"dissimilarities" poems
she was a masterpiece behind the glass draped in gold
he was tired and homely, his rage was growing old.
the line between them was bold
but it's fine
because they ignored the disparity
of dissimilarities
through this discrepancy, they painted their canvas
with lust and expectations
they could never keep it going, a senseless apparatus
neither could sense the strength of the connection
binding them hiding them individually,
the two became as one
two to one,
counting down the moments to their
untimely demise;
when the two are no longer as one,
but none.
none could've predicted the end,
not once
but twice
when they failed
they tried
and tried again
he told her she was heaven sent,
and he was shrouded in sin,
what they didn't know is that
they were one and the same.
cut from the same cloth
but rarely clothed when they were together.
Stayed high together
one could say they were
birds of a feather
they were lost but now they're found;
she was once was okay but now she's drowned.
deep under her love for him,
she tried to float and coast through
but it was no use
his love and adoration was all she had to lose
it was enough to clear her mind of the emotional abuse
but it was not enough to clear her heart of the love.
As she lay in his bed
praying for him to come closer,
he stayed as far away as he could.
and although he knew he could love her
he wasn't sure if he should;
she was jaded
and the time they shared had faded.
but in her heart she made it,
she could fade it!
She was lost it in all her minds of minds.
Trouble is growing from underneath the seams
how they've stayed intact is a mystery,
leave all the bad in the past
it's history
the present envelops her
with his presence
and it consumes, it engulfs her whole.
She finds she cannot live without him.
he grows cold, distant
she realizes he's already gone
and she disintegrated into his front lawn,
with all the dead leaves
and fallen trees
He says,
"i'm already gone."
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
do not know how to end you.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
Loving as an art form,
Brushes briskly bold and brash,
Transforms a blank canvas.
Its palette paints passion:
gleaming pinks, reds, then purples,
busily spilling onto the work of art.
From a hint of ****** flush
Follows a touch of blush
Leads into a flaunting of flesh
making nerve endings bristle.
While brushing aside dissimilarities
the imagery develops and disseminates.
As every dab and pat matters
Each patterns into something more than before
Strokes stoke the hues of emergence
Always colorful; never dull
Some shades of black and blues
Yet nothing's black and white
Turning some effects into silver
Others into golden memories
If open to influence beyond our minds,
Unhampered by concern or lacking confidence,
Each wave of the wand
Becomes uninhibited love energy.
While not always spotting the depth and the dimensions,
Our personalities coat our panoramas;
Our characters create our landscapes;
Our creations captivate our souls.
As child-like freedom promises,
A natural state of love and joy emerges.
Loving as an art forms
our dynamic duo.
Whether using oils or watercolors,
It manifests into wanting words.
It’s marked into body lanquaging,
Revealing tears and smiles,
Pleasures and plea-sings,
Triggers and treats,
Revelations and reveal-ations,
Understandings and underlyings
Fostering flow and creative sap
Loving becomes poetic portraits.
Breathing and exhaling
Expanding and exploring
Stimulating and stirring
Romancing the stone
Reflecting the pool
Remembering the rules
Two souls singing their tunes
Harmonizing
Mostly action and reaction
Give and take
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
you were the little rain,
and i was the hurricane,
everybody knew you were meant to fix something,
and i was meant to destroy everything.
you are the definition of lightness,
while i was the meaning of darkness.
your body is the realm of all the lost things that are found,
while mine was the other way around.
to sum things up,
we were the polar opposites.
the east and the west,
the tame and the wild,
the day and the night.
when i was lost,
people would say that someday,
someone will knock on your door and when you take a look at it,
you will not recognize who the person is,
your mind will be blasting with the questions,
"who are you?", "what are you doing here?"
and maybe you would even tell the person to get out.
but the person will leave something in front of your door,
a thing that you perhaps wanted or despised,
a thing that even the closest people in your life can give,
but instead, this time,
a stranger will.
it's called the unexpected.
you came knocking on my door one day,
thinking you can settle things with the hurricane,
at first i just laughed and said,
"nobody can handle the hurricane."
however after that i never thought a little rain
would have so much effect on me.
that was when i realised you are also the thing
that you left in front of my door.
you are the unexpected.
and by means of unexpected,
you never did anything i expected you to do.
you didn't give me a playlist of the songs that remind you of me
but my favourite songs are nothing compared to your voice,
one simple "hello" of you will make me stop listening to my playlist.
you didn't take me to art museums
and admire the wonderful paintings with my presence
but you made me feel like a living masterpiece every single day.
when i told you i love art,
you asked why don't i love myself.
you do not connect me to a rose,
or to a smoke,
you do not make metaphors for me
and you do not love poems as much as i do
but your words have the power to hit me more than any other poets could
and i am just a coward to not admit it.
you didn't call me at 11 pm to ask
if i wanted to go see the stars,
like i've always dreamed of.
but just by staring at you,
i can see the stars, the milky way, even the whole universe,
and i knew that moment
that there is no need for stargazing in the middle of the night
when i can look at you all the time.
you didn't enjoy my favourite shows,
you couldn't take it because of how much blood was shown in it,
and i saw beauty in it.
this is probably a poem about
our disparity,
our contrast,
and our dissimilarities.
but you did something that i never expected you to do,
you did the unexpected.
you found the light in me
no matter how dark it might be.
my body was no longer the realm of lost things,
because you've done everything to find them.
and i was no longer the hurricane who is known
to destroy everything,
because for some reasons i couldn't destroy you,
you were the exception.
despite of all the things i wanted you to do that you never did,
the playlists,
the museum dates,
the appreciation of poetry,
the stargazing.
you did something that took my breath away,
something that i couldn't ask for more,
something that was unexpected.
you loved me,
and that was enough,
that was more than enough.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC