,  

Depending on the bright of day or the glimmer of success,  
A poet writer uses an episteme into metaphysical words,
Metaphysical life is always looking within the poet’s soul,
For the metaphysical of a sustained moment of solitude,

Continuum of poetry is that appropriate or peculiarly meaning,
Reverie or nightmare of pertinent validity an assuage cogency,
This is poetry of continuum arouses for your reading bliss”

“By Andrew Guzaldo © 07/04/2020 Posted HP Poem #194

"The aches have grown within my body and veins,
I feel my heart pumping enduringly immutably,
Ever with invincible strength returning into my heart,
I continue to write as my heart is still filled with passion,

Destiny nay in my favor everything has diminished,
She cajoled me to maligned covenant of deception,
As the attainment of misery of solitude alights,
I aspire thee nothing more to delineate from,      

Most inculpable I am I feel exacerbated of this adieu,
Memory fulfilling thoughts of her cognizance,
It may be we shall one light reach elated enclaves,
The equal temper of annexed noble hearts,

How many more lonely years am I to meander,
When I will risible that one vivacious love,
I do not know how to love without her,
In end I must learn to live void of her,
I must propagate the silt of the ennui”

“By Andrew Guzaldo © 07/04/2020 Posted HP #193

“Valediction my love if it is really this love is over,
We have blemishes and we must live with scars,
We are tarnished tainted and decorated as well,
With filth but beneath the dust the dirt is a corpus,

Transpicuous of an oeuvre from our beginnings,
I will not tell you where the crossroads lead us,
I can tell you the collogue great flowing of water,      
And the beauty of a dark mesh woods in sync,

Love is so short yet to forget is so protracted,
I choose not to forget of thy love and beauty,
I prefer to be left with scars upon my broken heart,
As you leave the silent tears will flow with in my soul,

We had  shared degust in our lives and given so much love,
Gratitude to your love of the redolence that arose,
From the earth your soul will live obtusely in my body,
Naiad if you must go I'll get along regardless of inward pain,  
On this that is my forever collogue of a broken heart”
“By Andrew Guzaldo © 07/04/2020 Posted HP #192

“As days abates the slow moon climbs,
Fate bathes clear from your submerging mind,
My dull islet inspires me to write my best,
Midnight rendezvous ensuing awful dreams  

Those awful dreams of one’s life and travails,  
I plant anew in the vanishing of your absence,  
All can be forgotten of travesty’s that followed,
As I easily compare her to a light stardust,

Traipse of her invading my mind of that day,
Thinking of your prompt nobility fills my days.
My love for you is of a dedicated scantling.
Our heated toasts the past frolics of seasons,

Acclivitous summer in the sleepy hollows,
Perhaps the gulfs will wash us down stream,
As our prudence labor of love procures slowly,    
Subdue my rugged ways useful and good,

As mountains reflected in the crystalline waters,
We can only correspond with Immutable change,
Our truths can live with right and wrong or hillocks,
Giving me strength ***** against a sense of hate,

My metaphysical poetry has helped me through this,
As her acclivitous tryst of vigor flows like tides,
Into my blood”

“By Andrew Guzaldo © 07/04/2020 Posted HP #191