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Joseph S C Pope Feb 2013
I

Wonderlandia, torn off the submerged lung
of a daydream diary.                   Reoccurs
as she does with silver eyes, weary Alice
during tea time--bullets burning past her
                                     like flowing nations.
Everyday similar tsunamis fund
                                     the lack of 20/20.
Nose to tail--the surge of angry engines
splits the ends of her blonde strands.
    Each one the last witness to maddening hospitality
--utopia never sweats as it talks and withers.
Amnesia blots,
new aspirin machines
vaporize apples and ***
on the other end of spectrum,
                                                     trans-positional labels--

Guillotine gargling teapots
       have no patience
         to the bushes of Olympus opiates
                                      bound in yellow barrier tape,
                     five o' clock traffic
               welcomes her back to what we are facing.


II


Dreary weather of late fall                       and her beautiful,
              powdered face

great mouth of atomic hell,
         when she speaks--80,000 deficiencies boil alive
                                                   --Trinity's teething test
                                                           on the tired bones
                                                   of a story-teller's raspy cards--

"None the wiser," she speaks,
                                "during the transition of ships
                   vermin turn into krakens culturing
                               on the surface of a raindrop.
    Heroes, villains, animals frozen together
                 after now eating for four days.
     The transition of one genocide
                                                        ­  to the other,
                the delineation of cat-and-mouse,
   mingle too long
   with the dead
   and its necrophilia."

                 Blind Alice wanders off the highway,
leaves her brewed cup of steamy static
on top of the unimportant saucer, sticks pins in her *******,
             and enjoys the sound of Cleopatra
             rolling over in reincarnation.


III

      Dear Alice smells
sunbathing, studded tangerines
                      assimilating liquor within the vast,
       empty, glowing nausea that is--
                        the warm germ

Oil                                    and                 ­          water
               rippled glass too silly for skulls
              made humid by distant salt water,

blood, acid, enzymes,
cheating probability
that runners with drunk kids
have blood between their toes.
                                                      Death­ to the distillation within
                                                    --the chronic diamond too polished
                                                       in *** to see the roses in her *****
    She curses these wood songs,
             heritage patriots with the pelts of wild lions
             with antlers over their heads,
                                                  faces advertising war paint
                                                applied by gargoyle hands
                    --sad memoirs always drink people
                                                  that use God as a cookie jar.


IV


  Gorgeous names
  on graffiti institutions give her a home
                                                         a market
                                                         a nickname
           still                  Alice only accepts Alice.

Grace periods where she misses tyranny
                  rise and fall like endorsed breathing.
    Now Alice feels her dress fall off,
                                  extinct years message future occupancy
                                  about what to wear.
New era, this era, past eras plead guilty
in a      clinic museum
             of forcing demons
              down the medical
              throats
of first graders. Court adjourns at 9:01 PM, Saturday

             The populus can sleep now,
                          but not her.
                 No one gave her clothes
                 to cover up the drained monochrome.


V

Instead she celebrates her flesh,
                                        the broken glass,
   and quakes and leads off to expose
           others to its potential vital prosperity.

         Instead
                     headlines like bumper cars read
                     about the beheading of weeks,
                     failing rescue missions,
                     and debates on teenage tolerance.

Nicotine intoxication points Alice
to over-extended memories--wards of music
sequenced to point out the extinction of marble tigers.
                        Only 550 expected to understand
                         tethered to millions able to survive.

  Flood waters look at moral standards, a mean hurricane
                                   that collapses the death toll
     all patented 50 states
     have a dating service
     and huff paint as a way
                              to pray to art.
                                                      Double­-canvas faces
                                                      dyed in pixel     hope
                                                       that the media levees hold,
             but volunteer to herd sheep into poppy seed fields.
                                            She refuses to stay,
                    to watch the long night
                    of castration on men with mud-covered ankles.
                                      Television says eunuchs want
                                       to be prodigal's children,
                                       everyone wants to come back home
                                       to mom and dad, safe zones, away
                                       from themselves.
                                                     ­                 It says our ancestors want
                                                            ­          this for all of us. They worked
                                                          ­            so hard to tie up the hair
                                                            ­          out of Aphrodite's face.

                                     They treasure the silver eyes of Alice,
                                          but call them blue,
                                                  they issue her high cholesterol
                                          but pump sweet ****** into he stomach,
                                                  they tell her to put down the drill,
                                            so she can finish their orchestra--

her lightning
    is
     a
  string
     of
  souls



VI


     She decides to depart Sunday,
to discover the ordinary beginning,
                        painting WHY? on its delirium.
re-arrangeable viewers become
                      inserted sounds under percussion and piano.

       Caging various important charts
                                          undetermined
   ­                           as finished attention.
                                                      ­              Three movements in flux
open end the people                     vacuuming
                            craftsmanship blocks
                   from                                dogs and zen.

