"hula" poems
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
***If I were a Rainbow
The children would run to me
Turning upside down, I would be an iridescent swing,
The children would mount my rainbow wing
Swaying high up in the starry skies ascending on the moon
The children do bunny jumps, counting stars till noon
Awestruck and desirous they pick a few
The colours pink purple orange magenta and blue
Swaying down to the flower garden
They would pick flowers from the boughs laden
Threading in a star and a flower into an ornamental garland
Adorned as neckpieces , running around ,making one happy land
If I were a Rainbow
I would dismember all the semicircles making one hula hoop
The children would gleefully twirl and sway into the enormous loop
If I were a Rainbow
I would become one big ramp
The children would joyously roller skate up and down
Lighting up the ramp
If I were a Rainbow
And all of these came true
I would turn upside down making one radiant smile across the sky
The children would happily smile back at me , waving me good bye***
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
-Until We Meet Again-
Pele has lost one of her lovers.
I miss the goddess in all her majesty; Her deep blue oceans, sweet sandy beaches, Her dark black hair billowing down like the lava from the peaks of Her highest volcanoes.
Her seven sacred pools, each one cascading gracefully into the next, all finally spilling into her magnificent sea.
Her gorgeous body will forever entice my mind, with hair dark and beautiful, inhaling the scent of fresh pineapple and coconut, a hibiscus flower pinning back strands of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes, they were just as deep and amazing as the sea, something with which they were so familiar.
With lips red and lined with Hawaiian love songs sung just for you, tasting as fresh and young as the ocean itself.
Her body was adorned with fresh tropical flower leis and Kukui beads falling gracefully over ancient Hawaiian dress; all made from the same grass and leaves coming from the islands many trees.
All encircling those perfect hips, born to Hula and sway to any island rhythm, be it the slow and steady rattle of the Uli Uli, or the fast and powerful beat of the Pahu drum.
Finally pushed over the edge by the sight of her long tan legs, not shy to the suns warmth and fiery grasp, ending in bare feet more familiar to the islands then we’ll ever be.
I miss her and all her islands.
Oh, how I miss the island paradise Hawaii.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
I have not been anywhere,
done anything, thought anything,
and feel nothing.
At least,
that’s what my blank, plain-clothed
T-shirt would indicate to other people.
A man walking the earth with
no visible identity.
When I put on my Hawaiian shirt, however,
they believe my mind to be full of
pineapples, hula girls swinging softly in the
ukulele moonlight, palm fronds swaying
in the dacron, or is it rayon, ripples
of my baggy upper man.
Let others think what they might
of my images, or the lack of words
and logos.
My inner tag says that
I’m size “L” and that I’m made on
factory looms in China, that my buttons
are constructed to look like the
real thing–a round slice of bone or
perhaps ivory.
I am not so much anywhere on the
outside, even though there are places
I would like to go fling my few dollars.
Inside, however, I am lost,
pleasantly lost and hiding, within the
convenience of my unprinted shirt.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
they danced in a dream
of bending shadows
face down
begging ***
all hungry back door paradise
ankles strapped on a foot worn floor
paint faced in whorey nights
with pin needle eyes
beded
blood crimson neon's
cut curtains
like kissing claws
so their bodies wouldn't forget
dark pleasures lightening
and biting tantra tantrums
they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy
breathing the others inhalations
foot sniffing ballet arch
in fastened Japanese melting red slippers
gazing upwards rectums prayer
solar eyed insurrection
finger by finger
clutching wrists like the grave
for bloods salty cove
an injured landscape
a dire pink desert
like bogs hold bones
a rave for a slave
covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets
soft on the feet
x rated amputee costume
made of blood and spit
look mommy no arms
a bellied tattoo
of hennaed homunculi
burning Candomblé Jejé, skull
black eyed beauty hissing
while accordion throated
rip tie tighten
another notch please
a dizzy *******
down silver fluted gullet
in a steamed up bath house
party of blotted sockets
*** kitten
kissed dead girls thighs
tremulous and stretched
a shimmering serum
like wide tubular channels
as pontoon edges slit
through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl
who thrills
her head a veiled Jehovah
saliva wagging tongue ****
a stuttering ****** dance
a hula hot momma in rubble
slapping hot lipped kisses
over starved darkness
along telegraphs avenue
melting eyes like butter
a globed pudding spill
******* drool drops of gold
and black river gladiators
slaughter lies
with every long stroke
between cascading squeals
paraphilias mausoleum
like tumbling eels
a scapegoat pulp fiction
chiseled in cement
******* rips
drip drip drip
babbling **** bubbles
**** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun
fire spats soil cherry clover
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
At yun nga,
Inakala ko
wala na nga,
Ngunit may karugtong pa nga,
Ang librong hinulog sa banga,
Saan na nga?
