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Auntie Hosebag Feb 2011
“Those who do not want to imitate anything,
produce nothing”.  Salvador Dali -- Dali on Dali

Dreamrise.

The sliced steep slopes of those cliffs could be anywhere--say, Yosemite--buttered by
the same sun, not battered by these calm seas, or bothered
by melting timepieces draped about the landscape.

Why does the artist’s head melt, deconstruct, feather into foreground loam— teeth, tongue,
lips fading nearly without notice, nose pillowed on his own ear?

Is there a reason a single housefly struggles against sky-blue stickiness--imperiled heroine
awaiting the locomotive crush of the sweeping minute hand--or why the bottom
of her golden prison melts in the sepia heat, its silver sisters hung limp
from a branch long dead, or laid carefully
as a blanket over the sleeping
focal face?

What of the copper watch, alone in original form, though a cluster of ants spews from its center
in lieu of hands?

The artist provides no answer, perhaps presuming the question sufficient.

That dead tree—
the only thing vertical, unless you stand beneath the cliffs;
the only thing anchored, unless you allow the cliffs;
the only thing obviously dead, unless those buttered cliffs are someone’s skin—
that tree is Watcher and Scribe, the Presence of the World, and at its base
a face is embedded, of some Bosch-spawned horror, gaze trained beyond
borders, back to the Middle Ages, or maybe on its own shadow.

Straight lines are few enough to count.  The horizon is one, or four, depending on how you tally.
Plain plank painted every hue of blue on the canvas numbers ten—again, depending—could be seven.
And the platform: four, or six?  Are these tricks of the eye or the mind—or math?  By the magic
of perfect draughtsmanship it works out to just the right number.

Note the placement of pebbles—gold right, gray left—for each side of the brain, he dreams; for balance,
for focus, for scale and distortion, placed with precision to escape first notice, the better to manipulate
mind and eye to see what isn’t there:
                                                          ­          the dark,
                                                           ­                          the void,
                                                           ­                                          this universe collapsing,
                                             ­                                                                 ­                                     howling open emptiness,
no stars, no cliffs, no clocks
wormhole of sleep which draws all from there to here,
bloated, belligerent Babylon of black consumes the bottom corner, far removed from ants,
beckoning the dreamer homeward--or Hellward?

In every direction lies fear or fulfillment,
each boundary spreads wide to possibility,
from this static domain where no breeze exists
to mar the surface of an ocean
so vast.
Another ekphrasis piece, this on Dali's *Persistence of Memory*.  Yeah, the one with the melting watches.  That one.
Leonoah Apr 2020
Alas sais y medya na ng umaga nang makauwi si Natividad mula sa bahay ng kanyang amo. Pagkababa n’ya ng maliit na bag na laman ang kanyang cellphone at wallet na merong labin-limang libo at iilang barya ay marahan siyang naglakad tungo sa kwartong tinutulugan ng kanyang tatlong anak. Hinawi niya ang berdeng kurtina at sumilip sa kanyang mga anghel.
Babae ang panganay ni Natividad, o di kaya’y Vida. Labindalawang taong gulang na ito at nasa Grade 7 na. Isa sa mga malas na naabutan ng pahirap na K-12 program. Ang gitna naman ay sampung taong gulang na lalaki at mayroong down syndrome. Special child ang tawag nila sa batang tulad nito, pero “abnormal” o “abno” naman ang ipinalayaw ng mga lasinggero sa kanila. Ang bunso naman niya, si bunsoy, ay kakatapak lamang ng Grade 1. Pitong taong gulang na ito at ito ang katangkaran sa mga babae sa klase nito. Sabi ng kapwa niya magulang ay late na raw ang edad nito para sa baiting, pero kapag mahirap ka, mas maigi na ang huli kaysa wala.
Nang makitang nahihimbing pa ang mga ito ay tahimik s’yang tumalikod at naglakad papuntang kusina. Ipagluluto niya ang mga anak ng sopas at adobong manok. May mga natira pa namang sangkap na iilang gulay, gatas, at macaroni na galing pa sa bahay ni Kapitan noong nangatulong siya sa paghahanda para sa piyesta. Bumili rin siya ng kalahating kilo na pakpak ng manok, kalahating kilo pa ulit ng atay ng manok, at limang kilo ng bigas.
Inuna niya ang pagsasaing. Umabot pa ng tatlong gatang ang natitirang bigas nila sa pulang timba ng biskwit kaya ‘yun na lang ang ginamit niya. Pagkatapos ay agad niya rin itong pinalitan ng bagong biling bigas.
De-uling pa ang kalan ni Vida kaya inabot siya ng limang minuto bago nakapagpaapoy. Siniguro niyang malakas ang apoy para madaling masaing. Kakaunti na lang kasi ang oras na natitira.
Habang hinihintay na maluto ang kanin ay dumiretso na sa paghahanda ng mga sangkap si Vida. Siniguro niyang tahimik ang bawat kilos para maiwasang magising ang mga anak. Mas mapapatagal lamang kasi kung sasabay pa ang mga ito sa kanyang pagluluto.
Habang hinahati at pinaparami ang manok ay patingin-tingin s’ya sa labas. Inaabangan ang inaasahan niyang mga bisita.
Mukang magtatagal pa sila ah. Ano na kayang balita? Dito lamang naikot ang isip ni Vida sa tuwing nakikitang medyo normal pa sa labas.
May mga potpot na nagbebenta na pan de sal at monay, mga nanay na labas-masok ng kani-kanilang mga bahay dahil tulad niya ay naghahanda rin ng pagkain, at mga lalaking kauuwi lamang sa trabaho o siguro kaya’y galing sa inuman.
Tulog pa ata ang karamihan ng mga bata. Mabuti naman, walang maingay. Hindi magigising ang tatlo.
Binalikan niya ang sinaing at tiningnan kung pupwede na bang hanguin.
Okay na ito. Dapat ako magmadali talaga.
Dali-dali niyang isinalang ang kaserolang may laman na pinira-pirasong manok.
Habang hinihintay na maluto ang manok ay paunti-unti rin siyang naglilinis. Tahimik pa rin ang bawat kilos. Lampas kalahating oras na siyang nakakauwi at ano mang oras ay baka magising ang mga anak niya o di kaya’y dumating ang mga hinihintay n’ya.
Winalis niya ang buong bahay. Maliit lang naman iyon kaya mabilis lamang siyang natapos. Pagkatapos ay marahan siyang naglakad papasok sa maliit nilang tulugan, kinuha ang lumang backpack ng kanyang panganay at sinilid doon ang ilang damit. Tatlong blouse, dalawang mahabang pambaba at isang short. Dinamihan niya ang panloob dahil alanganin na kakaunti lamang ang dala.
Pagkatapos niyang mag-empake ay itinago niya muna backpack sa ilalim ng lababo. Hinango niya na rin ang manok at agad na pinalitan ng palayok na pamana pa sa kanya. Dahil hinanda niya na kanina sa labas ang lahat ng kakailanganin ay dahan dahan niyang sinara ang pinto para hindi marinig mula sa loob ang ingay ng paggigisa.
Bawat kilos niya ay mabilis, halata **** naghahabol ng oras. Kailangang makatapos agad siya para may makain ang tatlo sa paggising nila.
Nang makatapos sa sopas ay agad niya itong ipinasok at ipinatong sa lamesa. Sinigurong nakalapat ang takip para mainit-init pa sakaling tanghaliin ng gising ang mga anak.
Dali-daling hinugasan ang ginamit na kaserola sa paglalaga at agad ulit itong isinalang sa apoy. Atay ng manok ang binili niya para siguradong mas mabilis maluluto. Magandang ipang-ulam ang adobo dahil ma-sarsa, pwede ring ulit-ulitin ang pag-iinit hanggang maubos.
Habang hinihintay na lumambot na ang mga patatas, nakarinig siya ng mga yabag mula sa likuran.
Nandito na sila. Hindi pa tapos ‘tong adobo.
“Vida.” Narinig niyang tawag sa kanya ng pamilyar na boses ng lalaki. Malapit niyang kaibigan si Tobias. Tata Tobi kung tawagin ng mga anak niya. Madalas niya ditong ihabilin ang tatlo kapag kailangan niyang mag-overnight sa bahay ng amo.
“Tobi. Andito na pala kayo,” nginitian niya pa ang dalawang kasama nitong nasa likuran. Tahimik lang ang mga itong nagmamasid sa kanya.
“Hindi pa tapos ang adobo ko eh. Ilalahok ko pa lang ang atay. Pwedeng upo muna kayo doon sa loob? Saglit na lang naman ‘to.”
Mukhang nag-aalangan pa ang dalawa pero tahimik itong kinausap ni Tobi. Maya-maya ay parang pumayag na rin ito at tahimik na naglakad papasok. Narinig niya pang sinabihan ni Tobi ang mga ito na dahan-dahan lamang dahil natutulog ang mga anak niya. Napangiti na lamang siya rito.
Pagkalahok ng atay at tinakpan niya ang kaserola. Tahimik siyang naglakad papasok habang nararamdaman ang pagmamasid sa kanya. Tumungo siya sa lababo at kinuha ang backpack.
Lumapit siya sa mga panauhin at tahimik na dinaluhan ang mga ito tapos ay sabay-sabay nilang pinanood ang usok galing sa adobong atay.
“M-ma’am.” Rinig niyang tawag sa kanya ng kasama ni Tobias. Corazon ang nakaburdang apelyido sa plantsadong uniporme. Mukhang bata pa ito at baguhan.
“Naku, ser. ‘Wag na po ganoon ang itawag niyo sa akin. Alam niyo naman na kung sino ako.” Maraan niyang sabi dito, nahihiya.
“Vida. Pwede ka namang tumanggi.” Si Tobias talaga.
“Tobi naman. Parang hindi ka pamilyar. Tabingi ang tatsulok, Tobias. Alam mo iyan.” Iniiwasan niyang salubungin ang mga mata ni Tobias. Nararamdaman niya kasi ang paninitig nito. Tumatagos. Damang-dama niya sa bawat himaymay ng katawan niya at baka saglit lamang na pagtingin dito ay umiyak na siya.
Kanina niya pa nilulunok ang umaalsang hagulhol dail ayaw niyang magising ang mga anak.
“Vida…” marahang tawag sa kanya ng isa pang kasama ni Tobi. Mukhang mas matanda ito sa Corazon pero halatang mas matanda pa rin ang kaibigan niya.
“Ano ba talaga ang nangyari?”
“Ser…Abit,” mabagal niyang basa sa apelyido nito.
“Ngayon lang po ako nanindigan para sa sarili ko.” garalgal ang boses niya. Nararamdaman niya na ang umaahon na luha.
“Isang beses ko lang po naramdaman na tao ako, ser. At ngayon po iyon. Nakakapangsisi na sa ganitong paraan ko lang nabawi ang pagkatao ko, pero ang mahalaga po ay ang mga anak ko. Mahalaga po sila sa’kin, ser.” mahina lamang ang pagkakasabi niya, sapat na para magkarinigan silang apat.
“Kung mahalaga sila, bakit mo ginawa ‘yon? Vida, bakit ka pumatay?”
Sasagot n asana siya ng marinig niyang kumaluskos ang banig mula sa kuwarto. Lumabas doon ang panganay niyang pupungas-pungas pa. dagli niya itong pinalapit at pinaupo sa kinauupuan niya. Lumuhod siya sa harap nito para magpantay sila.
“Anak. Good morning. Kamusta ang tulog mo?”
“Good morning din, nay. Sino po sila? ‘Ta Tobi?”
“Kaibigan sila ni ‘Ta Tobias, be. Hinihintay nila ako kasi may pupuntahan kami eh.” marahan niyang paliwanag, tinatantya ang bawat salita dahil bagong gising lamang ang anak.
“Saan, nay? May handaan po uli sina ser?” tukoy nito sa mga dati niyang amo.
“Basta ‘nak. Kunin mo muna yung bag ko doon sa lamesa, dali. Kunin ko yung ulam natin mamaya. Masarap yun, be.”
Agad naman itong sumunod habang kinukuha niya na rin ang bagong luto na adobo. Pagkapatong sa lamesa ng ulam ay nilapitan niya ulit ang anak na tinitingnan-tingnan ang tahimik na mga  kasama ni Tobias.
“Be…” tawag niya rito.
Pagkalingon nito sa kanya ay hinawakan niya ang mga kamay nito. Nagsisikip na ang lalamunan niya. Nag-iinit na rin ang mga mata niya at nahihirapan na sa pagbuga ng hangin.
“Be, wala na sina ser. Wala na sila, hindi na nila tayo magugulo.” ngiti niya rito. Namilog naman ang mga mata nito. Halata **** natuwa sa narinig.
“Tahimik na tayo, nay? Hindi na nila kakalampagin ang pinto natin sa gabi?”
“Hindi na siguro, anak. Makakatulog na kayo ng dire-diretso, pangako.” Sinapo niya ang mukha nito tapos ay matunog na hinalikan sa pisngi at noo. ‘Eto na ang matagal niyang pinapangarap na buhay para sa mga anak. Tahimik. Simple. Walang gulo.
“Kaso, ‘nak, kailangan kong sumama sa kanila.” Turo niya kayna Tobias. Nanonood lamang ito sa kanila. Hawak na rin ni Tobi ang backpack niya.
“May ginawa kasi si nanay, be. Para diretso na ang tulog natin at para di na tayo guluhin nina ser. Pramis ko naman sa’yo be, magsasama ulit tayo. Pangako. Bilangin mo ang tulog na hindi tayo magkakasama. Tapos pagbalik ko, hihigitan ko pa ‘yon ng maraming maraming tulog na magkakasama na tayo.”
“Nay…” nagtataka na ang itsura ng anak niya. Namumula na kasi ang mukha niya panigurado. Kakapigil na humagulhol dahil ayaw niyang magising ang dalawa pang anak.
“Anak parang ano lang ito…abroad. Diba may kaklase kang nasa abroad ang nanay? Doon din ako, be.”
Bigla ay nagtubig ang mga mata ng panganay niya. Malalaking butil ng tubig. Hindi niya alam kung naniniwala pa ba ito sa mga sinasabi niya, o kung naiintindihan na nito ang mga nangyayari.
“Itong bag ko, andiyan yung wallet at telepono ko. Diba matagal mo nang gusto magkaroon ng ganon, be? Iyo na ‘yan, basta dapat iingatan mo ha. Yung pera be, kay Tata Tobias mo ihahabilin. Habang nagtatrabaho ako, kay ‘Ta Tobi muna kayo.”
“Nay, hindi ka naman magtatrabaho eh.” Lumabi ang anak niya tapos ay tuluyan nang nalaglag ang luha.
Tinawanan niya naman ito. “Sira, magtatrabaho ako. Basta intayin mo ‘ko be ha? Kayo nina bunsoy ko, ha?” Hindi niya napigilang lambing-lambingin ito na parang batang munti. Kailangan ay sulitin niya ang pagkakataon.
Paulit-ulit niya itong dinampian ng maliliit na halik sa mukha, wala na siyang pakealam kung malasahan niya ang alat ng luha nito. Kailangan ay masulit niya ang natitirang oras.
“Nay, sama po ako. Sama kami ni bunsoy. Tahimik lang kami lagi, pramis, nay. Parang kapag andito si ser, hindi naman kami gugulo doon.” Tuluyan na ngang umalpas ang hikbi niya. Naalala niyang muli ang rason kung ba’t n’ya ito ginagawa. Para sa tahimik na buhay ng mga anak.
“Sus, maniwala sa’yo, be. Basta hintayin mo si nay. ‘Lika ***** tayo doon sa kwarto, magbabye ako kayna bunsoy.” Yakag niya rito. Sumama naman ito sa kanya habang nakayakap sa baywang niya. Humihikbi-hikbi pa rin ito habang naagos ang luha.
Tahimik niyang nilapitan ang dalawa. Kinumutan niyang muli ang mga ito at kinintalan ng masusuyong halik sa mga noo. Bata pa ang mga anak niya. Marami pa silang magagawa. Malayo pa ang mararating nila. Hindi tulad ng mga magulang nila, ‘yun ang sisiguraduhin niya. Hindi ito mapapatulad sa kanila ng mister niya.
“Be, dito ka na lang ha. Alis na si nanay. Alagaan mo sina bunsoy, be, ha. Pati sarili mo. Ang iskul mo anak, kahit hindi ka manguna, ayos lang kay nanay. Hindi naman ako magagalit. Basta gagalingan mo hangga’t kaya mo ha. Mahal kita, be. Kayong tatlo. Mahal na mahal namin kayo.” Mahigpit niya itong niyakap habang paiyak na binubulong ang mga habilin. Wala na ring tigil ang pag-iyak niya kaya agad na siyang tumayo. Baka magising pa ang dalawa.
Nakita niya namang nakaabang sa pinto si Tobi bitbit ang bag niya. Kinuha niya rito ang bag at sinabihang ito na ang bahala sa mga anak. Baog si Tobias at iniwan na ng asawa. Sumama raw sa ibang lalaking mas mayaman pa rito. Kagawad si Tobias sa lugar nila kaya sigurado siyang hindi magugutom ang mga anak niya rito. May tiwala siyang mamahalin ni Tobias na parang sarili nitong mga anak ang tatlo dahil matagal niya na itong nasaksihan.
Pagsakay sa sasakyan kasama ang dalawang pulis na kasama ni Tobias ay saka lamang siya pinosasan ng lalaking may burdang Corazon.
“Kilala namang sindikato yung napatay mo, ma’am. Kulang lamang kami sa ebidensya dahil malakas ang kapit sa taas. Kung sana…sana ay hindi ka nag-iwan ng sulat.”
“Nabuhay ang mga anak kong may duwag na ina, ser. Ayokong lumaki pa sila sa puder ng isang taong walang paninindigan. Pinatay niya na ang asawa ko. Dapat ay sapat na ‘yon na bayad sa utang namin, diba?” kung kanina ay halo humagulhol siya sa harap ng mga anak, ngayon ay walang emosyong mahahamig sa boses niya. Nakatingin lamang siya sa labas at tinititigan ang mga napapatingin sa dumadaang sasakyan ng pulis.
Kung sana ay hindi tinulungan ng mga nakatataas ang amo niya. Kung sana ay nakakalap ng sapat na mga ebidensya ang mga pulis na ngayon ay kasama niya. Kung sana ay may naipambayad sila sa inutang ng asawa niya para pambayad sa panganganak niya.
Kung hindi siguro siya mahirap, baka wala siya rito.
unedited
cosmos Feb 2016
"No more questions?
Let's move on to the next topic"