                                                 The
                                 suspended letter               is happening in 1951
   drenched in existential white                                            spacing
        ­                                                   the viewer
                        from integrated architecture.

Down
the
bell is a structure called
"the quarantined wheelchair."
                               Dead ignorance changes pattern
                               after six movements of the second hand.
Alice speaks, "To you all, know
                                       that this is an un-dramatic situation.
          Everyday windows with the same
           participants have girls drinking
                                                     orange juice, activate fluid,
                    both exist as objects
                    and caught propaganda."

                                                   ­                      Six tunnel
                                                          ­      audiences are watching
                                                        ­        drown in the plastic silk
   her                                                       built by the motorized collage
                                                         ­                                        spider.

          Alice, a kinetic mannequin pop star
                        is limp in the glass point.
             Rhythmic flux is objectified war torture
                         censored in fitness magazines
by simple toilet literature.

                                        Six tunnels worth of eyes
                                 latch to the *******
                                           as a way to bury **** protesting.
                                  A coat of pepper spray
                                   works in front of the exhibition.
This stage is shaded by moans.


VII


      Alice the female, has a door-to-door friend
                                                          ­    over the sea
of the cathedral's ceiling               who died of disemboweled
pulchritude             at the mutilated nuclear other-place.
                     Her friend was a synthesized example
                     of staged catastrophes. Her friend is her, silver-eyed
                                                     ­                                             Alice.

            ­                     She performs herself and herself
                                 but they are played by polished, scored poets.

Everyone of them incorporates the events
                                 of a dancing gunshot. Everything rests
                                                           ­ at an intermission

               but after fifty minutes of pondering,
          the lost audience remembers
         her name is Alice.
                   So it comes back on with a shower of sweat
                  and this clear
                                  substance
               ­                                 called
                         ­                              patience.
       This composing, peering vulnerability
                        psychologically destroys the flux tension
              like analog genocidal dictators.
                                   Ultimately this is dream liquor

     commentating war to the war tree
      using trauma and chairs as humor.



VIII


               Patience on the water level lives translucent
                                            on networks that brand flesh
                                            with displaced identity.
Alice convinces us all that pickled ***
                                                             ­               takes eight years
                     to ****** and we accuse it
                                         of being fake. Afterwards, her character dies
in confident silence.


IX


     Not majestic, but she does cough
                  to mock the earth.
        The seeds of Alice are ripe,
                        harvested early, and now her children come out and dine
        like speaking tongues on gibberish.
                          The room is fat with hair

and kindness. Feeble, mundane hands chew on each other,
                                                         feet stand proud.
We even call her Alice or "the beautiful *******,
                                             a black cloud feasting
                                             in orange."
                       Everyone feasts on the nectar
                                                         she has, but never the rye
which makes her round. Juice is squeaking and her children laugh
                         as in competition.

     It's a distinguishable game as the mixed
                                                           ­      couple up front
              begin to play whistles as
                                         everyone eats
                   the pride of the silver-eyed Alice's children.


X

                                                ­ The children's souls
                                                       bow and say
                                           "Thank you for barely growing."
                                                   and dissipate after five minutes.

          "Curiouser                                   ­                                      and
           Curiouser"                                                       ­                   they
           say                                                              ­                        as
           they                                                             ­                       leave
           this                                                             ­                         homage.
                  The decimal backbone
                     of each of sweet Alice's
                                   blonde strands
                   divorced by the gust/ of a green light's/ allowance.


XI Epilogue*


  The day crawls away
                   a vigilant pest
     of the nocturnal project
                   --suns beam down still, like
                  stomachs of grinning felines
                           at Valentine's day.

toxic-dyed fingers
                        soldered
to bodies pittering across rainy streets

--legionnaires with hearts on stones
                         we are waiting for her orders,

     thistled-teeth clench,
                                         but did she
                                          actually
          ­                                ever come?
Hunter Mar 16
Enchantment - In the vast gardens of the great castle, under the soft glow of the summer moon, lived a servant girl named Elara. She moved through the castle corridors with grace and humility, her heart filled with dreams beyond her station. And it was on one magical summer night that her destiny intertwined with that of a handsome young prince.

Prince Alden, with his striking features and kind demeanor, often sought refuge in the castle gardens, away from the pressures of royal life. One evening, as he wandered among the fragrant blooms and winding pathways, he caught sight of Elara, tending to the flowers with gentle hands.

Enthralled by her beauty and grace, Alden approached her, his heart racing with a newfound excitement. As they exchanged shy smiles and idle conversation, they found themselves drawn together by an invisible thread, their souls recognizing a kindred spirit in each other.