Nag wakas ang kwentong tula?,
Ating baguhin at gawing Dula,
Ang mga nangyaring hula,
Na pwede pa nating baguhin mula simula.
Ngunit nabago na ang ihip ng hangin,
Hindi ko na alam ang iisipin,
Gusto kong silipin
Ang mundong dapat sana'y atin,
Dahil inakala ko'y wala na nga,
Ngunit heto't bumalik ka nga,
Upang ako'y muling malito saking nararamdaman,
ikanga,
tulad nung isang awitin,Mas mahal na kita ngayon,Ngunit pambihirang buhay to,
Kaibigan nalang ako,
Ng isang Prinsesang nakatira sa kastilyo,
ayoko na
dahil wala ng kabuluhan
ang sinusulat ko,
para akong tanga,
mema post lang,
bahala na..
pambihira...
salamat sa pagbabasa.
thuglife tayo..xD
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 6:20 AM UTC
I left this carnival,
or so it seemed to be.
My views have
Changed. Good or Bad?
I won't be the one,
To say in the coming years.
Girls with hula hoops,
Boys watching in awe,
How fantastic the
Colors seemed to swirl.
Like the fallen leaves
On a windy day.
But not the trees
are mainly bare, as
the circus crowd
Gathers around to
Catch the acrobat if
they should Fall.
Outside on the dirt path,
is me. sitting in thought,
Talking to more then myself.
The trees, grass, and
The earth listened to
my many tricky questions.
Why can't life be
Like tonight.
With all the vendors,
music, and travelers.
I tried to hide from
the rising sun, instead
my body made me absorb,
every bit of light.
The sun was the reminder,
To return home and
be in this other life.
More free then the
bird floating above me,
I thought of people
and the whole world.
No money left in my
money clip. I found some
water. I saw the ring leader
of the carnival and,
She eagerly smiled
"Life is what you make it."
No help this was, as
more and more contradictions
Sprang from my mouth.
Again she just smiled, so
Pretty was her smile.
Early that morning,
I tried to talk
to other beings, spirits,
but no truth was found.
Then like a lightning
bolt hitting a tree,
and causing fire everywhere,
The answer hit me. On
the ride home, I had
The same pretty smile,
as her.
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 10:49 PM UTC
Bedroom’s painted fisherman’s blue
There’s a cut out of Hayden Panettiere naked in a pink bikini with a hula-hoop on the back of the door
Copies of British Vogue desperately hidden underneath the bed accompanying an empty bottle of Glen’s
Manchester United duvet cover and matching pillows to boot
The bin’s filled with pre-packed home-made lunches from the last six months
Wardrobes a collection of ill fitting blue jeans bought for me by grandmother and football jerseys for teams that I’ve never even heard of, yet let alone see play a single game
Uniform ironed and sitting out ready for school on Monday at 8am sharp
***** clothes cover mostly all the floor smelling of Lynx’s finest even though there’s an empty laundry basket just waiting in the corner to be used
Inside one of the woolen blazer’s (that is way too big for me) pockets a single unopened ****** and an AES 256-bit encrypted USB stick
An old PlayStation 2, with a single controller; games including FIFA years through 2004 to now, Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell, and GTA.
Blood red shoplifted lipstick that’s now melted hidden in the little secret compartment at the back, meant for network expansion.
Artemis Fowl, Alex Rider, and Harry Potter all adorn the bookcase
Physics, Maths, and IT textbooks remain firmly closed on the desk in addition to a smashed phone from me and Daddy’s last “physical altercation”
Lady Gaga’s “I Like it Rough” is playing in the background on repeat…
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 2:43 PM UTC
hula
ang yong kamandag ay matagal nang
nasa dibdib ko,di ko alintana ang mga sandali hanggang
unti-unti kang humulas bilang isang henna,,na para bang
di ko lubos namalayan bakit pa di ko ginawang totoong
tattoo ka,,nang sa gayon mapatunayan ko sayo ang iyong
imahe ang pinaka-aasam ko bilang ekspresyon kong
simbolo- na ikaw at ang pagiging magaan mo subalit
kaakit-akit ay siyang karapat-dapat
sa puso at isipan ng isang capricornian
at maghihintay ako sa iyo hanggang sa dulo ng aking pagdaraanan........
