"balisong" poems
Your face, lights up the sky on the highway
Someday you'll share your world with me, someday.
You mesmerized me with diamond eyes.
I try to fool myself to think I'll be alright.
But I am losing all control -
My mind, my heart, my body and my soul.
Never in my life have I been more sure
So come on up to me and close the door
Nobody's made me feel this way before;
You're everything I wanted and more.
To speak or not to; where to begin
Your great dilemmas I'm finding myself in
For all I know you only see me as a friend
I try to tell myself wake up fool; this fairy tale's got to end.
Never in my life have I been more sure
So come on up to me and close the door
Nobody's made me feel this way before;
You're everything I wanted and more.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 1:08 PM UTC
It was supposedly a birthday gift,
this long-legged razor's edge.
My brother must've seen me
watching it's live demonstrations.
Little did he know,
how skilled I thought myself to be.
The wrapping came off easily.
It was crudely shredded by a lesser blade
soon to be replaced.
Then the weapon itself glared at me
through the clear plastic window of its box.
Unsheathing it then, I felt its power come to me,
two steel legs spreading for a ****** murderer.
I probed it meticulously, the blade
caught the light and somehow swallowed it
before its appendage whirled across to conceal it.
This was a knife with thoughts.
Then I tried my first trick.
The blade danced elegantly,
and though I held on (for dear life)
it wanted to escape from my clutches.
I was caging it gracelessly between my fingers
and its first prerogative was to be free.
Still holding tight, it changed tactics,
a blood thirst radiating from within.
The next move would be my last.
For one split-second it escaped the probation of my palms,
somersaulting through the air above me.
It pointed downwards for a final coup de grâce.
I divorced myself from the weapon that day,
stitches adorned my bloodied hands
and the blade was taken as evidence,
though for what trial I never discovered.
My brother tossed it into the sea, I found,
legs still spiralling, blade still sharp.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 5:41 AM UTC
Mixed up messed up
wacky Yankee doodle world,
curled up in a ball
like an animal should,
its no good running guns
and popping and burning in your own hood.
Used to be bike chains and brassknuckles
A Filipino dude with a balisong,
but now its a Beretta in every waistline.
Machine pistol mean mugs
putting drugs above people
in the hierarchy of the streets,
cold blooded hits, where there used to be beating.
No wonder every Tom **** And Harry, is crying Apocalypse Now!
It's not over till everybody gets a chance to sing, take it all in.
Begin anew, step through, and claim the future you want for your great grand children.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC
*I am an army of jealous marching,
Armed with guitars.
I am no conqueror,
Lording over roses,
But they won’t get near you.
You are a flower of your own.
Your tongue is a ninja.
A kunai is at my throat.
Your breasts…is a tactical unit.
I know what I want.
And I am easily angered.
Yes, you would see me
Slaughtering flying-kisses
With a Balisong;
Love letters for you--
Burned, gunpowder.
I would be on the watch
With a machine gun,
Guarding your heart.
And then you would call me
Weird.
You see, my heart has a detonator.
And if it's your wish to see me
Exploding, then let it be,
Yet do not pick the pieces,
The adjectives in the streets--
You will only make a lament
Out of them.
Dear,
I am just a blacksmith of words.
And your love…is a blazing fire.
I am at war
With your senses,
Your attention.
You are mine.*
© 2014 J.S.P.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
Noong musmos pa’y sabaw
sa isang malukong na pinggan
puno ng kaning may kaunting tutong
pagkaliban ko ng bakod, ika’y nakasalubong
kalooban ko’y kimi, dila ko noo’y urong
wala sa aking hinuhà,
walang sinangguning manghuhulà
sino ba’ng mag-aakalà
marmol **** bantayog
gatô palang kahoy ang loob
nang katotohana’y nabantog
sa kaunting yanig, gumuho ang moog
huwag daw sasamba sa mga d’yos-d’yosan
ngunit tila larawan ka ng may-kabanalan
haliging inasam na masasandalan
sa ilaw ko pala’y naging tampalasan
imaheng nadurog ay dagok sa aking likod,
at tila balisong na sa puso’y kumadyot
kulang ba ang hikbi ng pusang malambot?
labis bang nagmahal ang asong malikot?
Mahabang panahon ginugol, dumaan
Ang kapeng mainit lumamig,
Napanis na’t nakalimutan
Sa paglalakad, dinampot, hinimay
ang duming iniwan ng mga alamid
matiyagang pinagyaman
Isinangag ng paulit-ulit sa nagmumuning isipan
Giniling sa puso tumanaw sa pinagmulan
Tinimplahan ng matam-is na kapatawaran
Paglagok ng mainit, aking naramdaman
Tiwasay ang dibdib, may kapayapaan.
Nov 8, 2019
Nov 8, 2019 at 5:14 PM UTC
Click
Clack
Click
Click
Click
The butterfly knife handle is smooth against my palm,
Worn down through years of ownership and use.
Click
Clack
Click
Click
Clack
Curtis Stirgers is telling me the story of Poor Ol' John,
My mind is at peace,
And my thoughts are clear.
Click
Click
Clack
Click
Clack
I can see the flashes of steel,
Sending off glints of light out in the darkened room,
I'm mostly zoned out,
A quasi-zen state in this dance of blade and flesh,
A Balisong Ballet.
Click
Clack
Click
Click
Click
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 3:19 AM UTC