Mula nang mawala ka,
Sa bawat pagkakataong
Banggitin iyan ng aking mga ****,
Napapatanga ako at itinatanong sa sarili,
"Ganon lang ba kadali yun?"

Sana kasing dali
Ng paglipat ng pahina ng aking libro
Ang paglipat ng puso ko mula sayo, pabalik sakin

Sana kasing dali
Ng pagbura ng marka ng lapis sa kuwaderno
Ang pagbura ng alaala mo sa aking isipan

Sana kasing dali
Ng paglabas pasok ng mga **** sa silid
Ang paglabas pasok mo sa aking mundo

Sana pero hindi

Dahil tila nasa bawat pahina ka ng aking libro
Dahil tila marka ng bolpen ang pilit kong ibinubura
Dahil tila nakalabas ka na ngunit pilit kitang inaanyayahang bumalik
Kahit ilang pagsasanay, pagsusulit, at oral recitations pa
Sana bumalik ka
Pero hindi.

"No more questions?
Let's move on to the next topic"

Paano nga naman kasi ako makakausad
Kung isipan ko'y punong-puno pa rin ng katanungan
Bakit ka sumuko?
Bakit hindi na puwede?
Hindi mo na ba ako mahal?
-------------------------------------
Hindi ko naman ginawa 'to sa classroom nag-aaral ako 'no. Naisip ko lang HAHAHA.
Meena Menon Sep 2021
Flicker Shimmer Glow

The brightest star can shine even with thick black velvet draped over it.  
Quartz, lime and salt crystals formed a glass ball.
The dark womb held me, warm and soft.  
My mom called my cries when I was born the most sorrowful sound she had ever heard.  
She said she’d never heard a baby make a sound like that.    
I’d open my eyes in low light until the world’s light healed rather than hurt.  
The summer before eighth grade, July 1992,
I watched a shooting star burn by at 100,000 miles per hour as I stood on the balcony  
while my family celebrated my birthday inside.  
It made it into the earth’s atmosphere
but it didn’t look like it was coming down;
I know it didn’t hit the ground but it burned something in the time it was here.  
The glass ball of my life cracked inside.  
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks.  
I saw the beauty of the light within.  
Nacre from my shell kept those cracks from getting worse,
a wild pearl as defense mechanism.  
In 2001, I quit my job after they melted and poured tar all over my life.  
All summer literature class bathtubs filled with rose hip oil cleaned the tar.  
That fall logic and epistemology classes spewed black ink all over my philosophy
written over ten years then.  
Tar turned to asphalt when I met someone from my old job for a drink in November
and it paved a road for my life that went to the hospital I was in that December
where it sealed the roof on my life
when I was almost murdered there
and in February after meeting her for another drink.  
They lit a fire at the top of the glacier and pushed the burning pile of black coal off the edge,
burnt red, looking like flames falling into the valley.  
While that blazed the side of the cliff something lit an incandescent light.  
The electricity from the metal lightbulb ***** went through wires and heated the filament between until it glowed.  
I began putting more work into emotional balance from things I learned at AA meetings.  
In Spring 2003, the damage that the doctors at the hospital in 2001 had done
made it harder for light to reflect from the cracks in the glass ball.
I’d been eating healthy and trying to get regular exercises since 1994
but in Spring 2003 I began swimming for an hour every morning .  
The water washed the pollution from the burning coals off
And then I escaped in July.  
I moved to London to study English Language and Linguistics.  
I would’ve studied English Language and Literature.  
I did well until Spring 2004 when I thought I was being stalked.  
I thought I was manic.  
I thought I was being stalked.  
I went home and didn’t go back for my exams after spring holiday.  
Because I felt traumatized and couldn’t write poetry anymore,
I used black ink to write my notes for my book on trauma and the Russian Revolution.
I started teaching myself German.  
I stayed healthy.  
In 2005, my parents went to visit my mom’s family in Malaysia for two weeks.
I thought I was being stalked.  
I knew I wasn’t manic.  
I thought I was being stalked.  
I told my parents when they came home.  
They thought I was manic.  
I showed them the shoe prints in the snow of different sizes from the woods to the windows.  
They thought I was manic.  
I was outside of my comfort zone.  
I moved to California. I found light.  
I made light,
the light reflected off the salt crystals I used to heal the violence inflicted on me from then on.  
The light turned the traffic lights to not just green from red
but amber and blue.  
The light turned the car signals left and right.  
The light reflected off of salt crystals, light emitting diodes,
electrical energy turned directly to light,
electroluminescence.  
The electrical currents flowed through,
illuminating.  
Alone in the world, I moved to California in July 2005
but in August  I called the person I escaped in 2003,
the sulfur and nitrogen that I hated.  
He didn’t think I was manic but I never said anything.
I never told him why I asked him to move out to California.  
When his coal seemed like only pollution,
I asked him to leave.  
He threatened me.  
I called the authorities.  
They left me there.
He laughed.  
Then the violence came.  
****:  stabbed and punched, my ****** bruised, purple and swollen.  
The light barely reflected from the glass ball wIth cracks through all the acid rain, smoke and haze.
It would take me half an hour to get my body to do what my mind told it to after.  
My dad told me my mom had her cancer removed.
The next day, the coal said if I wanted him to leave he’d leave.  
I booked his ticket.
I drove him to the airport.  
Black clouds gushed the night before for the first time in months,
the sky clear after the rain.  
He was gone and I was free,
melted glass, heated up and poured—
looked like fire,
looked like the Snow Moon in February
with Mercury in the morning sky.  
I worked through ****.  
I worked to overcome trauma.  
Electricity between touch and love caused acid rain, smoke, haze, and mercury
to light the discharge lamps, streetlights and parking lot lights.
Then I changed the direction of the light waves.  
Like lead glass breaks up the light,
lead from the coal, cleaned and replaced by potassium,
glass cut clearly, refracting the light,
electrolytes,
electrical signals lit through my body,
thick black velvet drapes gone.  





















Lava

I think that someone wrote into some palm leaf a manuscript, a gift, a contract.  
After my parents wedding, while they were still in India,
they found out that my dad’s father and my mom’s grandfather worked for kings administering temples and collecting money for their king from the farmers that worked the rice paddies each king owned.  They both left their homes before they left for college.  
My dad, a son of a brahmin’s son,
grew up in his grandmother’s house.  
His mother was not a Brahmin.  
My mother grew up in Malaysia where she saw the children from the rubber plantation
when she walked to school.  
She doesn’t say what caste she is.  
He went to his father’s house, then college.  
He worked, then went to England, then Canada.  
She went to India then Canada.  
They moved to the United States around Christmas 1978
with my brother while she was pregnant with me.  
My father signed a contract with my mother.  
My parents took ashes and formed rock,
the residue left in brass pots in India,
the rocks, so hot, they turned back to lava miles away before turning back to ash again,
then back to rock,
the lava from a super volcano,
the ash purple and red.  


















Circles on a Moss Covered Volcano

The eruption beatifies the magma.  
It becomes obsidian,
only breaks with a fracture,
smooth circles where it breaks.  

My mom was born on the grass
on a lawn
in a moss covered canyon at the top of a volcanic island.  
My grandfather lived in Malaysia before the Japanese occupied.  
When the volcano erupted,
the lava dried at the ocean into black sand.  
The British allied with the Communist Party of Malaysia—
after they organized.  
After the Americans defeated the Japanese at Pearl Harbor,
the British took over Malaysia again.  
They kept different groups apart claiming they were helping them.  
The black sand had smooth pebbles and sharp rocks.  
Ethnic Malay farmers lived in Kampongs, villages.  
Indians lived on plantations.  
The Chinese lived in towns and urban areas.  
Ethnic Malays wanted independence.
In 1946, after strikes, demonstrations, and boycotts
the British agreed to work with them.  
The predominantly Chinese Communist Party of Malaysia went underground,
guerrilla warfare against the British,
claiming their fight was for independence.  
For the British, that emergency required vast powers
of arrest, detention without trial and deportation to defeat terrorism.  
The Emergency became less unpopular as the terrorism became worse.  
The British were the iron that brought oxygen through my mom’s body.  
She loved riding on her father’s motorcycle with him
by the plantations,
through the Kampongs
and to the city, half an hour away.  
The British left Malaysia independent in 1957
with Malaysian nationalists holding most state and federal government offices.  
As the black sand stretches towards the ocean,
it becomes big stones of dried lava, flat and smooth.  

My mom thought her father and her uncle were subservient to the British.  
She thought all things, all people were equal.  
When her father died when she was 16, 1965,
they moved to India,
my mother,
a foreigner in India, though she’s Indian.  
She loved rock and roll and mini skirts
and didn’t speak the local language.  
On the dried black lava,
it can be hard to know the molten lava flickers underneath there.  
Before the Korean War,
though Britain and the United States wanted
an aggressive resolution
condemning North Korea,
they were happy
that India supported a draft resolution
condemning North Korea
for breach of the peace.  
During the Korean War,
India, supported by Third World and other Commonwealth nations,
opposed United States’ proposals.
They were able to change the U.S. resolution
to include the proposals they wanted
and helped end the war.  
China wanted the respect of Third World nations
and saw the United States as imperialist.  
China thought India was a threat to the Third World
by taking aid from the United States and the Soviets.  
Pakistan could help with that and a seat at the United Nations.  
China wanted Taiwan’s seat at the UN.
My mother went to live with her uncle,
a communist negotiator for a corporation,
in India.  
A poet,
he threw parties and invited other artists, musicians and writers.  
I have the same brown hyperpigmentation at my joints that he had.  
During the day, only the steam from the hot lava can be seen.  
In 1965, Pakistani forces went into Jammu and Kashmir with China’s support.  
China threatened India after India sent its troops in.  
Then they threatened again before sending their troops to the Indian border.  
The United States stopped aid to Pakistan and India.
Pakistan agreed to the UN ceasefire agreement.  
Pakistan helped China get a seat at the UN
and tried to keep the west from escalating in Vietnam.  
The smoldering sound of the lava sizzles underneath the dried lava.  
When West Pakistan refused to allow East Pakistan independence,
violence between Bengalis and Biharis developed into upheaval.  
Bengalis moved to India
and India went into East Pakistan.  
Pakistan surrendered in December 1971.  
East Pakistan became independent Bangladesh

The warm light of the melted lava radiates underneath but burns.  
In 1974, India tested the Smiling Buddha,
a nuclear bomb.  
After Indira Gandhi’s conviction for election fraud in 1973,
Marxist Professor Narayan called for total revolution
and students protested all over India.  
With food shortages, inflation and regional disputes
like Sikh separatists training in Pakistan for an independent Punjab,
peasants and laborers joined the protests.  
Railway strikes stopped the economy.  
In 1975, Indira Gandhi, the Iron Lady,
declared an Emergency,
imprisoning political opponents, restricting freedoms and restricting the press,
claiming threats to national security
because the war with Pakistan had just ended.  
The federal government took over Kerala’s communist dominated government and others.  

My mom could’ve been a dandelion, but she’s more like thistle.  
She has the center that dries and flutters in the wind,
beautiful and silky,
spiny and prickly,
but still fluffy, downy,
A daisy.
They say thistle saved Scotland from the Norse.  
Magma from the volcano explodes
and the streams of magma fly into the air.  
In the late 60s,
the civil rights movement rose
against the state in Northern Ireland
for depriving Catholics
of influence and opportunity.
The Northern Irish police,
Protestant and unionist, anti-catholic,
responded violently to the protests and it got worse.  
In 1969, the British placed Arthur Young,
who had worked at the Federation of Malaya
at the time of their Emergency
at the head of the British military in Northern Ireland.
The British military took control over the police,
a counter insurgency rather than a police force,
crowd control, house searches, interrogation, and street patrols,
use of force against suspects and uncooperative citizens.  
Political crimes were tolerated by Protestants but not Catholics.  
The lava burns the rock off the edge of the volcano.  

On January 30, 1972, ****** Sunday,  
British Army policing killed 13 unarmed protesters
fighting for their rights over their neighborhood,
protesting the internment of suspected nationalists.
That led to protests across Ireland.  
When banana leaves are warmed,
oil from the banana leaves flavors the food.  
My dad flew from Canada to India in February 1972.  
On February 4, my dad met my mom.  
On February 11, 1972,
my dad married my mom.  
They went to Canada,
a quartz singing bowl and a wooden mallet wrapped in suede.  
The rock goes down with the lava, breaking through the rocks as it goes down.  
In March 1972, the British government took over
because they considered the Royal Ulster Police and the Ulster Special Constabulary
to be causing most of the violence.  
The lava blocks and reroutes streams,
melts snow and ice,
flooding.  
Days later, there’s still smoke, red.  
My mom could wear the clothes she liked
without being judged
with my dad in Canada.  
She didn’t like asking my dad for money.
My dad, the copper helping my mother use that iron,
wanted her to go to college and finish her bachelors degree.
She got a job.  
In 1976, the police took over again in Northern Ireland
but they were a paramilitary force—
armored SUVs, bullet proof jackets, combat ready
with the largest computerized surveillance system in the UK,
high powered weapons,
trained in counter insurgency.  
Many people were murdered by the police
and few were held accountable.  
Most of the murdered people were not involved in violence or crime.  
People were arrested under special emergency powers
for interrogation and intelligence gathering.  
People tried were tried in non-jury courts.  
My mom learned Malayalam in India
but didn’t speak well until living with my dad.  
She also learned to cook after getting married.  
Her mother sent her recipes; my dad cooked for her—
turmeric, cumin, coriander, cayenne and green chiles.  
Having lived in different countries,
my mom’s food was exposed to many cultures,
Chinese and French.
Ground rock, minerals and glass
covered the ground
from the ash plume.  
She liked working.  