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
Hey, I already told you that you were a little bit crazy.
What did you think—that I was completely nuts?
Come on, Cashew, and shake that walnut-sized brain of
yours, and then we’ll try to put together a decent menu.
Still, I ought to kick you in those itty-bitty sunflower seeds,
those ones that you claim to be your source of protein.
Hey, Macadamia Breath, accidentally lose the ******* hula
dancer and then fire the impending search-and-rescue party!
Your tropical trail mix was no good for each other.
You need a vacation from this deserted island, Captain Crunch.
Go down south and get yourself the businessman’s special.
You know—some old-fashioned brazil nuts.
Yeah, that’s the two-tickets-to-paradise, for sure.
Fool, you really do need to buff up the old almond.
Do I need to open up the **** aluminum lid for you?
You’ve been stuck inside this assorted, mixed can that you
try to refer to as an extra bedroom for nearly nine months.
Get out and take in a little hike and bike
right after you do the wake and bake.
Maybe you should go slow roast yourself at the beach a little.
Why don’t you go to the mountains and try to become one of those
pine nuts that end up in all of those overpriced health cereals?
Hey, Snickers, those dank trees really are beautiful, you know.
Would you quit acting like a frikkin’ flax seed already?
Just admit that it’s almost payday, for criminy sakes!
You pathetic Mister Peanut, you.
Please, Saint Chestnut, give this completely lost consumer strength
from high above store aisle number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Listen to me, Nutt Sack, will you shake those tiny little beer
nuts that no one can seem to stomach anyway?
First of all, they are becoming way too stale just sitting around here,
so if you continue to wait any longer, they will petrify—and then we
will eventually be forced to call you teeth-breaking Corn Nuts!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
sa panimula
tila isang bula
hindi dahil sa lumutang at nag-laho
mangyari'y kulumpon na bahagi'y hinango
mula sa batya ng hula
samu't sari nakadaupang-palad
hiraya manawari maikubli ang luha
bunga ng mga pangakong di natupad
sampung letra pababa
sa puntong ito naitalaga
mga bakas ng nakalipas
nakatakdang ipamalas
upang ang ngayon maging ang hinaharap
yayakapin ng bukas nang may paglingap
ano man ang mangyari sa agenda
kompromiso ang tanging propaganda
[3 of 12 marked voices of a dozen clusters of letters]
© copyright 2015 - All Rights Reserved
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
I watched the sky turn
It's marvelous, too-perfect
Gleaming tumblers in a cosmic
Dance of light and silence
And the hula-hoop girl
Spun her hoop against the massive
Sky turning those
Dots into positioned perfection
To which she dashed them to the
Earth in a frenzied
Calm which met the moon
By the singing tree tops
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
The plane is emotion.
The form is a gentle rider,
she pushes bullets off cliffs, she hugs the stars.
Catches the moon eyeing her with one
great big hand wrapped on its ****
spins the bell of her dress
round and round.
Sifted from the Earth, man moody
cleft in heaps of his entrails,
no progress has been made.
My metal mother pulls hula hoops for zulu,
she rips down the shelves and pulls
Bobby Dylan from the wall. She says,
"grrrplleeopzhrka." And the smoke gets into
my eyes and burns my nostrils too.
In the great wind screen, footprints of man,
Native American blood weeps on my bright
Summer burning, no regency cleared. The
outlook denied. It sits stagnant, maddening
with its blockhead on sideways. Heavy, old
mutter hubbard wilting gold in her stare.
Mess comes. She spoils, her skin is loud
and anointed, her fecund white placard
is thinner than air. People look at each other,
a goblin, two trollops, the green woolen winter-wear
of a soldier in despair. Only a putrid noon, escaping,
cuts the flesh from the garden. Cuts out all the weakness,
the hope, the love, every thing owned, every one cleared.
The skin trap and oyster flap. The rich mixture of voices,
nothing holds common that bond, that few could look upon,
that youth could-
none of the old things work anymore.
Just a wicked boredom trickling in blood down her legs, just
the lust trickling down her legs, dear mommy, I obey.
And when the summer months set in mahogany, and the icicle
feat swallows us up, dear-
death
Winter
lips
moths buzzing
mouths
fuzzz
your sweet bomb
bon bon
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with with my fingers rubbing on her tongue. A pedagogy I use to teach, but pretty much no longer have a use.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
They said the world tasted bitter,
But I didn't know the taste
Sitting on my high pedestal
I hadn't found my place.
