"madrigal" poems
In the morning of yesterday
There were strangers talking in my garden, heads close together
Intent on each other, in whispers
I heard them say your name
And the earth shifted a little...the season moved forward a little
And I heard myself sigh like a dreamer
Harvesting hearts and marigolds
The thief steals in when we least expect it, masqued and lithe
Wanting an exploration of Souls
Oblivious, if we’re generous
But still the knife cuts deeply...the blade turns without intention
And I’m bleeding out like a Madrigal
I loved you too much in the Mirrorfall
I found you in the violin’s shadow
Dust and star tears are my witnesses
I love you
My joy and my abyss
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 5:28 AM UTC
Iboboto ko nang matuwid
Para sa asensong walang patid
Buong Team PNoy – sa senado ko ihahatid
Sonny Angara – hatid niya ang solusyon
Para sa atin, trabaho’t edukasyon
Bam Aquino – nasa dugo ang katapangan
Marangal, malinis na pangalan
A.P. Cayetano – Presyo, Trabaho at Kita
Ibabalanse niya
Chiz Escudero – subok na sa senado
Kabataan ay hindi mabibigo
Risa Hontiveros – tayo’y ipaglalaban
Ayaw niya sa korapsyon at katiwalian
Loren Legarda – marami nang nagawa
Bida sa kanya ang masa
Jamby Madrigal – kakampi ang mahirap
Galit sa korap
Ramon Magsaysay, Jr. – isa ring kampeon ng masa
Katulad ng kanyang ama
Grace Poe – magalang at maaasahan
Sagot siya sa kahirapan
Koko Pimentel – ayaw sa madaya
Katiwalian ay susugpuin niya
A. Trillanes – produktibo sa senado
Marami nang nagawang batas ito
Cynthia Villar – ang Mrs. Hanepbuhay
Siya ang ating kaagapay
Dadalhin ko sa senado
Mga pambato ng pangulo
Dahil kailangan sila ng mga Pilipino.
-05/12/2013
(Dumarao)
*My Yellow Poems Collection…written on the day before the Elections
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 9:35 PM UTC
The clouds as I see them, rising
urgently, roseate in the
mounting of somber power
surging in evening haste over
roofs and hermetic
grim walls—
Last night
As if death had lit a pale light
in your flesh, your flesh
was cold to my touch, or not cold
but cool, cooling, as if the last traces
of warmth were still fading in you.
My thigh burned in cold fear where
yours touched it.
But I forced to mind my vision of a sky
close and enclosed, unlike the space in which these clouds move—
a sky of gray mist it appeared—
and how looking intently at it we saw
its gray was not gray but a milky white
in which radiant traces of opal greens,
fiery blues, gleamed, faded, gleamed again,
and how only then, seeing the color in the gray,
a field sprang into sight, extending
between where we stood and the horizon,
a field of freshest deep spiring grass
starred with dandelions,
green and gold
gold and green alternating in closewoven
chords, madrigal field.
Is death’s chill that visited our bed
other than what it seemed, is it
a gray to be watched keenly?
Wiping my glasses and leaning westward,
clearing my mind of the day’s mist and leaning
into myself to see
the colors of truth
I watch the clouds as I see them
in pomp advancing, pursuing
the fallen sun.
3.3k
Never forget
there is poetry in dirt
in greens, in beets,
especially in rutabagas.
Three-dollar-a-bag spinach,
you are a symphony of compost
with which an old man’s teeth are smitten;
Rosemary sprig, beneath all your flavor
you are the staff-lines of a madrigal written
in loving anticipation of the mason jars, weighed down with water
where you will grow and swell and bud and spread out strong purple flowers which elate
that you are part of a song
which sings every year
a little louder.
My beautiful, daredevil vegetables,
This coming September, I will miss you dearly.