A volcano erupted for 192 years,
an ice age,
disordered ices, deformed under pressure
and ordered ice crystals, brittle in the ice core records.  
My mother liked working.  
Though Khomeini was in exile by the 1970s in Iran,
more people, working and poor,
turned to him and the ****-i-Ulama for help.
My mom didn’t want kids though my dad did.
She agreed and in 1978 my brother was born.
Iran modernized but agriculture and industry changed so quickly.  
In January 1978, students protested—
censorship, surveillance, harassment, illegal detention and torture.  
Young people and the unemployed joined.  
My parents moved to the United States in December 1978.  
The regime used a lot of violence against the protesters,
and in September 1978 declared martial law in Iran.  
Troops were shooting demonstrators.
In January 1979, the Shah and his family fled.  
On February 11, 1979, my parents’ anniversary,
the Iranian army declared neutrality.  
I was born in July 1979.
The chromium in emeralds and rubies colors them.
My brother was born in May and I was born in July.

Obsidian—
iron, copper and chromium—
isn’t a gas
but it isn’t a crystal;
it’s between the two,
the ordered crystal and the disordered gas.  
They made swords out of obsidian.  





Warm Light Shatters

The eruption beatifies the magma.  
It becomes obsidian,
only breaks with a fracture,
smooth circles where it breaks.  

My dad was born on a large flat rock on the edge of the top
of a hill,
Molasses, sweet and dark, the potent flavor dominates,
His father, the son of a Brahmin,
His mother from a lower caste.
His father’s family wouldn’t touch him,
He grew up in his mother’s mother’s house on a farm.  
I have the same brown hyperpigmentation spot on my right hand that he has.

In 1901, D’Arcy bought a 60 year concession for oil exploration In Iran.
The Iranian government extended it for another 32 years in 1933.
At that time oil was Iran’s “main source of income.”
In 1917’s Balfour Declaration, the British government proclaimed that they favored a national home for the Jews in Palestine and their “best endeavors to facilitate the achievement” of that.

The British police were in charge of policing in the mandate of Palestine.  A lot of the policemen they hired were people who had served in the British army before, during the Irish War for Independence.  
The army tried to stop how violent the police were, police used torture and brutality, some that had been used during the Irish War for Independence, like having prisoners tied to armored cars and locomotives and razing the homes of people in prison or people they thought were related to people thought to be rebels.
The police hired Arab police and Jewish police for lower level policing,
Making local people part of the management.
“Let Arab police beat up Arabs and Jewish police beat up Jews.”

The lava blocks and reroutes streams, melts snow and ice, flooding.
In 1922, there were 83,000 Jews, 71,000 Christians, and 589,000 Muslims.
The League If Nations endorsed the British Mandate.
During an emergency, in the 1930s, British regulations allowed collective punishment, punishing villages for incidents.
Local officers in riots often deserted and also shared intelligence with their own people.
The police often stole, destroyed property, tortured and killed people.  
Arab revolts sapped the police power over Palestinians by 1939.

My father’s mother was from a matrilineal family.
My dad remembers tall men lining up on pay day to respectfully wait for her, 5 feet tall.  
She married again after her husband died.
A manager from a tile factory,
He spoke English so he supervised finances and correspondence.
My dad, a sunflower, loved her: she scared all the workers but exuded warmth to the people she loved.

Obsidian shields people from negative energy.
David Cargill founded the Burmah Oil Co. in 1886.
If there were problems with oil exploration in Burma and Indian government licenses, Persian oil would protect the company.  
In July 1906, many European oil companies, BP, Royal Dutch Shell and others, allied to protect against the American oil company, Standard Oil.
D’Arcy needed money because “Persian oil took three times as long to come on stream as anticipated.”
Burmah Oil Co. began the Anglo-Persian Oil Co. as a subsidiary.
Ninety-seven percent of British Petroleum was owned by Burmah Oil Co.
By 1914, the British government owned 51% of the Anglo-Persian Oil Co.  
Anglo-Persian acquired independence from Burmah Oil and Royal Dutch Shell with two million pounds from the British government.

The lava burns the rock off the edge of the volcano.
In 1942, after the Japanese took Burma,
the British destroyed their refineries before leaving.
The United Nations had to find other sources of oil.
In 1943, Japan built the Burma-Thailand Railroad with forced labor from the Malay peninsula who were mostly from the rubber plantations.

The rock goes down with the lava, breaking through the rocks as it goes down.
In 1945. Japan destroyed their refineries before leaving Burma.
Cargill, Watson and Whigham were on the Burmah Oil Co. Board and then the Anglo Iranian Oil Co. Board.  

In 1936 Palestine, boycotts, work stoppages, and violence against British police officials and soldiers compelled the government to appoint an investigatory commission.  
Leaders of Egypt, Trans Jordan, Syria and Iraq helped end the work stoppages.
The British government had the Peel Commission read letters, memoranda, and petitions and speak with British officials, Jews and Arabs.  
The Commission didn’t believe that Arabs and Jews could live together in a single Jewish state.
Because of administrative and financial difficulties the Colonial Secretary stated that to split Palestine into Arab and Jewish states was impracticable.  
The Commission recommended transitioning 250,000 Arabs and 1500 Jews with British control over their oil pipeline, their naval base and Jerusalem.  
The League of Nations approved.
“It will not remove the grievance nor prevent the recurrence,” Lord Peel stated after.
The Arab uprising was much more militant after Peel.  Thousands of Arabs were wounded, ten thousand were detained.  
In Sykes-Picot and the Husain McMahon agreements, the British promised the Arabs an independent state but they did not keep that promise.  
Representatives from the Arab states rejected the Peel recommendations.
United Nations General Assembly Resolution181 partitioned Palestine into Arab and Jewish states with an international regime for the city of Jerusalem backed by the United States and the Soviet Union.  

The Israeli Yishuv had strong military and intelligence organization —-  
the British recognized that their interest was with the Arabs and abstained from the vote.  
In 1948, Israel declared the establishment of its state.  
Ground rock, minerals, and gas covered the ground from the ash plume.
The Palestinian police force was disbanded and the British gave officers the option of serving in Malaya.

Though Truman, Eisenhower and Kennedy supported snd tried to get Israel to offer the Arabs concessions, it wasn’t a major priority and didn’t always approve of Israel’s plans.
Arabs that had supported the British to end Turkish rule stopped supporting the West.  
Many Palestinians joined left wing groups and violent third world movements.  
Seventy-eight percent of the territory of former Palestine was under Israel’s control.  

My dad left for college in 1957 and lived in an apartment above the United States Information services office.
Because he graduated at the top of his class, he was given a job with the public works department of the government on the electricity board.  
“Once in, you’ll never leave.”
When he wanted a job where he could do real work, his father was upset.
He broke the chains with bells for vespers.
He got a job in Calcutta at Kusum Products and left the government, though it was prestigious to work there.
In the chemical engineering division, one of the projects he worked on was to design a *** distillery, bells controlled by hammers, hammers controlled by a keyboard.
His boss worked in the United Kingdom for. 20 years before the company he worked at, part of Power Gas Corporation, asked him to open a branch in Calcutta.
He opened the branch and convinced an Industrialist to open a company doing the same work with him.  The branch he opened closed after that.  
My dad applied for labor certification to work abroad and was selected.  
His boss wrote a reference letter for my him to the company he left in the UK.  My dad sent it telling the company when he was leaving for the UK.  
The day he left for London, he got the letter they sent in the mail telling him to take the train to Sheffield the next day and someone from the firm would meet him at the station.  
His dad didn’t know he left, he didn’t tell him.
He broke the chains with chimes for schisms.


Anglo-Persian Oil became Anglo-Iranian Oil in 1935.
The British government used oil and Anglo-Persian oil to fight communism, have a stronger relationship with the United States and make the United Kingdom more powerful.  
The National Secularists, the Tudeh, and the Communists wanted to nationalize Iran’s oil and mobilized the Iranian people.
The British feared nationalization in Iran would incite political parties like the Secular Nationalists all over the world.  
In 1947, the Iranian government passed the Single Article Law that “[increased] investment In welfare benefits, health, housing, education, and implementation of Iranianization through substitution of foreigners” at Anglo-Iranian Oil Co.
“Anglo-Iranian Oil Company made more profit in 1950 than it paid to the Iranian government in royalties over the previous half century.”
The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company tried to negotiate a new concession and claimed they’d hire more Iranian people into jobs held by British and people from other nationalities at the company.
Their hospitals had segregated wards.  
On May 1, 1951, the Iranian government passed a bill that nationalized Anglo- Iranian Oil Co.’s holdings.  
During the day, only the steam from the hot lava can be seen.
In August 1953, the Iranian people elected Mossadegh from the Secular Nationalist Party as prime minister.
The British government with the CIA overthrew Mossadegh using the Iranian military after inducing protests and violent demonstrations.  
Anglo-Iranian Oil changed its name to British Petroleum in 1954.
Iranians believe that America destroyed Iran’s “last chance for democracy” and blamed America for Iran’s autocracy, its human rights abuses, and secret police.

The smoldering sound of the lava sizzles underneath the dried lava.  
In 1946, Executive Yuan wanted control over 4 groups of Islands in the South China Sea to have a stronger presence there:  the Paracels, the Spratlys, Macclesfield Bank, and the Pratas.
The French forces in the South China Sea would have been stronger than the Chinese Navy then.
French Naval forces were in the Gulf of Tonkin, U.S. forces were in the Taiwan Strait, the British were in Hong Kong, and the Portuguese were in Macao.
In the 1950s, British snd U.S. oil companies thought there might be oil in the Spratlys.  
By 1957, French presence in the South China Sea was hardly there.  

When the volcano erupted, the lava dried at the ocean into black sand.
By 1954, the Tudeh Party’s communist movement and  intelligence organization had been destroyed.  
Because of the Shah and his government’s westernization policies and disrespectful treatment of the Ulama, Iranians began identifying with the Ulama and Khomeini rather than their government.  
Those people joined with secular movements to overthrow the Shah.  

In 1966, Ne Win seized power from U Nu in Burma.
“Soldiers ruled Burma as soldiers.”
Ne Win thought that western political
Institutions “encouraged divisions.”
Minority groups found foreign support for their separatist goals.
The Karens and the Mons supported U Nu in Bangkok.  


Rare copper, a heavy metal, no alloys,
a rock in groundwater,
conducts electricity and heat.
In 1965, my Dad’s cousin met him at Heathrow, gave him a coat and £10 and brought him to a bed and breakfast across from Charing Cross Station where he’d get the train to Sheffield the next morning.
He took the train and someone met him at the train station.  
At the interview they asked him to design a grandry girder, the main weight bearing steel girder as a test.
Iron in the inner and outer core of the earth,
He’d designed many of those.  
He was hired and lived at the YMCA for 2 1/2 years.  
He took his mother’s family name, Menon, instead of his father’s, Varma.
In 1967, he left for Canada and interviewed at Bechtel before getting hired at Seagrams.  
Iron enables blood to carry oxygen.
His boss recommended him for Dale Carnegie’s leadership training classes and my dad joined the National Instrument Society and became President.
He designed a still In Jamaica,
Ordered all the parts, nuts and bolts,
Had all the parts shipped to Jamaica and made sure they got there.
His boss supervised the construction, installation and commission in Jamaica.
Quartz, heat and fade resistant, though he was an engineer and did the work of an engineer, my dad only had the title, technician so my dad’s boss thought he wasn’t getting paid enough but couldn’t get his boss to offer more than an extra $100/week or the title of engineer; he told my dad he thought he should leave.
In 1969, he got a job at Celanese, which made rayon.
He quit Celanese to work at McGill University and they allowed him to take classes to earn his MBA while working.  

The United States and Israel’s alliance was strong by 1967.
United Nations Security Council Resolution 242 at the end of the Third Arab Israeli War didn’t mention the Palestinians but mentioned the refugee problem.
After 1967, the Palestinians weren’t often mentioned and when mentioned only as terrorists.  
Palestinians’ faith in the “American sponsored peace process” diminished, they felt the world community ignored and neglected them also.
Groups like MAN that stopped expecting anything from Arab regimes began hijacking airplanes.
By 1972, the Palestine Liberation Organization had enough international support to get by the United States’ veto in the United Nations Security Council and Arab League recognition as representative of the Palestinian people.
The Palestinians knew the United States stated its support, as the British had, but they weren’t able to accomplish anything.  
The force Israel exerted in Johnson’s United States policy delivered no equilibrium for the Palestinians.  

In 1969, all political parties submitted to the BSPP, Burma Socialist Programme Party.
Ne Win nationalized banks and oil and deprived minorities of opportunities.
Ne Win became U Nu Win, civilian leader of Burma in 1972 and stopped the active role that U Nu defined for Burma internationally
He put military people in power even when they didn’t have experience which triggered “maldistribution of goods and chronic shortages.”  
Resources were located in areas where separatist minorities had control.

The British presence in the South China Sea ended in 1968.  
The United States left Vietnam in 1974 and China went into the Western Paracels.
The U.S. didn’t intervene and Vietnam took the Spratlys.
China wanted to claim the continental shelf In the central part of the South China Sea and needed the Spratlys.
The United States mostly disregarded the Ulama In Iran and bewildered the Iranian people by not supporting their revolution.

Obsidian—
iron, copper and chromium—
isn’t a gas
but it isn’t a crystal;
it’s between the two,
the ordered crystal and the disordered gas.  
They made swords out of obsidian.


Edelweiss

I laid out in my backyard in my bikini.  
I love the feeling of my body in the sun.  
I’d be dark from the end of spring until winter.
The snow froze my bare feet through winter ,
my skin pale.
American towns in 1984,
Free, below glaciers the sunlight melted the snow,
a sea of green and the edelweiss on the edge of the  limestone,
frosted but still strong.    
When the spring warmed the grass,
the grass warmed my feet. 
The whole field looked cold and white from the glacier but in the meadow,
the bright yellow centers of those flowers float free in the center of the white petals.
The bright yellow center of those edelweiss scared the people my parents ran to America from India to get away from.  
On a sidewalk in Queens, New York in 1991, the men stared and yelled comments at me in short shorts and a fitted top in the summer.  
I grabbed my dad’s arm.

























The Bread and Coconut Butter of Aparigraha

Twelve year old flowerhead,
Marigold, yarrow and nettle,
I’d be all emotion
If not for all my work
From the time I was a teenager.
I got depressed a lot.
I related to people I read about
In my weather balloon,
Grasping, ignorant, and desperate,
But couldn’t relate to other twelve year olds.
After school I read Dali’s autobiography,
Young ****** Autosodomized by Her Own Chastity.
Fresh, green nettle with fresh and dried yarrow for purity.
Dead souls enticed to the altar by orange marigolds,
passion and creativity,
Coax sleep and rouse dreams.
Satellites measure indirectly with wave lengths of light.
My weather balloon measures the lower and middle levels of the atmosphere directly,
Fifty thousand feet high,
Metal rod thermometer,
Slide humidity sensor,
Canister for air pressure.