Under the silver light of the moon, they strolled through the gardens, their laughter mingling with the sweet melody of nightingales. With every whispered word and stolen glance, their connection deepened, forging a bond that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

As the night wore on, they found themselves alone in a secluded alcove, surrounded by the fragrance of roses and the soft rustle of leaves. There, bathed in the moonlight, they shared their hopes, their fears, and their deepest desires, each word a testament to the growing love between them.

In that enchanted moment, Elara and Alden knew that they were meant to be together, their hearts entwined in a love that defied all odds. And as they embraced beneath the starry sky, they vowed to defy convention and follow their hearts, no matter the consequences.

From that night onward, Elara and Alden's love blossomed like the flowers in the castle gardens, filling their days with joy and their nights with passion. And though their path was fraught with challenges and obstacles, they faced them together, their love shining as bright as the summer moon that had brought them together.   https://youtu.be/mXbIF9eoLZ4
Published as Music at https://www.youtube.com/@OrionsPiano
Lynne Pingoy Sep 2015
ALDUB, isang loveteam na hinahangaan ng sambayanan
Lalaki, babae, o kung anumang kasarian man yan.
Siguradong kikiligin ka sa tambalan ng banyan.
Syempre ALDUB yan, sigaw ng taongbayan.

Dalawang taong may pinag-aralan
Naging isa sa EAT BULAGA; programa ng bayan.
Walang halong kaartehan o kaplastikan ang pagtitinginan
Inyo itong makikita sa kanilang mga tinginan.

Si ALDEN na handang tumupad sa pangako,
At si MAINE na handang maghintay sa mangingibig nito.
Ang pag-iibigan nila minsan magulo,
Pero madalas nagiging wasto.

Mga mata nila'y nagtugma na,
Ngunit kamay nila'y hindi pa naging isa.
PLYWOOD, ALARM CLOCK, LONG TALBE Nidora, humarang sa kanila,
Paglalapit nila'y naging HOPIA pa.

Kailan kaya magiging isa ang mga ito?
Kung ang layo nila'y magkabilang dulo ng mundo.
Ang mga tao'y nagtatanong,
Kailan nga ba ang tamang panahon?

Ito'y huling hirit na ng mga tao.
Lola Nidora tuluyang buksan ang iyong puso.
Paglapitin landas ng dalawang ito.
Upang ang mga tao'y kiligin mula BATANES hanggang JOLO.
357

God is a distant—stately Lover—
Woos, as He states us—by His Son—
Verily, a Vicarious Courtship—
“Miles”, and “Priscilla”, were such an One—

But, lest the Soul—like fair “Priscilla”
Choose the Envoy—and spurn the Groom—
Vouches, with hyperbolic archness—
“Miles”, and “John Alden” were Synonym—
Hindi ako Balagtas
Hindi ako Kabesang Sisiw
Ngunit igagawa kita ng binalaybay  na epiko

Hindi ako Amorsolo
Hindi ako Botong Francisco
Ngunit ipipinta kita sa dalampasigan ng aking puso


Hindi ako Rizal
Hindi ako Bonifacio
Ngunit buhay ko'y iaalay sa'yo


Hindi ako si Alden Richards
Hindi ako James Reid
Ngunit sa tingin ko, God gave me you.
It all started ng maging adik ako sa ALDUB!! (the love team of Alden and Yaya  Dub) well, he is too! Kasi dun kami nagkakilala. Una pa comment-comment lang kami sa Eat Bulaga facebook page before. And this guy, there is something about him, (something that is so captivating) at parang hinahatak akong tingnan yung profile niya. Kasi ang galing niyang mag comment, yung POV niya yun ang nakakuha ng attention ko talaga!!

So I viewed his profile though i know its a fake account because it was named  blah, blah, blah!
It's just all about my feelings for the guy I like
Farah Taskin Oct 2023
the summer solstice
or the winter solstice
by turns
the sunrise of Tiger hill that is breathtaking
the sunsets are very similar in colours
but the sunset of sea is quite different
I compare its beauty with Helen's of Troy


twilight after twilight
Vitamin D falls in love with Vitamin Sea!
in the watery dark
artistically sinks
the scarlet garnet
Alcyone looks out for Poseidon
I wade courageously in the saltiness
like lucky Neil Alden Armstrong
who moonwalked
so silently on the sea of
tranquility

as a boon the magnetic
moon arrives at last
the irresistible lover attracts
rich water and drives
her crazy
the eternal triangle!
nightly billows chant
romantically
THE UNKNOWN NEBULA
SHEDS TEARS OF JOY!
:')
RMatheson May 2020
I've collected Fathers like trading cards.
My first is the very common, "Abandonment Dad."
I've also got the "Distant Stranger and Sometimes Estranged Dad."
Then, I've got doubles of "Dead Dad."
If you have the rare "Decent Dad,"
I'd gladly trade a double.

— The End —