I will be days of travel away from your world of roots, of mist,
of six-in-the-morning-before-classes tonic of rain
which saturates my skin so good I’m surprised when I shake the dirt from the leeks
all over my bare feet, that you don’t crop up green & white from between my toes,
that my arms don’t grow heavy with peppers
after they cake with jalapeno & bell seeds from all the half-rotten miracles
to whom I have given baptism in shallow plastic tubs of water
floating like elations of fire
in the grayness of the morning.
Know how to tell if a pepper’s rotten? Wash it & shake it
& if you can hear the water swishing inside,
if you can make a maraca of its innards,
then give it back to the dirt.
This is the wisdom of peppers:
when you grow soft
when you have been chosen
& plucked,
& washed
& thoroughly loved
& shaken,
when you have called out like fire
beside your brothers in a basin,
lay down in the compost
the kindly compost,
& listen, just listen,
(there will be nothing left to do
but listen)
to the poetry of dirt.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
The princess has her lovers,
A score of knights has she,
And each can sing a madrigal,
And praise her gracefully.
But Love that is so bitter
Hath put within her heart
A longing for the scornful knight
Who silent stands apart.
And tho’ the others praise and plead,
She maketh no reply,
Yet for a single word from him,
I ween that she would die.
1.8k
(To Miss May Forshall.)
HE shouts amain, he shouts again,
(Her brother, fierce, as bluff King Hal),
"I tell you flat, I shall do that!"
She softly whispers " 'May' for 'shall'!"
He wistful sighed one eventide
(Her friend, that made this Madrigal),
"And shall I kiss you, pretty Miss!"
Smiling she answered " 'May' for 'shall'!"
With eager eyes my reader cries,
"Your friend must be indeed a val-
-uable child, so sweet, so mild!
What do you call her?" "May For shall."
1.7k
Madrigal.
Mes deux mains a l'envi disputent de leur gloire,
Et dans leurs sentiments jaloux
Je ne sais ce que j'en dois croire.
Philis, je m'en rapporte à vous,
Réglez mon amour par le vôtre :
Vous savez leurs honneurs divers,
La droite a mis au jour un million de vers ;
Mais votre belle bouche a daigné baiser l'autre ;
Adorable Philis, peut-on mieux décider,
Que la droite lui doit céder ?
(Réponse de Mademoiselle Serment.)
Si vous parlez sincèrement
Lorsque vous préférez la main gauche à la droite,
De votre jugement je suis mal satisfaite.
Le baiser le plus doux ne dure qu'un moment ;
Un million de vers dure éternellement,
Quand ils sont beaux comme les vôtres :
Mais vous parlez comme un amant,
Et peut-être comme un Normand ;
Vendez vos coquilles à d'autres.
1.6k
The dust blows softly.
Strangled breaths kiss the air.
Dancing around a warm fire,
Stillness inhabits an estranged soul.
The land is unstable, darkness falls over the trees.
The silhouettes merge and create a sinister enemy.
Molten Lava rocks, a burial ground for old bark,
Deceased fish lie unharmed.
I leap and skip.
Turbulent travels, a perilous experience,
Never leave with half a heart.
Filled tissue boxes, and set on a calm spring.
The night devours the flame.
Barefoot, I defy the moon.
Stand in an old room,
To feel the presence of a memory.
Reminders circle my feet at light steps,
I stop, and say goodbye to remembrance.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 3:12 AM UTC
En el fondo del mar profundo,
en la noche de largas listas,
como un caballo cruza corriendo
tu callado callado nombre.
Alójame en tu espalda, ay refúgiame,
aparéceme en tu espejo, de pronto,
sobre la hoja solitaria, nocturna,
brotando de lo oscuro, detrás de ti.
Flor de la dulce luz completa,
acúdeme tu boca de besos,
violenta de separaciones,
determinada y fina boca.
Ahora bien, en lo largo y largo,
de olvido a olvido residen conmigo
los rieles, el grito de la lluvia:
lo que la oscura noche preserva.