I enjoy rye bread and cold coconut butter in my weather balloon,
But I want Dali, and all the artists and writers.
Rye grows at high altitudes
But papyrus grows in soil and shallow water,
Strips of papyrus pith shucked from their stems.
When an anchor’s weighed, a ship sails,
But when grounded we sail.
Marigolds, yarrow and nettle,
Flowerhead,
I use the marigold for sleep,
The yarrow for endurance and intensity,
toiling for love and truth,
And the nettle for healing.
Strong rye bread needs equally strong flavors.
By the beginning of high school,
I read a lot of Beat literature
And found Buddhism.
I loved what I read
But I didn’t like some things.
I liked attachment.  
I got to the ground.
Mushrooms grow in dry soil.
Attachment to beauty is Buddha activity.
Not being attached to things I don’t find beautiful is Buddha activity.  
I fried mushrooms in a single layer in oil, fleshy.
I roasted mushrooms at high temperatures in the oven, crisp.
I simmered mushrooms in stock with kombu.
Rye bread with cold coconut butter and cremini mushrooms,
raw, soft and firm.  
Life continues, life changes,
Attachments, losses, mourning and suffering,
But change lures growth.
I find stream beds and wet soil.
I lay the strips of papyrus next to each other.
I cross papyrus strips over the first,
Then wet the crossed papyrus strips,
Press and cement them into a sheet.
I hammer it and dry it in the sun,
With no thought of achievement or self,
Flowerhead,
Hands filled with my past,
Head filled with the future,
Dali, artists poets,
Wishes and desires aligned with nature,
Abundance,
Cocoa, caraway, and molasses.

If I ever really like someone,
I’ll be wearing the dress he chooses,
Fresh green nettle and yarrow, the seeds take two years to grow strong,
Lasting love.
Marigolds steer dead souls from the altar to the afterlife,
Antiseptic, healing wounds,
Soothing sore throats and headaches.
Imperturbable, stable flowerhead,
I empty my mind.
When desires are aligned with nature, desire flows.
Papyrus makes paper and cloth.
Papyrus makes sails.
Charcoal from the ash of pulverized papyrus heals wounds.
Without attachment to the fruit of action
There is continuation of life,
Rye bread and melted coconut butter,
The coconut tree in the coconut butter,
The seed comes from the ground out of nothing,
Naturalness.
It has form.
As the seed grows the seed expresses the tree,
The seed expresses the coconut,
The seed expresses the coconut butter.
Rye bread, large open hollows, chambers,
Immersed in melted coconut butter,
Desire for expansion and creation,
No grasping, not desperate.
When the mind is compassion, the mind is boundless.
Every moment,
only that,
Every moment,
a scythe to the papyrus in the stream bed of the past.  

































Sound on Powdery Blue

Potter’s clay, nymph, plum unplumbed, 1993.
Dahlia, ice, powder, musk and rose,
my source of life emerged in darkness, blackness.
Seashell fragments in the sand,
The glass ball of my life cracked inside,
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks,
Nacre kept those cracks from getting worse.
Young ****** Autosodomized By Her Own Chastity,
Nymph, I didn’t want to give my body,
Torn, *****, ballgown,
To people who wouldn’t understand me,
Piquant.

Outside on the salt flats,
Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, pleasure and fertility and
Asexual Artemis, goddess of animals, and the hunt,
Mistress of nymphs,
Punish with ruthless savagery.

In my bedroom, blue caribou moss covered rocks, pine, and yew trees,
The heartwood writhes as hurricane gales, twisters and whirlwinds
Contort their bark,
Roots strong in the soil.
Orris root dried in the sun, bulbs like wood.
Dahlia runs to baritone soundbath radio waves.
Light has frequencies,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet,
Flame, slate and flint.
Every night is cold.

Torii gates, pain secured as sacred.
An assignation, frost hardy dahlia and a plangent resonant echo.
High frequency sound waves convert to electrical signals,
Breathe from someone I want,
Silt.
Beam, radiate, ensorcel.
I break the bark,
Sap flows and dries,
Resin seals over the tear.
I distill pine,
Resin and oil for turpentine, a solvent.
Quiver, bemired,
I lead sound into my darkness,
Orris butter resin, sweet and warm,
Hot jam drops on snow drops,
Orange ash on smoke,
Balm on lava,
The problem with cotton candy.

Electrical signals give off radiation or light waves,
The narrow frequency range where
The crest of a radio wave and the crest of a light wave overlap,
Infrared.
Glaciers flow, sunlight melts the upper layers of the snow when strong,
A wet snow avalanche,
A torrent, healing.
Brown sugar and whiskey,
Undulant, lavender.
Pine pitch, crystalline, sticky, rich and golden,
And dried pine rosin polishes glass smooth
Like the smell of powdery orris after years.
Softness, flush, worthy/not worthy,
Rich rays thunder,
Intensify my pulse,
Frenzied red,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet.
Babylon—flutter, glow.
Unquenchable cathartic orris.  

















Pink Graphite

Camellias, winter shrubs,
Their shallow roots grow beneath the spongy caribou moss,
Robins egg blue.
After writing a play with my gifted students program in 1991,
I stopped spending all my free time writing short stories,
But the caribou moss was still soft.

In the cold Arctic of that town,
The evergreen protected the camellias from the afternoon sun and storms.
They branded hardy camellias with a brass molded embossing iron;
I had paper and graphite for my pencils.

After my ninth grade honors English teacher asked us to write poems in 1994,
It began raining.
We lived on an overhang.
A vertical rise to the top of the rock.
The rainstorm caused a metamorphic change in the snowpack,
A wet snow avalanche drifted slowly down the moss covered rock,
The snow already destabilized by exposure to the sunlight.

The avalanche formed lakes,
rock basins washed away with rainwater and melted snow,
Streams dammed by the rocks.  
My pencils washed away in the avalanche,
My clothes heavy and cold.
I wove one side of each warp fiber through the eye of the needle and one side through each slot,
Salves, ointments, serums and tinctures.
I was mining for graphite.
They were mining me,
The only winch, the sound through the water.

A steep staircase to the red Torii gates,
I broke the chains with bells for vespers
And chimes for schisms,
And wove the weft across at right angles to the warp.  

On a rocky ledge at the end of winter,
The pink moon, bitters and body butter,
They tried to get  me to want absinthe,
Wormwood for bitterness and regret.
Heat and pressure formed carbon for flakes of graphite.
Heat and pressure,
I made bitters,
Brandy, grapefruit, chocolate, mandarin rind, tamarind and sugar.
I grounded my feet in the pink moss,
paper dried in one hand,
and graphite for my pencils in the other.  



































Flakes

I don’t let people that put me down be part of my life.  
Gardens and trees,
My shadow sunk in the grass in my yard
As I ate bread, turmeric and lemon.
Carbon crystallizes into graphite flakes.
I write to see well,
Graphite on paper.  
A shadow on rock tiles with a shield, a diamond and a bell
Had me ***** to humiliate me.
Though I don’t let people that put me down near me,
A lot of people putting me down seemed like they were following me,
A platform to jump from
While she had her temple.  

There was a pink door to the platform.
I ate bread with caramelized crusts and
Drank turmeric lemonade
Before I opened that door,
Jumped and
Descended into blankets and feathers.
I found matches and rosin
For turpentine to clean,
Dried plums and licorice.  

In the temple,
In diamonds, leather, wool and silk,
She had her shield and bells,
Drugs and technology,
Thermovision 210 and Minox,
And an offering box where people believed
That if their coins went in
Their wishes would come true.

Hollyhock and smudging charcoal for work,  
Belled,
I ground grain in the mill for the bread I baked for breakfast.
The bells are now communal bells
With a watchtower and a prison,
Her shield, a blowtorch and flux,
Her ex rays, my makeshift records
Because Stalin didn’t like people dancing,
He liked them divebombing.
Impurities in the carbon prevent diamonds from forming,
Measured,
The most hard, the most expensive,
But graphite’s soft delocalized electrons move.  






































OCEAN BED

The loneliness of going to sleep by myself.  
I want a bed that’s high off the ground,
a mattress, an ocean.
I want a crush and that  person in my bed.  
Only that,
a crush in my bed,
an ocean in my bed.  
Just love.  
But I sleep with my thumbs sealed.  
I sleep with my hands, palms up.  
I sleep with my hands at my heart.  
They sear my compassion with their noise.  
They hold their iron over their fire and try to carve their noise into my love,
scored by the violence of voices, dark and lurid,  
but not burned.  
I want a man in my bed.  
When I wake up in an earthquake
I want to be held through the aftershocks.  
I like men,
the waves come in and go out
but the ocean was part of my every day.  
I don’t mind being fetishized in the ocean.  
I ran by the ocean every morning.  
I surfed in the ocean.  
I should’ve gone into the ocean that afternoon at Trestles,
holding my water jugs, kneeling at the edge.  














Morning

I want to fall asleep in the warm arms of a fireman.  
I want to wake up to the smell of coffee in my kitchen.  

Morning—the molten lava in the outer core of the earth embeds the iron from the inner core into the earth’s magnetic field.  
The magnetic field flips.  
The sun, so strong, where it gets through the trees it burns everything but the pine.  
The winds change direction.  
Storms cast lightening and rain.  
Iron conducts solar flares and the heavy wind.  
In that pine forest, I shudder every time I see a speck of light for fear of neon and fluorescents.  The eucalyptus cleanses congestion.  
And Kerouac’s stream ululates, crystal bowl sound baths.  
I follow the sound to the water.  
The stream ends at a bluff with a thin rocky beach below.  
The green water turns black not far from the shore.  
Before diving into the ocean, I eat globe mallow from the trees, stems and leaves, the viscous flesh, red, soft and nutty.  
I distill the pine from one of the tree’s bark and smudge the charcoal over my skin.  

Death, the palo santo’s lit, cleansing negative energy.  
It’s been so long since I’ve smelled a man, woodsmoke, citrus and tobacco.  
Jasmine, plum, lime and tuberose oil on the base of my neck comforts.  
Parabolic chambers heal, sound waves through water travel four times faster.  
The sound of the open sea recalibrates.  
I dissolve into the midnight blue of the ocean.  

I want to fall asleep in the warm arms of a fireman.  
I want to wake up to the smell of coffee in my kitchen.  
I want hot water with coconut oil when I get up.  
We’d lay out on the lawn, surrounded by high trees that block the wind.  
Embers flying through the air won’t land in my yard, on my grass, or near my trees.  





Blue Paper

Haze scatters blue light on a planet.  
Frought women, livid, made into peonies by Aphrodites that caught their men flirting and blamed the women, flushed red.
and blamed the women, flushed red.
Frought women, livid, chrysanthemums, dimmed until the end of the season, exchanged and retained like property.  
Blue women enter along the sides of her red Torii gates, belayed, branded and belled, a plangent sound.  
By candles, colored lights and dried flowers she’s sitting inside on a concrete floor, punctures and ruin burnished with paper, making burnt lime from lime mortar.  
Glass ***** on the ceiling, she moves the beads of a Palestinian glass bead bracelet she holds in her hands.  
She bends light to make shadows against  thin wooden slats curbed along the wall, and straight across the ceiling.
A metier, she makes tinctures, juniper berries and cotton *****.
Loamy soil in the center of the room,
A hawthorn tree stands alone,
A gateway for fairies.
large stones at the base protecting,
It’s branches a barrier.  
It’s leaves and shoots make bread and cheese.
It’s berries, red skin and yellow flesh, make jam.
Green bamboo stakes for the peonies when they whither from the weight of their petals.
And lime in the soil.  
She adds wood chips to the burnt lime in the kiln,
Unrolled paper, spools, and wire hanging.
Wood prayer beads connect her to the earth,
The tassels on the end of the beads connect her to spirit, to higher truth.
Minerals, marine mud and warm basins of seawater on a flower covered desk.  
She adds slaked lime to the burnt lime and wood chips.  
The lime converts to paper,
Trauma victims speak,
Light through butterfly wings.  
She’s plumeria with curved petals, thick, holding water
This is what I have written of my book.  I’ll be changing where the poems with the historical research go.  There are four more of those and nine of the other poems.
CharmedlyJynxed May 2019
bakit tayo umaasa?
bakit ang dali nating maniwala sa bawat kataga nya?
bakit ang dali nating kiligin sa bawat lambing nya?
bakit ang dali nating lumambot sa bawat haplos nya?
bakit ang dali nating magtiwala sa bawat pangako nya?
bakit ang dali nating mahalin sya kahit wala namang kasiguradohan tayo'y mamahalin nya?
NoctOwl Oct 2017
Kay bilis din ng panahon aking kaibigan
Tulad ng paglaho ng pangalan mo sa inbox ng cellphone na gamit ko
Na dati ay napupuyat upang makatext lamang ang isang tulad mo
Ngayon ay nagtatanong kung mayroon ka pa ba ng mga numero ko?

Kay dali nga siguro lumipas ang oras
Tulad ng chat box sa facebook na hindi na kita mahanap
Na noon ay laging nasa unahan at puno ng tawanan ang nilalaman
Ngayon ay tila nalulumbay at ayaw tumahan

Salamat sa lahat ng mga alala na ito aking mahal
Masaya akong ulit ulitin ito sa aking isipan
Huwag ka mag alala dahil ako ay hindi nangangamba
May langit pa naman, kung saan walang time limit ay makakapiling ka.
Molly Smithson May 2014
Fake concrete crosses and the worn black skeletons of barns hover above secondary looped highways. We weave and bob over the Mountain.

Old dirt roads share the same name as the mailboxes that still line them. The Walker Homestead: now a pile of trucks stacked on top of a doublewide toppled next to a house once built in classic southern architecture.

Stripped naked pines are whipped by cold mists.

I awoke during the credits. I lay with tongues. I fall to sleep in verses.

For $30, you can heal in an hour at Hot Springs.

“The Dali Lama has soaked in our tubs!” The woman told me on the phone. “Seven years ago, that is.”

“He’s not still in there, is he?”

The Lama’s not betting on Hot Springs North Carolina for total consciousness. Or maybe he is.

Maybe any *******, even Madison County, can bring you enlightenment when you’re basically a God on earth.

Google: Does the Dali Lama have a car like the Pope-Mobile when he travels? Is he carried on one of those Cleopatra looking things? Sedan chairs.

Ross plays a CD he listened to when he drove the flat empty asphalt of Montana and Colorado.

He was searching for stunning landscapes to shred. A kind of enlightenment I don’t think the Dali Lama could do.

Google: Has the Dali Lama ever snowboarded? Read the whole Dali Lama Wikipedia page.

It’s only the Killers though. We both sing the chorus, staring straight ahead.

I got soul but I’m not a soldier.

Ross says he never liked that song. It’s something I never knew.

Hot Springs has been one of Western North Carolina’s premiere locations for rest and relaxation since 1778.

Except in 1916, when it was an internment camp for German civilian prisoners who were on a cruise ship captured on the coast.

They were all very friendly and really bonded with the townspeople. Some of the Germans even returned with their families and are buried in Hot Springs.

Some prisoners are buried in the town graveyard.

The building to our left was the most lavish resort in the Mountains. It had sixteen marble lined pools filled with healing mineral waters that were surrounded by groomed lawns. The summering crowd played croquet.

It burned down in 1920.

We don’t get offered a lawn game when we arrive. Just visitor towels for $1 and an ashtray.

Cold mists whip among the mineral pools.

I awoke during the credits. I lay with tongues. I fall to sleep in verses.

Ross and I consider having *** in the hot springs. We try once or twice, but parts don’t fit they way they do usually.

I see tiny flecks in the water.

Are they essence of the healing mineral springs or elements of the soakers’ fat bodies before me?

Ross lights a cigar. It smells like burning hair. I light a cigarette in retaliation.

The chubby spa attendant knocks on the door.

“Your time is up,” he drawls.  

What does that mean?

Are we going to be executed and laid next to the German civilian prisoners?

≈Did the Dali Lama receive such treatment?

The water drains, screeching as it is pulled away.

They don’t tell you where it ends up.

The mineral pools swirl with tiny flecks .

I awoke during the credits. I lay with tongues. I fall to sleep in verses.
Salvador Dali
Rode a Harley-Davidson
All the way from Bali
To Abu Dhabi
With Charley the Cat
Riding pillion.

Said Charley to Dali
All weathered and gnarly

I get quite incensed
By children's lack of road sense.
When I get back to Britain
I think I'll start
A Road Safety Campaign.

Good idea
Said Dali
To Charley
Who replied
Thanks a million.
M e l l o Jul 2019
Simpleng aya lang pero alam ko na kung ano ang naglalaro sa isip mo.

Ano na? Sasama ka ba?
Wag kang mag-alala hindi ako magtatanong kung
"open minded ka ba?"