They said life was pain,
But I jumped right on the train
The box was cold, damp
Dark heat, a burning lamp
Of judgment.
I caught it,
This sweat-soaked fever
A penny for a heartless demeanor
It came back, the conflict within
Shivers down my skin.
Why- that gifted nymph,
It lurks in nails, toes, grins
A flashlight on throats
The world was grim.
They said life was pain,
But I didn't know the feel
My reflected thought
Held back, bitten at the heel.
Wasn't I seeing gumdrops and candy ladders
Pie contests and glowing lanterns
Cherry soda and harmless banters
Butterfly wings and hula dancers?
They said life is pain,
But to seek fun and games
Look at oneself first
Here lies change.
Here lies paradise.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
I own a hula hoop
it's red with black and white racing pattens circling around the red
like something a person could use for a race
I own a hula hoop
shockingly i am not a little girl with pigtails who uses it
no i bought it at 19 at a fair
and people stared while i just didnt care
I own a hula hoop
not because it seems like a new age thing to do
or simply because its a good workout tool
no i own a hula hoop because i love the way it moves with me
i love the tricks and turns i can do with it
i own a hula hoop because it makes me feel in the moment
in turn with myself and my surroundings
it makes me want to buy another hula hoop
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
I'm just gunna
hula-hoop
right through
your
loop
hole.
I'm dating
Debbie Downer
but I'm bi-curious
for Positive Paul.
I'm hungry.
I'm pissy.
Debbie, get back to
Betty.
& Bake me a cake.
I'll go hang out
with
Paul and his country ****
Whoops,
I mean
Crock.
You can just keep bitchin'
in the kitchen.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
Around the world swinging my hips, A hula hoop queen
Wrapped up in our nation’s flag I’ll be your American dream
Microphone miss superstar, shake the feathers in my hair
Honey you’re my favorite audience, you know I love it when you stare
Late night rooftop philosopher, tell you everything on my mind
Lover archeologist, boy you’re the best thing I’ll ever find
Little baby human canvas tattooed up my wrist
Turn into a woman fast when you grab me for a kiss
Vroom Vroom Racecar driver when I follow you up north
Lit up your sky fire works on our first July fourth
Princess of the gas station, buy me cherry gum
Lighting up my cigarette, won’t forget to spark you one
You lived a world of black and white, and that is not a lot so
I’ll bring in my vibrant reds, you got yourself Picasso
I know I scare you at most times, but never should you quiver
For my king at his request, the queen is sure to deliver
Apache chief rain dance girl, my tribe calls me brave heart
But I’m not always so courageous; I’m just trying to be smart
I’m thinking with my heart so fast the pumping blood’s still blue
But it beats, and I do all these things, I do them all for you.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
Oh, how could I have been so careless with time?
Trying to catch hummingbirds with a hula-hoop.
All the un-watered whims,
planted in subconscious deep;
inside great empty tiger cages
that capture only the echoes,
and photographic negatives of dreams.
With a knapsack chock full of stars,
and clouds, fully reviewed then abandoned
at random. I have been spinning separate
from the world; wearing time capriciously
on my wrist, fully reviewed then abandoned at random.
Maybe only clocks are careful with time . . .
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
The life span of a housefly
is approximately a month
Imagine if that was the lifespan
of everyone in this room,
from birth to death--
in just a month we grow;
learning to walk, talk, eat pancakes, perceive god,
light fires, play guitar, make coffee, cook lobster,
learning to hula-hoop, to snap, to use the toilet
and/or discovering your favorite shades of red,
the first time merging with the opposite ***
all in the span of a month.
How intense must that life feel?
Not to mention the physical growth
of bone, skin, heart, feet all the way
from birth to death in a month.
I think people would live quite differently;
laws would cease, save for the natural ones,
like the lifespan of a month.
Such learning with great intensity
compact into such a short time...
In this way I envy the housefly;
the fly that lands on dog ****
risking a shorter life swatting death
to drink some sweat or
warm up for a spell in your home.
What a life,
the life of a fly in time.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
Miles and borders
wedges
Wanderlust children
locked in the Sun's hula hoop
claim visions of sugarplum prairies
Downplayed mountains
speckle the globe
like tectonic acne
Topography's tease
The paper was so promising
Dimensions spawn
in the tatters of ambition
like fused particles of
colloquial bridges
Keyboards sprout vocal chords
and philosophies huddle under
shy amusement
humming to the hymn of a discovery
wrapped up in the chords
of enraptured choirs of fingertips
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
i exist somewhere between the kick drum and the snare
i am the blood thundering in our veins
i am the rhythm that gives us life
i am the 375 nanometers of ultraviolet light shining down on you
i am the space between the notes and the silence before the drop
i am oscillation, reverberation, undulation of bassline
i am rattling ribcage from excess decibels
i am titinnitus waiting to strike.