Acógeme en la tarde de hilo
cuando el anochecer trabaja
su vestuario, y palpita en el cielo
una estrella llena de viento.
Acércame tu ausencia hasta el fondo,
pesadamente, tapándote los ojos,
crúzame tu existencia, suponiendo
que mi corazón está destruido.
1.5k
“Lord have mercy,”
you dolefully sigh,
your song awaiting
my reply.
”Have Mercy on me,”
each chord explains,
your baby is lost
and torn heart pains.
With tired feet
I softly croon
my dark agreement,
a bluesy tune.
I stir my cocoa –
a condoling toast –
and welcome you in
as your lonely host.
Suspended in your
mournful zephyr,
I bear the wounds
you’ll always suffer,
the Atlas burden
that breaks your back,
your scarlet letter
weathered black,
and offer you
my own lament
of how my stormy
Monday went.
Then, like a
wing-footed Gabriel,
he sings his
holy madrigal.
With merciful swiftness
my beloved appears,
and whispers,
”Darling, I am here,”
Then our duet becomes
one person less,
As I am
undone
with
happiness.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 9:34 PM UTC
En «la cuaderna vía» del maestro Berceo
Voy a cantar tus ojos de los míos recreo,
Ojos grandes, hermosos, y de áureo centelleo,
Y azules cual soñados por místico deseo.
Por sus «cuadernas vías» «en román paladino»,
Y por sus rudas rimas en verso alejandrino,
Versos que fueron siempre «versos a lo divino»,
El Maestro pedía «un vaso de bon vino».
Ojos que compasivos son para todo duelo,
Ojos donde las almas posan su errante vuelo,
Así como el marino dijo: ¡Tierra! en su anhelo,
Cuando dulces me miran yo siempre digo: ¡Cielo!
«Un vaso de bon vino» don Gonzalo pedía,
Poco en verdad. Yo en cambio de mi «cuaderna vía»
Demandaré a tus ojos una mirada pía,
Y a tu rosada boca que dulce me sonría.
«En el nome del Padre que fizo toda cosa»
Os bendigo ¡ojos bellos! y a ti, ¡la niña hermosa!
Que el fulgor que ya viene ¡sea estrella radiosa!
Y el botón que sé abre ¡que se convierta en rosa!
1.2k
The old folks chant a madrigal,
Of a warlock answering creation’s call.
His hands craft from void the light,
Weaving worlds, writing history bright.
The wizard’s glance shoots sparks—drip-drop,
Sets stars to brawl, to shine nonstop.
Planets rise from fairy's dust, to Chaos's scorn,
Entangled in a cosmic dance, from dusk till dawn.
Gaps gape, gaudy,
Mountains mound, massive.
His breath hisses, lovely,
Through the **** aggressive.
“You oceans, you airs—roar and quake!
All that is, was, and will be moves with my shake.”
The mage declares: “The beard makes the man,
And I am the one who holds time in hand.”
He counts the hours, souls flutter spellbound—THNX!
And sets every rule with powerful pranks.
He grins at numbers, theories, and light,
For it’s sorcery and mystery he speaks, alright?
Shadow, shimmer, soul, sense, salt, scent—Wow!
Without him—Bang! OMG!—blown by now.
The old New falls, as the new Old flies,
Being may fade, but Be never dies.
For real?
Seize the logic—Infinity’s ordeal.
Dec 27, 2024
Dec 27, 2024 at 7:38 AM UTC
Yo te miré a los ojos
cuando era niño y bueno.
Tus manos me rozaron
Y me diste un beso.
(Los relojes llevan la misma cadencia,
Y las noches tienen las mismas estrellas.)
Y se abrió mi corazón
Como una flor bajo el cielo,
Los pétalos de lujuria
Y los estambres de sueño.
(Los relojes llevan la misma cadencia,
Y las noches tienen las mismas estrellas.)
En mi cuarto sollozaba
Como el príncipe del cuento
Por Estrellita de oro
Que se fue de los torneos.