Kung matagal na tayong magkakilala
alam na alam mo na kung ano ang aking sadya.

Umpisahan natin sa simpleng kamustahan,
madalas pag ako nag-aya malamang matagal tayong hindi nagkita
Saan ba tayo magkakape?
Ayos lang ba sayo
kung d'yan lang sa tabi tabi?
Pero alam kong mas maganda
ang usapan natin sa loob ng magandang café
pero pag wala tayong budget
baka naman pwede na iyong nescafé?
Ano ba mayroon sa pagkakape?
At bakit tila ba napakaimportante?
Ang tanong ano ba ang iyong forté?
Oh natawa ka mali pala ang aking sinabi
Ang ibig sabihin ko ay ano ba
ang gusto mo sa kape?
Malamig o maiinit?
Latté ba o yung frappe ang gusto mo
okay na ko sa brewed o americano
sorry medyo lactose intolerant ako
kaya bahala ka na mamili ng gusto mo
may kwento ako habang ika'y namimili
kwentohan kita tungkol sa mga taong
minsan ko nang inaya o di kaya'y nag-aya sakin na magkape
at sana mabasa niyo din ito
alam niyo na kung sino kayo dito,
wag kayong kabahan sa pagkat
ang inyong mga pangalan ay hindi ko
ipaglalandakan masyado akong concern sa pagkakaibigan natin
baka ako ay inyong biglang iwanan wag naman.


Simulan natin ang kwento sa kaibigan kong mga lalaki,
special 'tong dalawa kasi kakaiba
yung isa ang lakas ng loob niyang ayain ako
nang makapasok kami sa café
akala ko magkakape kami
akala ko lang pala yun
aba'y pagkapasok umorder agad ako ng kape
pero siya'y umorder ng tsokolate
loko 'to na scam ako
habang yung isa well,
ako yung nag-aya medyo matagal na din kaming hindi nagkita
kaya naman ako'y nabigla bagong buhay na daw siya
at umiiwas magkape sabi niya
gusto pa daw niyang matulog
nang mahimbing mamayang gabi
kaya ayun tsokalate din ang pinili
Ano?
Alam mo na yan kung sino ka d'yan.

Kinakabahan ka na ba?
Ikaw na kasunod nito.

May dalawa pa akong kaibigan
na lalaki,
pareho silang pag nag-aaya magkape
kailangan ko pang bumyahe
yung isa mailap at andyan lang
sa makati
at yung isa kailangan ko pang mag mrt kasi nakatira siya sa quezon city
sobrang weird lang ng isa kasi
yung bagong flavor sa menu nang café
tinatry niya parati
banggitin ko yung nasubukan niyang
flavor sa teavana series ng SB
Hibiscus tea with pomegranate
nasabi mo lasang gumamela
at yung matcha & espresso fusion
na nagmadali kang umuwi pagkatapos **** uminom
Hulaan mo kung sino ka rito?


Lipat tayo sa mga kaibigan
kong mga babae
pero bago ko simulan ang kwento,
madami akong kaibigang babae na sobrang mahilig din magkape
pero pasintabi sa mga lalaki
may gusto lamang akong ipabatid
pag kaming mga babae
ang magkakasamang magkape
pag ikaw ang nobyo ng isa dito'y
malamang lovelife ninyo ang topic
wag mabahala kapatid kasi
madami dami din naman kaming
napag-uusapan maliban sa lovelife niyong medyo kinulang
minsan may nangyayari pang retohan
pero lahat yun biro lang baka mapagalitan
pag ang topic na yan ang hantungan
kung ikaw ay nasa tabing mesa lang
malamang mapapailing ka na lang
sa mga topic namin na
punong puno ng kabaliwan
minsan pinaguusapan pa namin
kung sino yung couple
na naghiwalayan kamakailan, inaamin ko
songsong couple kasama sa usapan.

Dalawang grupo 'tong kasunod.

Eto yung mga kaibigan ko na kung kami'y magkape puro deep talks ang nangyayari,
mga bagay sa mundo na hindi mo akalain nakakagulo sa taong akala mo hindi pasan ang mundo.
Mabibigat na usapan na may kasamang konti lang naman na iyakan
sama ng loob, pagkabigo at sobrang pagka stressed sa trabaho.
Ilang mura ang maririnig mo
pag sensitive ka at hindi nagmumura
hindi ka kasama dito.
Eto yung deep talks na walang tulogan
alam mo na yan part ka dito
mga usapan na kung iyong pakikinggan ay
masasabi mo sobrang weird naman
ang mga topic ay everything
under the sun yun nga lang dudugo tenga mo sa technical terms at englishan.

Eto yung grupo ng deep talks yung topic ay puro pangarap, eto yung deep talks na masasabi kong very inspirational at educational. Hindi tulad ng naunang grupo
sa ganitong usapan madami kang malalaman.
Dito lalabas ang mga katagang
"Wag mo kasing masyadong galingan"
at yung "baka hindi mo ginalingan"
Sasakit ang tiyan mo kakatawa at sasakit mata mo sa kakapigil ng iyong luha eto yung genres ng deep talks na may humor, drama, slice of life, at shoujo.
Mga usapang trabaho katulad nang parang naging monotonous at routinary na ang buhay:
Need mo lang ng new environment?
Mag bakasyon ka?
Career growth?
Feeling stagnant?
At
Mga usapang gigil sa ganitong mga tirada:
Ilang taon ka na?
Kelan ka mag-aasawa?
May boyfriend ka na ba?
Nagpapayaman ka ba?
Bakit si ano may ganito na ikaw kelan?
Naka move on ka na ba?

Ano asan kayo d'yan?
Wala ba?

May grupo din na sila laging nag-aayang magkape, mga kaibigan ko na ang usapan lagi ay magkita
sa ganitong oras ay palaging
hindi sumasakto ang dating
Pag eto yung kasama ko puro usapan namin ay mga memories noong elementary
minsan lang magkakasama pero ang samahan solid naman ang lalakas mag kulitan o ano kelan ulit tayo pupunta ng mambukal?
Sino na ang ikakasal?


Sa sobrang dami kong nabanggit
muntik ko nang makalimutan ang dalawang babae na 'to
pag kami nagkikita bakit puro ako yung napupurohan sa asaran
ang layo namin ngayon pero sana
pag-uwi ay magkakape ulit tayong tatlo
sobrang dami ko nang baong kwento malamang yung isa dyan isang maleta ang hila niyan
sagot ko na ang kape pero pakiusap
hayaan niyo muna akong makaganti.


Ang dami ko nang naikwento pero hindi mo ba naitanong
kung saan nanggaling ang pagkahilig
ko sa kape? Walk through kita sa buhay ko, mahilig magkape ang papa ko, mas naunang nakatikim ng kape ang kapatid ko, yung isa hindi mo mapipilit magkape at madalas magsimsim ang mama ko sa kape ko.

May mga tao din akong nakasama magkape, may mga sobrang ganda ng topic. Dali na kwento mo na. May mga taong tatanungin ka din kong ano ba ang hilig mo pati pagsusulat ko kinakamusta ako.
Hindi lahat alam na nagsusulat ako yung iba na may alam, kabahan kana alam **** andito ka.

Salamat sa pagbabasa, ngayon lang ako lumabas para isama ka sa obra na 'to.
Asahan mo na marami pang kasunod na iba,
nakatago lang sa kahon kung saan memoryado ko pa.


Lahat nang naikwento kong tao mahalaga sa buhay ko, yung iba nakilala ko lang nang husto dahil sa simpleng salita na "kape tayo"
Alam mo na kung bakit importante sakin ang pagkakape?
Alam mo na ang aking sadya?
Kung hindi pa baka hindi mo pa ako kilala. Handa akong magpakilala sayo, makinig sa kwento mo. Nag-aalala ka na baka isulat ko?
Sasabihan kita ng diretso kung oo.
Hindi mo pa ba ako nakasama magkape?
Ngayon pa lang inaanyayahan kita, taos puso kitang iniimbitahan.

"Kape tayo"

Sana sumama ka.
Poetry appreciation piece for my family, friends & coffee buddies
Amour de Monet Dec 2014
The world doesn't stop
when your heart breaks.
It keeps on moving
But it turns into a blur around you.
You don't feel time passing
although it passes.
Nothing is clear
Not why
Not how.
Reason is empty.
Your body turns heavy and
uncontrollably trembles.
Until the trembling
knots your insides so tightly
it knocks you to your knees.
Your eyes pour salty rivers
down your face until
your clothes are soaked.
Until your cheeks burn.
But this pain and
the burn
and your tears
don't matter.
When it comes down to it all
None of it matters
Not time.
Not the world.
Not you or them
Or tomorrow.
All that you feel is
this hole inside your chest
where love used to exist.
You shake.
You repeat
over and over again
"I'm sorry"
as if their soul
can hear you
"I'm sorry"
because you
couldn't save them.
The world wants you to
get up and keep living.
But for you,
all you want is
to go back into the moment
where life wasn't cold.
Where eyes weren't glazed.
Before sleep which
never wakes.
Before the heart break.
AUGUST Sep 2018
saan nga ba nagmula ang aking masamang balak
Kung kapupulotan ng aral o kapupulutan ng alak
Anong kahahantungan nitong simpleng inuman
Sa sobrang kalasingan katabi na ang naging pulutan

Papel na madaling mapunit madali ring nagliliyab
Kanyang Damdaming malupit madali ring nagaalab
Nang nakipaglaro ako ng apoy lahat biglang nalaglag
Ang abo sa mga panaghoy dali daling pinagpag

Saplot ng mahinang katawan lahat natupok dahil sa init
Pusong may kapahangasan Naging marupok sa labis na galit
Ngayon alam ko na kung bakit di masaya kumain ng magisa
Dahil ang luto ng Diyos sinta  pinagsasalonan para lang sa dalwa.


Patawarin ako ng aking mga magulang, inay at itay
Pagkat di ko namalayang nasusunog na pala ang aming bahay
08=19=18

Panatiliing nasa katinuan lalo na pagnalalasing. Basta may alak, may balak.pagibig
RA Mar 2014
Time is trickling
and flowing through my fingers, the grains
of sand in the hourglasss
of my life are filling my veins, minutes
clotting the hours that construct
my ventricles pumping seconds making
my head swim. Time is holding me
up and time is somehow
my prisoner, as well, my element to play
in, as I wish. I conduct myself
upon my own time, though you
think your time is logical and ask
of me to yield to you. No, no, time
flows in streams through the air
around me, I breathe it freely
as I wish, blowing soap bubbles into crystalline
moments, that will catch the light
but pop, leaving your eyes stinging
when you try to reach for them, to catch
me. In another life
I was Dali, in my life now I
am Dali, painting and bending clocks
as to my will, making your logical early mornings
my glorious late nights, full of colors
those who do not truly know me
will never catch in the shadows of my laughter
and the turn of my eyes, I
will always be Dali, as years
are trivial and decades can pass
more quickly than the blink of an eyelid, I
will always be less than the great artist
and more, I am constructed, not only of time, but
of something just as fluid and so
my every cell will exult and change
as the symphony of the universe's timekeeping
glitters and twinkles  in its constant state
of effulgent musicality.
"Time exists
just on your wrists
so don't panic"
       -- Indefinitely, Travis

February 26, 2014
1:30 PM
Noandy Sep 2016
Kuharap ingatanku tidak
Berjalan mundur perlahan
Dengan keteguhan
Lalu berdiam
Melebur
Hancur
Seperti
Jam
Jam
Di
Ran
Ting
Ranting
Lukisan Dali

Kuharap aku
Disalib
Melayang
Tanpa
Lihat
Duka
Mu

Hantu-hantu
Vermeer
Dal­am
Ruang
Ter
Tutup
Menjelma
Meja
Menopang
Detik
Demi
Detik

Dali,
Mungkin­ begitu
Seru dunianya
Tanpa kau di dalam sana
cleann98 Mar 2019
Hindi biro ang apat na taong ibinuhos sa iisang paaralan. Lalo na kung sa halos bawat pumapanaw na araw sa apatnapung buwan ay iisa lang ang itinatahanan ko't parang nakakulong pa sa iisang bahay sa tuktok ng iisang bundok.

Hindi birong sa haba pa lang ng apat na taon naging lipunan ko na ang Regional Science High School III. Tahanan. Mundo.

Hindi rin biro na sa pagbukhang liwayway sa akin ng ikalimang taon ay saka pa nagbago ang ikot ng mundo ko.

Sabi ng isang dating sikat na makatang si William Shakespeare noon na ang buong daigdig natin ay tila isang tanghalan at lahat ng lalaki't babae dito ay mistulang mga manananghal lamang. Sila'y umaalis at lumalahok ng walang pasinaya, madalas wala ring paalam...

Totoo nga, pabara-bara lang.

Bago ko pa man namalayan naging dayuhan agad ako sa sarili kong tahanan. Sa unang pagkakataon matapos ng apat na taon na umalis ang mga ilaw at tala na nakasanayan kong tingalain, pagmasdan, nakabibigla.

O baka matagal lang kasi talaga akong malapit sa gitna bago ko naranasang maitulak sa bandang dulo.

Sa tuwing itinatanong sa akin ng mga kaibigan ko sa Junior High School kung ano ang masasabi ko sa nakaraang dalawang taon ko sa RS bilang mag-aaral sa Senior High School; madalas sinasabi ko lang ay nakabibigla. Para akong namalinguyngóy sa wika na halos buong buhay ko nang sinasalita.

Lalong lalo na dahil palagi pang ipinaaalala sa akin ng mga taong nasa paligid ko na matagal na dapat akong umalis sa paaralan na ito. Ang pagpili ko sa STEM education o Science, Technology, Engineering, at Mathematics strand sa Akademikong trak ay isang pagkakamali at aminado ako dito. Kung tutuusin hindi talaga biro na ako ang tunay na 'alien' sa SHS ng RSHS.

Kaya mahirap ang Calculus at Physics at Chemistry para sa akin. Hindi ko ipagkakaila. Mahirap ring makitungo sa mga tipon-tipon ng mga nagsisikap maging bihasa sa larangan ng medisina kung ang gusto ko lang naman ay maging bihasa sa pisara. Higit din sa minsan ay nakahihiya na rin ipaliwanag pa kung bakit hindi ako nagtataas ng kamay tuwing tinatanong kung sino ang nangangarap maging doktor sa kinabukasan. Uulitin ko, nakahihiya.

Nakababalinguyngóy patagal ng patagal, habang lalong nagiging dayuhan ako sa paaralan na ito... Umabot ako ng hanggang ikalabindalawang baitang bago mapansin na masyado nang malaki ang distansya ko sa mga bagong bituin na dapat nasa paligid ko pa rin.

Maging tapat lang din, nakahahanga talaga ang pagniningning nila. Ang mga kaklase ko, bihira ko lang pinupuri pero tunay ang hiwaga nila, kahit sa mata ko lang.

Oo, dati inisip ko rin na habulin ko ang mga sinag ng aking mga kamagaral, pero kung nasaan ako ngayon, siguro nga mas pipiliin ko na ang kinalalagyan ko.

Itinanong na rin sa akin dati ng isa kong kaibigan ito, may advantage ba talaga ang pagpili ko na magaral sa STEM ng RSHS?

Ngayon, sobrang dali ko lang masasabi na kahit wala ako sa gitna ng mga tala napagmasdan ko naman ang mas malaking kalawakan. Kaya sobra rin, may isang napakalaking nagawa sa akin ng SHS ng lipunan ko.

Sabi nga ng mga Astrologo, pinakamalinaw na mapagmamasdan ang kalangitan mula sa pinakamadilim na kapaligiran; at yun ang kinalalagyan ko ngayon. Gaya ng nasa larawan ng isang concert kung saan nasa dulo ako ng coliseum ay nakita ko ang pinakamagandang view na hinding hindi ko makikita kung nasa gitna lamang ako at malapit sa pinakamasinag na hiwaga na meron. Tanging sa gilid lang, kung saan halos wala na akong makita sa inaapakan ko, doon ko lang nakita kung gaano karikit ang dami ng mga ilaw na hindi ko pa naisip lingunin noon.