3,4-methylenedioxy-N-methylamphetamine, Lysergic acid diethylamide, tetrahydrocannabinol, ethanol, benzoylmethylecgonine; choose your poison so that you may enjoy me better
i am the sweat that slicks our skin and keeps us cool
i am the longing look that leaps from eye to eye
i am mellifluous melody, motivator of movement, master of mind.
i am the sea of strangers you find yourself lost in, minimally clad bodies moving in ways you didn't know were possible.
i am the fire-poi spinner, the LED hula-hooper, the melbourne-shuffling madman, the obnoxious bro, the ancient hippie, the obviously underage girl, the idiot overdosing in the corner, and the person wearing more pony beads than clothes.
i am the rave.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
I've never been to China
I almost went to France,
I missed a flight to Russia once
I only missed by chance
Rome's intoxicating
The air there is sublime
But, I've never been there either
I just didn't have the time
I missed a train to Scotland
Bypassed Wales, and well Why Not?
There's nothing there in Cardiff
Other countries haven't got
I thought about the islands
Bui I do not like the sun
So I thought about a cruse ship
Still, I've never been on one
Alaska, has the mountains
forests wide and big brown bears
But as you can imagine
I've also not been there
I thought about Hawaii
but I never made that trip
I thought about the hula
And I thought I'd hurt my hip
I booked a flight to Cairo
Never went as you could guess
Saw a story on the news one day
And Jesus, what a mess
The pyramids had scaffolding
The place was full of sand
So I stayed home and watched telly
And then that trip was canned
I've never been to Ireland
or Cuba or Ceylon
And at the rate I'm going
It won't be long before their gone
I've thought about the Norway fjords
and lovely Swedish parks
but I've heard that all their fjords are filled
With big man eating sjarks!
I've never been most anyplace
I ever set to go
I'm not sure why I stayed here
I really do not know
Next week I have a trip planned
I'm not going to Spain
And then a fortnight after
I'm not going again!
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
"hello, kamusta?"
kataga na kay tagal kong hinintay
kung hula mo'y ilang buwan
sablay
dahil taon ang hinintay ko
upang makita sa loob ng kompyuter ko
ang mga katagang "hello, kamusta?"
at kung sa mas eksaktong sukat
ay walong taon
halos ka-edad ng batang marunong ng sumagot sa magulang
may sariling aksyon at pagiisip
at kung iisipin
hindi sana tayo ganito
kung sumagot tayo sa magulang natin dati
o kung may karapatan na tayo dati
kung mas inuna natin ang aksyon na gusto
kaysa sa aksyon na mas nararapat
sabagay
hindi rin naman dapat sila sisihin
dahil bata pa tayo noon
mas bata tayo noon ng pitong taon
ngayon
sa 'yong "hello, kamusta?"
ay natigilan ako
kaya ka ba nagpaparamdam
ay dahil kaya mo ng tumayo
salungat sa gusto ng iba
patungo sa mas gugustuhin mo
o isa ulit itong pagsawsaw
ng iyong paa sa rumaragasang damdamin ko
kagaya ng ginawa mo
pitong taon nang nakalipas
nilubog ng kaunti ang iyong damdamin
para lamang malaman
na hindi lahat ng gusto mo ay pwede mo nang kunin
at agad agad **** hinugot ang iyong pagtingin
na para bang hindi din ako sumawsaw
nagpaanod
nalunod
sa sakit ng rumaragasang tadhana
na noo'y inakalang
kayang suungin
para lamang malaman ko na hindi ka pa pala handa
ngayon
sa 'yong "hello, kamusta?"
isa ba itong tanda
na handa ka na
na kaya mo na
panindigan
ipaglaban
magpaanod
malunod
sumuong
ano
mas masakit di 'ba
na malamang mayroon na akong iba
"hello, kamusta?"
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 4:01 AM UTC
1
2
3
4
5
I count things in 5’s
one cat
two cat
three cat
hula hoop
tote bag
My notes are organized Cornell style
but it can’t fill the void you left.
Light switch
one slipper
two slippers
lotion
candle
I’ve got my life organized down to the the minutes
but you aren’t in any of them.
Long distance.
We’ll see.
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC