"counterbalance" poems - Hello Poetry

past wavering lights B. Serrano and Bagong Ilog love struck us down — sees no votive clearing of the fog or a word sharper than any blade wrought from frays. i have a photograph of you somewhere in the ken of my silence and on it paints lightsome hue and sometimes pale when it rains. KM 24 on a blue alloy and underneath, a Baguio — some memories we keep almost left by the last carriage homeward from too much fire in our hands only tremors could extinguish both striking a balance and counterbalance; the frequency of the electric and the immense decibel of lions drowning the disquiet. some places or some looking back makes you want to lose yourself in slight wonder and when a memory comes back with the dreary weight of its forgetfulness, we fall asleep traipsing the steeples of our dreams of each other all-telling, still dizzy with the pirouette of some distant longing bracing the fall, triggering our darkness and shooting out ourselves, small, love striking us down. arraying a triplicate of hazy trails forking all roads and we cannot find each other again; throwing stones rippling multiplied waves by the sea arriving at separate mornings beneath our feet, bends on the bludgeoned curves of love and hate ascertaining something so unsure as a door agape and swiveling in tense wind, tender is the night and love continues to smite us down, locking in, predatory precision, running away, and away, and away from the ache of it all.

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Nov 3, 2015

Nov 3, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Two Poems (Davao Blurs): (1) White Streets Photographed

past wavering lights B. Serrano and Bagong Ilog love struck us down — sees no votive clearing of the fog or a word sharper than any blade wrought from frays. i have a photograph of you somewhere in the ken of my silence and on it paints lightsome hue and sometimes pale when it rains. KM 24 on a blue alloy and underneath, a Baguio — some memories we keep almost left by the last carriage homeward from too much fire in our hands only tremors could extinguish both striking a balance and counterbalance; the frequency of the electric and the immense decibel of lions drowning the disquiet. some places or some looking back makes you want to lose yourself in slight wonder and when a memory comes back with the dreary weight of its forgetfulness, we fall asleep traipsing the steeples of our dreams of each other all-telling, still dizzy with the pirouette of some distant longing bracing the fall, triggering our darkness and shooting out ourselves, small, love striking us down. arraying a triplicate of hazy trails forking all roads and we cannot find each other again; throwing stones rippling multiplied waves by the sea arriving at separate mornings beneath our feet, bends on the bludgeoned curves of love and hate ascertaining something so unsure as a door agape and swiveling in tense wind, tender is the night and love continues to smite us down, locking in, predatory precision, running away, and away, and away from the ache of it all.