Saka ko lang napagalaman na mayroon pa palang ningning na malilingon ko sa larangan ng pagsulat ng lathalain. Paniguradong kung hindi ko sinubukan muli na lumaban sa presscon nitong taon hindi ko na ulit mararanasan ang journalism, muntik na akong hindi makalaban sa DSPC at lumaban sa RSPC. Muntik ko nang hindi makilala si Rizzaine at ang ibang mga naging kaibigan ko sa laban na ito. Siguro nga hindi ko rin makakahalubilo ang mga naging kasamahan ko sa the Eagle at ang Sanghaya kung hindi dito.

Hindi ko rin inasahan na mapapalapit ako sa kislap na tanging sa SDRRM at Red Cross Youth ko lamang mararanasan. Nakakapagpabagabag. Matagal na akong lider pero hindi kahit kailan pa man ay nasagi na sa isip ko na mangunguna ako sa isang napakalaking lipunan  na kasing gulo at kasing dehado ng katipunan na iyon. At higit pa rito ay sino ba naman ang magaakala na sasabihin kong naging isang malaki at masayang bahagi ng SHS ko ang ubod ng labong pangkat na ito.

Ang mga kaibigan ko pa. Mga parol sa madalim na sansinukob na hindi ko magawang talikuran at hindi ko rin kayang masyadong malayuan.

Mahirap silang isa-isahin pero silang mga bituin na natulak rin palayo sa gitna ng mundo namin, para silang Polaris, na naging pahayag ng daanan tatahakin ko sa karimlang katakot-takot lakaran. Alam ko na lalayo at lalayo pa sila habang patuloy na lumalaki at lumalaki ang kalawakan ko pero ang hiwaga ng ilaw nila, yun ang hiwaga na hindi mawawala sa mundo ko.

Mahirap maligaw sa tahanang kay tagal-tagal mo nang ginawang mundo. Mahirap madapa sa daanang ilang taon mo nang nilalakad. Nakababahala. Nakababaliw. Nakababalinguyngóy. Pero ang sukdulan lang ng karanasan ko ay gaya lang ng isang simpleng kasabihan 'we do not go there for the hike, we go there for the view.' at tunay nga, sobrang ganda ng tanawin sa gilid ng pagiging estudyante ng SHS.
raquezha Nov 2017
Noong isang gabi,
habang hinahanap ang sarili,
natagpuan ang LIKHÂ.

Ako'y natuwa,
dahil nasa entablado sila,
silang mga pinapanood ko lang dati sa internet.
Isa sa mga dahilan kung bakit nagtatanghal
ang tulad kong hangal sa harap ng mga estranghero
at binabahagi ang mga dala-dala kong kwento.
Sila na mga nauna at nagbigay inspirasyon
na lalo pang magsulat at magbasa.
Mga mata'y unti-unti namulat
sa mga bagong imahenasyon,
mga leksyon, direksyon at iba't ibang kaalaman
na galing sa ating henerasyon.

Maraming salamat sa gabing inyong nilikha
para sa mga katulad kong naliligaw
at hindi alam ang patutunguhan.
Nagtagpuan kita.
Aking sarili nahanap kita.
Habang nakikinig sa iba't ibang berso
ay sumasayaw ang mga letra sa utak ko.
Habang lumilipad sa ere ang mga ritmo,
nakita ko ang sarili kong mga tula
na parang mga talang nahulog sa langit
papunta sa sa aking mga kamay
at dali-dali kong itinala sa aking puso
dahil kailangan kong ibahagi
ang sining na aking nabuo.

Hindi pa patay ang mga salita,
gamit ang lapis na hawak
mo sabayan mo akong lumikha mga katha.

Mapa kathang-isip o kathang-puso man ito
ay buhay sila at naghihintay sayo.
Hindi bulag ang mga tula,
kaya ka nitong titigan ka sa mata
hanggang sa magiba ang paligid mo't mawala ka nalang bigla. Hindi bingi ang mga obra, naririnig ka nito,
handang dumamay at unawain ang lahat ng pinagdadaanan mo.

Kaya maraming salamat sa gabing inyong binuo't nilikha.
Halika na, halik ka na, halika't sasamahan kita
sa patuloy na paglikha ng kinabukasan
para sa bayan, kultura, sining at sa iyong sarili,
ipagpatuloy ang nasimulan.
Ipagpatuloy ang sinimulan.

Noong isang gabi, habang hinahanap ang sarili,
natutunan ko kung pano ang magLIKHÂ @theartidope style.
Kinikilig pati ang mga butuin
Sa saliw ng iyong boses na malambing
Nakadungaw sa bintana
kahit lahat sila'y nakahimbing
May kaba sa damdamin
Paano bukas lahat sila'y magagalit?
Si ama , hahabulin ka ng itak
Natawa na lamang
Ang mga braso ko'y hinatak
Naglapit ang mga muka
Muntik ng atakihin sa kaba
Ang puso ko ata ay nahulog
Nang si bantay ay umalulong
Dali-dali ay nagtago
Tinginan nati'y di pa rin nagbabago
"Kailangan ko nang bumalik sa silid."
ang wika ko
Sabay dagling humalik sa sinta ko



-Tula VII, Margaret Austin Go
Keithlyne Aug 2019
Hindi ako naghintay
nang pagkahaba-habang panahon
upang sa huli ay wala akong ibang gawin
kundi ang maghintay muli

hindi ako narito
upang tumambay lang nang sandali
dahil sa una pa lang ay
balak ko nang manatili

hindi ako umibig upang maging masaya

kung ang pagmamahal sayo ay
pagsaksak sa aking sarili,
walang bahala kong itututok
ang kutsilyo nang dali-dali

ganoon kita mamahalin

Sana'y sigurado kang mananatili
ang 'yong paghawak
pang matagalan.
Sana, Jade.
Nebuleiii Feb 2015
ANG BABOY by John Iremil E. Teodoro

Sugot takin nga mangin baboy
Kon ang tangkal ko mga butkun mk.
Basta damogan mo lang ako
Kang imo nga yuhum kab haruk
Aga, hapon.
Dali man lang ako payambukun.
Ang pangako mo man lang
Nga indi ako pagpabay-an
Amo ang bitamina nga akun
Ginatomar.
Kag kon gabii gani
Ang mga apuhap mo man lang
Sa akun likod kag dughan
Anb makapahuraguk kanakun.


THE PIG translated by Leoncio P. Deriada

I am willing to be a pig
Provided your pen is my arms.
As long as you feed me
With your smile and kiss
Morning, afternoom.
It is easy to make me fat.
Your promise
Not to abandon me
Is the vitamins
I take.
And during nighttime
It's your touch
On my back and breast
That can make me snore.
One of my favorite poems ♡
G A Lopez Dec 2020
Sa taong ito, hindi naging madali ang lahat
Maraming suliranin, magulong mundo, makalat.
Milyun milyon ang mga nasawing buhay
Nawalan ng trabaho't ikinabubuhay.

Bilyon bilyong mga tao ang nagluksa
Sa mga buhay na biglaang kinuha
Mga taong namatay dahil sa pandemya
May mga nasawi rin dahil sa kalamidad at trahedya.

Hustisya! Iyan ang sigaw nila
Kay hirap abutin ang hustisya lalo na kung ika'y isa lamang maralita
Na walang kakapitan
Kaya't walang kalaban laban.

Lahat ay humagulgol, nasaktan, nasugatan,
Ngunit nakayanan pa rin nating ngumiti habang ang kahirapan ay pasan.
Nakaramdam tayo ng paghihinagpis at pangamba
Na para bang hindi na matapos tapos itong nararanasan nating sakuna.

Nais mo ng sumuko,
Ngunit habang pinagmamasdan mo ang mga bagong bayani ng mundo,
Lumalaban sila para sa ating kaayusan at kalusugan,
Sa kabila ng pagod at hirap na kanilang pinapasan.

Kaya't dali dali **** pinunasan ang iyong luha
Nanalangin at nagtiwala ka sa Ama
Sapagkat Siya lamang ang makakapaghilom sa lahat
Magtiis lamang at sa Kaniya'y magtapat

Marahan mo nang isara ang huling pahina ng libro
Sa isang kwento sa taong ito
Ipangako **** sa susunod na taon,
Lalo ka pang magpapakatatag sa lahat ng darating sa buhay na mga hamon.

Gayunpaman, taglayin mo pa rin ang pusong mapagpakumbaba
Habaan pa ang pasensiya
Magpasalamat sa Ama sapagkat hindi ka niya hinayaang mag-isa
Palakpakan mo rin ang sarili mo sapagkat hindi ka sumuko.
Life is full of challenges but that challenges made us stronger. Everything will be alright.

12/31/20
Luke May 2018
"You're wasting your time."
Familiar line, I'm sure;
Leisure, time you take pleasure
In wasting, fighting off chores

With scores of swords forged in
Words, nouns and verbs, you argue
"I've nought to do, work's been,
I've earned it!" The frayed border between

Toil and sleep, 'spare time',
Your crime is laziness, sloth;
The clock – time's warden – watching
As your lies thicken like simmering broth;

The monitor melts your eyes into half-smiles,
"Wasted time, your pastime,"
A degree in procrastination, hesitation
To face – "the clock, the time!"

The moon hides behind the horizon,
Your fingers flurry, too late to hurry
Out the piece you left so late.
"Wasted time" stinks like left-over curry,

Let it permeate your nostrils; exhale blame
As you **** in the shame that you've failed.
Cradle the melted clock, warm butter,
Spread it onto toast, yellow trails

Crying "why?" Place it between guilty lips
And chew; the taste's bitter.
"It's raining today."
Pitter patter, patter pitter.
A poem about procrastination.
Eugene Oct 2018
"Anak, ilang oras na lang, aakyat ka na sa entablado. Proud na proud ako sa iyo, anak" wika ng kaniyang ina habang inaayos ang suot niyang toga. Isang matamis na ngiti naman pinakawalan ng binata at niyakap nang mahigpit ang ina.

Ito na ang araw na pinakahihintay niya.

Ang araw na magtatapos na siya sa kolehiyo.

Ang araw na pinaka-pinanabikan niyang dumating sa buong buhay niya.

"Anak, mauna ka na muna roon sa unibersidad at ako ay susunod na lamang. May tatapusin lang ako rito sa ating tahanan. Hindi puwedeng hindi maganda ang iyong ina kapag akay-akay kitang nagma-martsa,"  Isang halik sa pisngi ang iginawad ng ina sa anak.

Lumipas pa ang dalawang oras, isa, at hanggang sa naging tatlumpung minuto na lamang ay hindi pa rin nakikita ng binata ang kaniyang ina. Kabadong-kabado na siya nang mga sandaling iyon.

"ROGEN! ROGEN!" sigaw ng isang tinig. Hinanap ni Rogen ang pinanggalingan ng tinig at doon ay nakita niya ang kaniyang matalik na kaibigang hingal na hingal na tumatakbo patungo sa kaniya.

"Bakit tila hapong-hapo ka, Arwan?" aniya.

"Ang--ina. Ang-- iyong ina! isinugod sa ospital ang iyong ina,"  agad namang kumaripas ng takbo si Rogen, suot-suot ang togang mayroon siya upang puntahan ang pinakamalapit na ospital sa kanilang bayan nang marinig ang tungkol sa ina.

Habang tinatakbo ang daan patungo ay hindi napigilan ni Rogen ang pagpatak ng mga luha sa kaniyang mga mata. Nang marating ang ospital ay agad niyang pinuntahan ang information desk. Sinabi ng nars na nasa emergency room ang kaniyang pakay at hindi pa nakakalabas ang doktor.

Pinuntahan niya ang emergency room at doon ay natagpuan niya ang sariling kausap ang kaniyang amang matagal niyang hindi nakita.

"Rogen, anak," agad siyang niyakap nito. Hindi naman nakapagsalita si Rogen dahil ang puso at isipan niya ay nasa kaniyang ina.

"Anak, patawarin mo ako kung ngayon lamang ako nakauwi at hindi ko inasahang sa muling pagkikita namin ng iyong ina ay aatakihin siya ng kaniyang sakit sa puso," mulagat ang mga mata ni Rogen nang marinig ang salitang iyon. May sakit ang kaniyang ina at hindi niya alam? Inalalayan siya ng kaniyang ama na umupo at doon sinabi sa kaniya ang lahat.

"Anak, graduation mo ngayon. Kabilin-bilinan ng iyong ina kanina bago siya atakihin ng kaniyang sakit na kailangan **** daluhan ang pagtatapos mo. Wala man siya o nasa tabi mo man daw siya ay dapat personal **** abutin ang diploma mo at ang medalya **** apat na taong mo ring pinaghirapang makamit," patuloy ang pag-agos ng mga luha sa mga mata ng kaniyang ama habang siya ay humahagulgol na. Ang medalyang iyon sana ang sorpresa niya sa kaniyang ina pero mukhang nalaman na rin niya pala ito.

"Mayroon ka na lamang sampung minuto upang bumalik sa unibersidad at kunin ang iyong medalya at diploma, anak. Ako na ang bahala sa iyong ina. Alam kong bibigyan pa siya ng Panginoong makita ang medalya at diploma mo. Tuparin mo ang bilin niya, Rogen."

Kahit mabigat sa kalooban ay pinahiran ni Rogen ang kaniyang mga luha at tumayo. Sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon ay ginantihan niya ang yakap ng kaniyang ama at mabilis na tumakbo palabas sa ospital .

Sampung minuto na nang makalabas siya sa ospital.

Siyam na minuto nang pumara siya ng masasakyan at dali-daling sumakay dito.

Walong minuto nang magsimulang umandar ang dyip.

Pitong minuto nang biglang bumagal ang usad ng mga sasakyan.

Anim na minuto nang iabot ni Rogen ang bayad sa drayber at naghintay pa ng isang minuto.

Limang minuto at hindi na nakatiis si Rogen. Bumaba na ito ng dyip.

Apat na minuto na at hindi na niya ramdam ang init nang mga oras na iyon maging ang mga nakabibinging busina ng mga sasakyan sa kalsada.

Tatlong minuto na at nasa tapat na siya ng unibersidad. Ang lahat ay nasa loob na ng convention hall.

Dalawang minuto na at kailangan niyang magmadali dahil dinig na dinig na niya ang pagtawag sa mga apelyido ng magsisipagtapos na nagsisimula sa letrang "B".

Isang minuto na at sa wakas narating din niya ang convention hall. Tamang-tama lang dahil buong pangalan na niya ang tinawag ng EMCEE.

"Batobalani, Ujuy Rogen, MAGNA *** LAUDE!"

Basang-basa na ng mga luha ang togang suot ni Rogen nang mga sandaling iyon pero taas-noo pa rin siyang naglakad upang umakyat sa entablado. Nanalangin sa isipang sana ay huwag munang kunin ang kaniyang ina.

Nang makaakyat ay binati siya ng mga naroon at isinabit sa kaniya ang kaniyang medalya.

"Everyone, let us hear the message of success to our first ever Magna *** Laude of West Visayas University - College of Education, Rogen Ujuy Batobalani!"

"Isang maikling talumpati lamang po ang aking ibibigay sa kadahilanang hindi ko po nakasama ang aking ina rito sa entablado upang magsabit sa akin ng aking medalya. Nasa emergency room po siya ngayon at nag-aagaw buhay." muli na namang pumatak ang kaniyang mga luha.

"Sa aking ina, nais kong malaman mo na walang araw na hindi ko inihahandog ang mga gantimpalang nakamit ko sa unibersidad na ito. At itong medalyang ito at ang diplomang kukunin ko ay para sa iyo. Para sa walang sawang pag-suporta mo sa akin. Para sa araw-araw **** pagpapaalala sa akin na ang buhay ng isang tao ay parang isang mahabang tulay na may iba't ibang uri ng balakid sa daang kailangang suungin, at lagpasan ng may lakas ng loob, tiwala, at malakas na kapit sa ating Panginoon upang makita ang dulo nito. Walang hanggan ang aking pasasalamat sa iyo, mahal kong ina. Mahal na Panginoon, maraming salamat din po at nagkaroon ako ng isang inang katulad niyang mabait, maalalahanin, maalaga at mapagmahal. Alam Niyo po ang iniiyak ng aking puso at nawa ay Iyo po itong pakinggan."

Ang hindi alam ni Rogen, matapos ang maikling talumpating iyon ay siya namang pagtigil ng tibok ng puso ng kaniyang ina sa ospital.
1.
Noong unang panahon, pulos patag ang lupa
Maliban sa bundok na dalawa
Bundok Kalawitan sa Kanluran
At Bundok Amuyaw sa Silangan!
(Once upn a time, all of the earth were plains
Except for two mountains
Mt. Kalawitan on the West
And Mt. Amuyaw on the East!)

2.
Ang kalikasan ay sagana
Ang mga tao ay payapa
(Nature was then bountiful
People were then peaceful)

3.
Ngunit dumating ang isang delubyo
Nagkandamatay ang lahat ng mga tao
(But a deluge arrived
All people died)

4.
Maliban sa magkapatid na dalawa
Sa bundok napadpad ang bawat isa
(Except for two siblings
Each of them landed on the mountains)

5.
Sa Amuyaw na kabundukan
Ang lalaki na si Wigan
(On Amuyaw mount
There was the man named Wigan)

6.
Sa Kalawitan na kabundukan
Ang babae na si Bugan
(On Kalawitan mount
There was the woman named Bugan)

7.
Nang humupa ang baha
Nagtagpo silang dalawa
(When the flood subsided
The two of them united)

8.
Subalit isang araw, nakadama si Bugan
Na may buhay sa kanyang sinapupunan
(Yet one day, Bugan felt something
In her womb, someone was living)

9.
Siya’y nagimbal sa natuklasan
Nagtangkang magpakamatay si Inang Bugan
(Upon her discovery, she was horrified
Mother Bugan tried to commit suicide)

10.
Sa dali-dali’y biglang nagpakita
Si Makanungan na bathala
(Soon, there suddenly appeared someone
He is a god named Makanungan)

11.
Kanyang pinigilan si Bugan
Dahil ganap niya itong nauunawaan
(He tried to stop Bugan
Because he could fully understand)

12.
Sila ay pinayagan ng diyos na magsama
Sapagkat sa mundo’y wala nang taong iba
(They were allowed to become a couple
Because in the world, there were no more people)

13.
Ang magkapatid na mag-asawa
Marami ang naging bunga
(The couple siblings
Got many offsprings)

14.
Apat na babae
(Four females)
At lima ay lalaki
(And five males)

15.
Sa kahuli-hulihan
Sila-sila rin ang nag-asawahan
(And soon after
They married one another)

16.
Subalit may natatangi sa kanila
Ang lalaking si Igon na walang asawa
(But there’s someone unique among them
He’s the man, Igon, who got no tandem)

17.
Isang araw, dumating ang ayaw ng lahat
Ito ang panahon ng tagsalat
(One day, there arrived something everyone didn’t like
The season of famine did strike)

18.
Kaya upang suyuin ang mga diyos
Ritwal ng pag-aalay kanilang idinaos
(So in order that the gods could be pleased
They rendered a ritual burnt offering of beasts)

19.
Nang sa alay kinapos na sila
Kanilang inihandog maliit na daga
(And when of sacrificial beasts they were out
They only offered just a small rat)

20.
Sa kabila ng lahat, walang paring tugon
Kaya isang krimen ang naging opsyon
(After all, there answered no voice
So it was crime that became the choice)

21.
Walang pakundangang kinitilan ng buhay
Kapatid na si Igon ang ipinang-alay
(They dared to **** their brother
It was Igon whom they did offer)

22.
At biglang nagpakita
Si Makanungan na bathala
(And suddenly, there appeared someone
It was the god, Makanungan)

23.
Lahat sila ay isinumpa
Iyon ang simula ng digmaan sa lupa!
He cursed everyone
That was the beginning of war in the land!)

-03/10/2012
(Dumarao)
*for Lit. Day 2012
My Poem No. 101
Raj Arumugam Sep 2010
all those hearts
that'd like a part
in a play Time made
called Dali’s Wasteland
there’s good news:
the part is yours;
no auditions
no lines to remember
cos they’ll all come naturally

all you have to do
is to go about
your daily chores
just the way you are
lie through your teeth
like you always do
smile like a fox
like you learned to do
and just cut to size
all the innocent and defenseless
with your sharp words and mean manners
like you usually do
and the good news is
I’ll tell you this
the part is already yours
for you are it
Time’s very public masterpiece:
Dali’s Wasteland
Glen Castillo Aug 2018
May mga salitang sa papel na lang kayang manatili
Dahil hindi na ito kayang bigkasin pa ng mga labi.

                    Natapos na ang palabas na ang tauhan ay ikaw at ako
                    Tayong mga bida noon, sa mundong hindi nila nakikita

Gusto kong isipin na nalaos lang tayo,pero hindi pala
Dahil ang dating tayo,ngayon ay ikaw na lang at ako

                     Bakit ganito? wala naman akong naaalala na drama
                     ang sinulat kong kwento
                     Pero bakit sa malungkot natapos ang lahat?

Minsan ay gusto ko na lang gawing gabi ang bawat umaga
Sa gayon ay hindi nila mapansin na may hinagpis akong dinadala
Sa gayon ay hindi nila makita na lumuluha ang aking mga mata

                      Pagkat sa dilim, doon ko lahat itinago ang sakit at dusa
                      Na ni sa panaginip ay hindi ko inasahang dadating pa

Oo kakayanin kong maging gabi ang bawat umaga
Mahirap,
Pero pwede ba?

                       Sa kahuli-hulihang sandali ay maturuan mo ako sana
                       Na gawing gabi ang lahat ng umaga
                       Na kasing dali lang kung paano mo nakayanan
                       Na maging malungkot ang dating tayo na masaya.




                                          © 2018 Glen Castillo
                                           All Rights Reserved.
Minsan ay dadalawin ka ng mga alaala sa nakaraan
Upang magpa-alala sa'yo kung bakit ka nasa kasalukuyan.......
Mike Hauser May 2018
His mind is know to roam
But he's not one to rat
With very little known
About Salvador Dali's cat
Whips his tail back and forth
Fourth dimensional for all it's worth
All this time sitting in
Salvador Dali's lap

His thoughts are known to wander
But he's not known to talk
Purring like a cosmic generator
On Salvador's melting couch
Electric fur stands on end
Grooms himself surreal, immaculant  
Whispers in Salvador Dali's ear
Never hear the doubt
Wolff Sep 2018
Tatlong katok lang ang layo ng katahimikan
"wala dito, kanina pa umalis mama ko"
utos sa anak na walong taong gulang
habang nagtatago sa palikuran
"sabihin mo sa mama mo, na nagbigay ako ng ulam"
"salamat po ninang!"
"walang anuman", bago siya lumisan.

tatlong katok lang ang layo ng katahimikan
"wala dito, kanina pa umalis mama ko"
utos sa anak na walong taong gulang
habang nagtatago sa palikuran
napakamot na lang ang naniningil ng utang
gigil na nagpaandar ng motor
sapagkat siya'y nagulangan

tatlong katok lang ang layo ng katahimikan
sa pagkatok, tanong ay "tao po?"
sagot ay "tao po"
biglaan ang pagka gulantang
"anak, dali! magtago ka doon sa palikuran"
alam na niya kung sino ang dumating
takot ang bumalot sa kapaligiran
namumugtong na mga mata
at nginig na mga kamay na parehas kumakaliwa
bakas ang kaba sa mukha

at tatlong katok lang ang layo ng katahimikan
ang pinto'y hindi binubuksan
nabasag ang katahimikan kasabay
ng pagbagsak ng sirang pintuan
nasurpresa sa kanyang mga bisita
nangingilid na ang luha
bigay todo ang pagmamakaawa
isa dalawa tatlo, hanggang anim
anim na nakaunipormeng magsasaka
hindi palay ang itinatanim, kundi bala

kasabay ng panlalamig ng katawan
ang ingay ay nilamon bigla ng katahimikan
at kasabay ng katahimikan
ang kanyang ina
ay
binawian
ng
buhay...
© 2018 Kenneth Bituin
All Rights Reserved.
Mike Adam Jan 2019
Salvador died 30 years today

84 then

How old now?

The clock is melting...
ZT Mar 2016
Sayon man makalimot.
Assignment malimtan,
Klase malimtan,
gamit malimtan
ug ubang mga buhatunon malimtan,
pero pag abot sa imo, nganong lisod man.

Dali kaayu sugdan pero ngano man jung pwerti lisora undangan
ang gugma ko sa imo nga gadala raman unta ug dangan
The human sacrifices begin at noon. I must hurry to prepare the ruins.

Good: The pyramids retain their purity of line; the hieroglyphs balance out the skulls, more or less. Let us say, oh, two to one.

A Diego Rivera mural stretches from wall to wall of the Mayan ball court. (Are those blues really from nature?)

Heads will roll! I predict.

I need more coffee — any style. Bring me the big, steaming bowls of France that you must slurp two-handedly. Bring me the tiny espresso shots of Italy, bitter and inadequate, always calling for another cup.

Bring me café in an ornamental Mexican jar painted in bright ochres and reds. Set it on a geometrically designed serape with just a hint of purple on the fringe.

I will sop up the last drop of caffeine with my tortilla, while dining room tables multiply like serpents.

I must hurry. The sacrifices begin at noon.

Already, the humidity clings to my skin like a cheap cologne.

How stupid of me not to have worn a white linen suit, huaraches, and a Panama hat  (straw, of course).

In any case, I am the expert. My art criticism begins now.

Rivera’s human figures roll in a wave of revolutionary fervor: too rounded, too cherubic, too pastel. Industry, agriculture, fraternity, socialism. Hand me the hammer. But no bare *******, as in Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People.

A careless oversight. ****** always adds a pleasant focal point to a painting.

Suddenly, bad news breaks. The sacrifices have been called off; the ballplayers  have converted to Communism. Viva la revolución!

                                                 + + +

Frida Kahlo twirls her mustache to match the flair of Salvador Dali’s.

Her heart flutters for the Spanish surrealist, who has bug-eyes only for Gala.

Kahlo deigns to paint his portrait, which turns out to be another of her
 self-portraits. So many selves. So many portraits.

This one sports ample ****** hair and a monkey on her shoulder, who leans across to eat the gardenia behind her right ear. Or is it a carnation? Ah, carnations only calcify into clichés. Let us call it a hibiscus, and be done with it.

(Still, are those lurid colors from nature?)

I must hurry. The exhibition will begin at 2 a.m., the hour when all the wine shops close, and the retablos disappear from the churches. No respect for authority after la revolución. Only the self, the self. Always the self.

Kahlo twists her mustache into a braid for her next self-portrait: Liberty Leading the Mexican People. She squeezes into an orthopedic corset, bare-breasted.

I pull out my droopy Dali watch to eye the time. The hands cross at midnight.

I must hurry. Yet Kahlo insists I sit.

She paints my portrait with a spike through my spine, a shattered pelvis, and partial paralysis of the legs. I can no longer walk a straight line.

She thinks I am she, in trousers. The self, the self. Always the self.

My moustache grows heavier than hers, however, and I painstakingly pluck out the unibrow.

But I adore her monkey, with his close-set eyes. He eats a carnation for penance each morning, then primps before the mirror. The self, the self. The primate self.

More bad news: Dali cancels the exhibition. He has been demoralized by the retablos, which radiate beauty in six dimensions: height, breadth, length and the omnipresence of the Holy Trinity.

A genuine milagro: The streets fill with gardenias and hibiscus. The Mayan ballplayers convert to Catholicism.

A white skeleton dances with Kahlo in the moonlight. He wears her leather-and-steel braces.

No matter. I am the art critic, and I declare all Mexican colors indigenous, naturalistic, and caffeinated. Then I turn out the dining room lights.

A starry, starry night. The humidity sinks into the cenote.

Tomorrow, I shall buy a monkey and teach it to paint. All colors from nature, of course.
This is an imaginative riff based on a trip to the Yucatan Peninsula. It's also a poem where the reader has to judge whether the speaker of the poem, the "I", is the author. I'll leave the answer to you. It helps to know the works and ****** portraits of Mexican muralist Diego Rivera, Mexican self-portraitist Frida Kahlo, who was impaled and had her pelvis shattered in a bus accident, and the Spanish Surrealist painter Salvador Dali. You can Google all of them.
Emanuel Martinez Mar 2013
If (WO)men are the ones that suffer an exacerbated amount
Of the violence, the ****, the abuse, and everything that comes
with and from struggle and alienation;
it is because of their femininity that men at times
have come to believe that their contributions soften institutions.
That at times throughout history neither capitalism, neoliberalism nor revolutionary experiments like that of Cuba have placed femininity as compatible
with progress or resolution.
In which case femininity must be hidden, silenced, or displaced with no purpose or place to belong.

Thus everyone closely associated with this femininity such as homosexuals, transgendered (WO)men, and "effeminate" males, (ignoring, subverting and negating the lesbian identity because of their gender) have come to be marginalized by a structural system of exclusion.

(WO)men carrying the highest burden for originating the associative distinction

Homosexuals battling to find love by constantly having to assert their masculinity

Transgendered (Wo)men afraid of expressing their through identity.

Lesbians fighting to legitimize their own identity separate from the directives ascribed onto them by virtue of being born women.

Males who are labeled effeminate because of their sympathy toward those who struggle and are alienated.

And every other individual who refuses to deliver to give a marker to their identity and a degree to their femininity.

Hold fast in your femininity and embrace the rancor that society grants you
As a homosexual I speak with you brother and sister, not for you

Realize that our self-ascribed degrees of femininity and identity are as revolutionary and transformative, and thus necessary, as those of Che Guevara, Mohammed Ali, Harriet Tubman, or the Dali Lama.

That because we have decided to embrace our degrees of femininity, problematic to any movement, at one point or another, we have inadvertently decided to align our selves with those who are alienated the most by the systems in which they live.

So that in this way we must make our struggles deliberate and political. Let our degrees of femininity become legitimizing banners of solidarity for anyone who suffers in any corner of the world.
March 10, 2013
Nick Kroger May 2014
love.
The knife rests on the counter.
Her freshly chopped hair
Feels so estranged.
A healing process
That seems to cut more than give.
Black eyeliner fresh to her skin;
Only worn after –
Never before.
Light flicks to her ear.
Her father’s gift of an earring
Ripped away.
A long ribbed scar
Of the letter “A” behind her ear
From a singed lighter burn.
The color was grey,
But it burned scarlet in her heart.
Impressionist choke lines ran across her throat
From her unwanted suitor.
Biting her lips with pain,
She felt a ruby red rawness.
Salvador Dali’s black lipstick
Twisted open to bleed
memories into mirrors.
Impulsive strokes of darkness filled the glass
With a diminished, backwards word
About a diminished and backwards girl,
She finished titling someone else’s art.
The gritty glass gleamed—
evol.
1.
Noong unang panahon, sa nayon ng Nalbuan
Nakatira ang mag-asawang sina Don Juan at Namongan
At nang bago manganak ang babae
Nagtungo sa mga kaaway ang lalaki
(Once upon a time, in the shire of Nalbuan
There lived a couple named Don Juan and Namongan
And before the maternal labor of the female
To the enemies went the male)

2.
Si Don Juan ay natalo ng mga Igorot
Walang atubiling ulo niya ay pinugot
(By the Igorots Don Juan was defeated
Without hesitation they cut off his head)

3.
‘Di nagtagal, si Namongan ay nanganak
Kakaiba ang kanyang lalaking anak
(Soon, Namongan gave birth to a child
Her son was so odd)

4.
Malaki ang pangangatawan niya kaysa ibang bata
Para siyang isang ganap na binata
(To any child his body is bigger
He is like a mature teenager)

5.
Siya ay nakakapagsalita narin
At sinabi sa lahat na Lam-ang siya kung tawagin
(He could speak even
And said to all Lam-ang is his name given)

6.
Siya rin ang pumili ng kanyang mga ninong
Kung nasaan ang ama kanyang tinanong
(His godparents he elected
His father’s whereabouts he interrogated)

7.
Nang siya ay nasa gulang na siyam na buwan
Ganap na lalaki na kung siya’y masdan
(When he became nine months old
A grown-up man is he to behold)

8.
Nang hindi pa bumabalik ang ama nito
Siya’y nagpasya na sundan ito
(When his father yet returned has not
He then decided to follow that)

9.
Naglakbay siya nang dali-dali
At naabutan ang mga Igorot na nagpupunyagi
(He travelled fastly
And saw the Igorots having revelry)

10.
Sila ay nagsasayawan
Palibot sa pugot na ulo ni Don Juan
(They were dancing
Don Juan’s severed head they’re surrounding)

11.
Galit nag alit si Lam-ang
Lahat na kaaway kanyang pinaslang
(Lam-ang was so very mad
He killed all enemies he had)

12.
Maliban sa isa na kanya munang pinahirapan
Bago ito tuluyang pakawalan na sugatan
(Except for one whom he tortured
Before releasing that injured)

13.
Sa kanyang pagbabalik sa Nalbuan
Siya muna’y naligo sa Ilog Amburayan
(Upon his return to Nalbuan
He first took a bath at River Amburayan)

14.
Dahil sa kapal ng libag at sama ng amoy niya
Doon ay nagkandamatay ang mga isda
(Because of his thick dirt and foul odor
All fished died in that river)

15.
‘Di naglaon, siya’y may babaeng napusuan
Ito’y anak ng pinakamayaman sa Kalanutian
(Later, he fell in love with a woman
He is the daughter of the richest man in Kalanutian)

16.
Ines Kannoyan ang ngalan ng dilag
Kayrami ang lalaking sa kanya’y nangaglaglag
(Ines Kannoyan is the name of the maiden
To her so many men have fallen)

17.
Isa na rito si Sumarang
Kanyang hinamon si Lam-ang
(One of them was Sumarang
He dared to challenge Lam-ang)

18.
Silang dalawa ay naglaban
Nanalo ang binata ng Nalbuan
(The two of them fought on
The bachelor of Nalbuan won)

19.
Nadatnan ni Lam-ang kaydaming manliligaw
Kaya gumawa siya ng paraan upang pumangibabaw
(Lam-ang saw so many suitors
So he made a way to surpass them all)

20.
Pinatilaok niya ang manok at isang bahay ang nagiba
Pinatahol niya ang aso at ang bahay ay naayos na
(He made his rooster crow and a house was destroyed
Then he made his dog growl and that house was restored)

21.
Kayrami ding ginto ang tangan ng binata
Kaya kapagkuwan ay ikinasal ang dalawa
(So much gold the man had carried
So soon the two were married)

22.
Dumating ang panahon na si Lam-ang ay inatasang
Manghuli ng isda na kung tawagin ay rarang
(Time came that Lam-ang was summoned
To catch a fish rarang that’s called)

23.
Subalit habang siya’y nasa kailalaiman ng karagatan
Si Lam-ang ay kinain ng pating na berkakan
(Yet while he was down deep the ocean
Lam-ang was eaten by a shark berkakan)

24.
Si Marcos na maninisid sila’y tinulungan
Pagkuha sa bangkay ni Lam-ang kanyang kinayanan
(A diver named Marcos came to their aid
The corpse of Lam-ang he recovered)

25.
At sa kapangyarihan ng aso at tandang niya
Muling nabuhay ang magiting na bida!
(And by the power of his dog and rooster
Again came to life our brave main character!)

-08/10/2013
(Dumarao)
*for Epic Day 2013
My Poem No. 221
spysgrandson Jan 2015
once a collage
hung on a wide white wall  
with monochrome photos of  
all creatures great and small  

Dali juxtaposed with Doris Day,
LBJ atop JFK, and Joe DiMaggio,
grinning Frankenstein and frowning
Frank Sinatra, not far below

Hemingway, Groucho Marx, Marlon Brando  
occupying three of four corners, the bottom right
a curious cat, in stretched repose

dead center, a cracked crucifix
and four Beatles all, Paul the biggest
with the cross crowning his frame    

a Corvette,
and Stalin in his tomb  
were also given ample room,
on this black and white piece of art  
as were *******, with cap,
Jimi Hendrix with axe  

another three score
and a couple more, completed
this cacophony of sight, but absent
were J. Bieber, Beyonce, any of the Simpsons
of Fox fame, revealing the artist of this gray masterpiece  
was blissfully blind to cyber sacrilege,
Steve Job’s toys, and the lost soul
of Lindsey Lohan
Inspired by a collage of images used as a cover photo by Joe M. I think you have to be old to relate to this one...
Angelito D Libay Mar 2020
Sa akong paglatagaw daw akong kinabuhi wala pa natagbaw.
Nikamang, ninglangoy, nilupad ug nalakaw lakaw.
Aron tagamtamon ang katam-is sa gugma na akong gihanduraw.
Asa naman ka? Naara ko dali ayaw kaulaw.

Ningkuha ug kusog sa uban, nag too na dili sila mobiya.
Nangandoy sama nako na dili na meng duha moluha.
Naghinigugmaay, ug nagpasalig na mogunit sa matag takna.
Apan asa naman, wala na, nibiya na ug kalit ra na nawala.

Giloom ang kasakit niining dughan, kiagwanta ug gidawat ang tanan.
Na sa gugma wala koy swerte, malas maoy ingon sa uban.
Natingala, nangutana, na sa kadaghan sa tao niining kalibutan, nganong ako paman?

Naa ra man diay ka. Nagpaabot ba ka? O gihatag ka sa Ginoo para sa akoa?
Ginahandom na makit.an nako ang tinood na pasabot sa gugma.
Ginaampo, ug ako kanimo nagahangyo na akong paglantaw kanimo palihog dawata.
Tagaan unta ko nimog higayon na magkauban pa tang duha.
#bisaya
Connor Jul 2016
And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin
Written between late June to July 13th.
Patay sindi ang ilaw sa kwarto. Bawat pagsindi ay napuputol ang tulog na mga limang minuto pa lamang ang tinatagal. Kaluskos mula sa kisame ay pilit na sinasawalang bahala.

Ang salamin sa aparador sa paahan ng aking kama ay mistulang naggiging larawan. Mayat maya'y nagkakaroon ng imahe ng isang babaeng naka trahe de boda. Balingkinitan ang katawan, bagsak ang balikat, bahagyang nakatungo't walang bahid ng kagalakan sa kanyang mukha. Ilang saglit lang ay mawawala.  Dali-dali akong tumayo at binuksan na lamang ang pinto ng aparador. Ihinarap sa pader ang salamin, sabay balik sa aking kama. Ang loob ng aparador na lamang ang aking nakikita. Wala na ang babaeng nakaputi, di narin nagparamdam muli. Nawala narin ang nakakabahalang kaluskos sa kisame. Ang ilaw ay nanatiling nakasindi.

Alas-tres na ng umaga nang ako ay nakatulog. Nagising ng alas-sais at nagmamadaling naligo't nagbihis. Iniligpit ang gamit sa bag, nagsuklay at napaharap sa salamin. Natigilan. Nakasara na ang aparador.

- March 15, 2010, Vigan
Meena Menon May 2021
Twelve year old flowerhead,
Marigold, yarrow and nettle,
I’d be all emotion
If not for all my work
From the time I was a teenager.
I got depressed a lot.
I related to people I read about
In my weather balloon,
Grasping, ignorant, and desperate,
But couldn’t relate to other twelve year olds.
After school I read Dali’s autobiography,
Young ****** Autosodomized by Her Own Chastity.
Fresh, green nettle with fresh and dried yarrow for purity,
Dead souls enticed to the altar by orange marigolds,
passion and creativity,
Coax sleep and rouse dreams.
Satellites measure indirectly with wave lengths of light.
My weather balloon measures the lower and middle levels of the atmosphere directly,
Fifty thousand feet high,
Metal rod thermometer,
Slide humidity sensor,
Canister for air pressure.

I enjoy rye bread and cold coconut butter in my weather balloon,
But I want Dali, and all the artists and writers.
Rye grows at high altitudes
But papyrus grows in soil and shallow water,
Strips of papyrus pith shucked from their stems.
When an anchor’s weighed, a ship sails,
But when grounded we sail.
Marigolds, yarrow and nettle,
Flowerhead,
I use the marigold for sleep,
The yarrow for endurance and intensity
toiling for love and  truth,
And the nettle for healing.
Strong rye bread needs equally strong flavors.
By the beginning of high school,
I read a lot of Beat literature
And found Buddhism.
I loved what I read
But I didn’t like some things.
I liked attachment.  
I got to the ground.
Mushrooms grow in dry soil.
Attachment to beauty is Buddha activity.
Not being attached to things I don’t find beautiful is Buddha activity.  
I fried mushrooms in a single layer in oil, fleshy.
I roasted mushrooms at high temperatures in the oven, crisp.
I simmered mushrooms in stock with kombu.
Rye bread with cold coconut butter and cremimi mushrooms,
raw, soft and firm.  
Life continues, life changes,
Attachments, losses, mourning and suffering,
But change lures growth.
I find stream beds and wet soil.
I lay the strips of papyrus next to each other.
I cross papyrus strips over the first,
Then wet the crossed papyrus strips,
Press and cement them into a sheet.
I hammer it and dry it in the sun,
With no thought of achievement or self,
Flowerhead,
Hands filled with my past,
Head filled with the future,
Dali, artists, poets,
Wishes and desires aligned with nature,
Abundance,
Cocoa, caraway, and molasses.

If I ever really like someone,
I’ll be wearing the dress he chooses,
Fresh green nettle and yarrow,
the seeds take two years to grow strong,
Lasting love.
Marigolds steer dead souls from the altar to the afterlife,
Antiseptic, healing wounds,
Soothing sore throats and headaches.
Imperturbable, stable flowerhead,
I empty my mind.
When desires are aligned with nature, desire flows.
Papyrus makes paper and cloth.
Papyrus makes sails.
Charcoal from the ash of pulverized papyrus heals wounds.
Without attachment to the fruit of action
There is continuation of life,
Rye bread and melted coconut butter,
The coconut tree in the coconut butter,
The seed comes from the ground out of nothing,
Naturalness.
It has form.
As the seed grows the seed expresses the tree,
The seed expresses the coconut,
The seed expresses the coconut butter.
Rye bread, large open hollows, chambers,
Immersed in melted coconut butter,
Desire for expansion and creation,
No grasping, not desperate.
When the mind is compassion, the mind is boundless.
Every moment,
only that,
Every moment,
a scythe to the papyrus in the stream bed of the past.
I love my yoga practice and I’m finally taking a poetry class for the first time in my 41 (almost 42) years, though it’s online and free.  Our assignment asked us to fill blanks into this:  the [concrete noun] of [abstract noun].
"Tao po?" unang beses akong naglakas ng loob,
Pero walang kibo ang nahihimbig na bantay.
Kinakatok ko gamit ang barya ang kahoy na bintana,
May rehas na yari sa metal pero madali namang masira.

"Tao po?" pangalawang pagsuyo
Habang pinagmamasdan ang dekorete sa bawat sulok,
Pero tila ba walang pakikisama ang may-ari,
Kaya't naisipan ko na lamang ibulsa ang pambili.

Halos maka-dalawang hakbang na ako
Nang bigla kong narinig ang kakaiba nyang tono,
"Ano yun?" magaspang ang boses niya
Kaya't napalingon akong bigla't niyari ang sarili pabalik.

Kinapa ko ang bulsa at kinuha ang barya,
At tinuro ang nakabalot na pangarap.
Dali-dali ko itong binulsa habang panakaw ang tingin.
Hanggang napansin niyang nakatitig ako.

Apat na hakbang buhat sa bintana ng pagsusuyuan,
Tinawag niya ako, pero hindi ko sya pinansin.
Puno ng kaba ang puso ko,
At kakaiba ang daing ng pag-iisip ko
Buhat sa pagtawag niya sa akin,
Hindi ko rin makalimutan
Ang malamlam niyang mga matang
Parang may nais ipahiwatig.

Sa pag-uwi ko,
Napatingin ako sa sariling repleksyon
At doon ko napagtagpi-tagpi ang lahat,
*"Nakakahiya, may tagos pala ako."
Tungkol sana ito sa pag-ibig pero habang sinusulat ko na, iba ang naging timpla ng eksena. Medyo nakakatawa. Isang akda para sa mga kababaihang magigiting sa kabila ng kanilang kabuwanang dalaw.

Bayani ang bawat dilag pagkat bahagi ito ng ating pagkatao.
brandon nagley Nov 2015
I don't do drug's, I am drug's-





Salvadore dali quote......
If you don't know who Salvador Dali is he's one of mine favorite artists born 1904 died 1989...  His works from the 60s were very bizarre as if something out of a pink Floyd film lol... He was an amazing artist and bizarre man though a mind of a genius and wasn't the same as all other artists of his time. He stood out being different and bringing beautiful strange works... As the melting clock painting which is popular...
Lunes

Siya ay tatlong-daang talampakan mula sa aking kinatatayuan
Sa kanyang pinaroroonan ako ay patungo
Sa dulo ng pasilyong ito siya'y taimtim na naghihintay
Sinuway ko ang tawag ng kahayokan ng damdamin
At hindi kumatok nang madatnan ang pintuan ng kanyang silid
"Hahayaan ko na lang siyang umidlip." sambit sa sarili

Martes

Siya, isang panibagong habol ng paningin, sumenyas
May ngiti siyang ipinakita bago dumiretso sa kasilyas
Sa silong ng eskuwelahan kung saan ako nag-aaral
Ako'y sumunod sa utos ng aking katigangan
Sumunod sa estrangherong may kislap sa kanyang ngiti
Ngunit dali-dali akong umalis nang mga mata ko'y nanlisik

Miyerkules

Ako ay nakaupo sa dulo ng bus, iniwan ng mga pasaherong inip
Napaisip at nag-iisip na bumaba na ngunit
May sumakay na lalaking marilag at ako'y nabihag
Hindi ko naiwasang hindi tumitig habang siya'y nakangisi
At sa kanyang pagtabi at mag-dikit ang mga biyas namin
Agarang tinawag ko ang kundoktor at pinahinto ang sasakyan

Huwebes

Mag-isa sa aking silid, nakahilata sa kama, Luna sa aking mukha
Ang diwa ay naglalakbay at may hinahabol na alaala
Bigla kong naalala may mensahe sa aking selepono
Isang hubad na larawan ng kausap ko nang wala pang limang araw
Nandilat ang aking mga mata at nagising ang aking diwa
Sa kalakhang kanyang ipinakita na aking di naman gaanong pinansin

Biyernes

Ikaw ay aking muling nasulyapan sa isang kainan
Malapit sa iyong tinitirhan, may kausap sa iyo'y nakikipagtitigan
O sa imahinasyon ko lang iyon?
Ngunit hindi ko maiaalis sa puso ko ang masindak,
Manlumo, malumbay na kaya **** mabuhay na wala
Ang init ng mga balat nating nagtatagpo.

Oh Diyos ko,

Ako'y pagbigyan mo makasama siya kahit isang gabi lang
Isang magdamagang nananaig ang kamunduan
Na maglapat ang aming mga dila
Na masubo ko ang kabuuan niya hanggang mabulunan
Na malasap ang alat ng pawis sa kanyang balat
Na mahila ko ang kanyang buhok sa gigil ng pagkasabik
Na muling takpan niya ang aking bibig, pinipigilan akong umimik

Sabado ng gabi may mensaheng bumungad sa'kin
Kami raw ay mag-hapunan at kumain ng pang-himagas hanggang Linggo ng umaga

At sa pagkakataong ito ay pumayag na ako.
Read more of my works on Tumblr: brixartanart.tumbr.com

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