(Los relojes llevan la misma cadencia,
Y las noches tienen las mismas estrellas.)
Yo me alejé de tu lado
Queriéndote sin saberlo.
No sé cómo son tus ojos,
Tus manos ni tus cabellos.
Sólo me queda en la frente
La mariposa del beso.
(Los relojes llevan la misma cadencia,
Y las noches tienen las mismas estrellas.)
1.1k
See that moon up in the sky
It shines desire into your eye
As the fire burns where you lie
Mi querida, let's go dancing tonight
Save the morning for siestas with me
Together is where we should be
Save the evening for beautiful dreams
Mi querida, my madrigal queen
Have a moment to quietly pray
Close your eyes and hear the band play
You light up the dark cabaret
Mi querida, together we sway
As the night comes to a close
And the city is still on our clothes
You smile at me and my heart grows
Mi querida, I hope that you know
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
in my caste, we live too long.
to the nub. we are legion and madrigal.
we troll in the narrows of your one good love
the first hurt that said " again " .
then just flew off.
word is, you have no white lie.
join the club. we are even at odds. the peak of one hill.
we know where the arrow's going, but
the first hurt that meant nothing
meant all.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
*The Poet
Words of beauty grace the page
and images spring to bloom
Tenderness, heartbreak, rage –
sunshine bright or shadows darkly loom.
Such is the world of the Wordsmith;
of the poet’s heart, within.
The scent of apple blossoms with
the brisk zephyr for it’s kin.
The poet reaches to impart
the fitting metaphor
to open up the heart
as one might open up a door.
His bag of tricks, near magical,
his words ring clear and fine
to sing the world a madrigal
with the taste of summer wine.
Later in the evening
even the poet takes his pause
and an aging hand picks up the pen
to further shape his cause.
The body wearies with the years
but the mind stays young, and bold.
For all his laughter and his tears
the poet’s heart does not grow old.
Night has come upon him
as he closes tired eyes
sleep takes him to the rim
of sweet dreams and brighter skies.
Lin Cava©*
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 4:26 PM UTC
Cresol dusk imbued to rustic hypnosis,
The civic stroll outside,zombified with
What must be glorious ataxia.
The masquerade hosted by dust,
An implicit surrender to the elements,
Basked in nocturnia-- lo,
The elements ceased having meaning
When I learnt I could not hold control
over them.
See the sky ramp and shiver,shuffling stars
In a showcase to those loving,an augury to those
Self-appointed sinners--
And see me,disconnected and without a care,
I surrender my breath as limboid tangents
And the elements do not rebut.
I am homed in becoming alone,
I am possessed in converse and I am lost
without the choice to be otherwise.
I watch the gimcrack mannerisms loop effably,
Understanding the road to omniscience is tipped
In ego alone--
One must not surrender,rather accept
And work a way round the system.
The cosmic map is eidetic,it's lanuage
dares not pander to speech,
it's sleep is one day needed
and complimentary to our own--
I listen to the madrigal and no longer seek to compose it,
I choose to believe that nothing is chosen.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC
I
Que m'importe que tu sois sage ?
Sois belle ! et sois triste ! Les pleurs
Ajoutent un charme au visage,
Comme le fleuve au paysage ;
L'orage rajeunit les fleurs.
Je t'aime surtout quand la joie
S'enfuit de ton front terrassé ;
Quand ton coeur dans l'horreur se noie ;
Quand sur ton présent se déploie
Le nuage affreux du passé.
Je t'aime quand ton grand oeil verse
Une eau chaude comme le sang ;
Quand, malgré ma main qui te berce,
Ton angoisse, trop lourde, perce
Comme un râle d'agonisant.
J'aspire, volupté divine !
Hymne profond, délicieux !
Tous les sanglots de ta poitrine,
Et crois que ton coeur s'illumine
Des perles que versent tes yeux !
II
Je sais que ton coeur, qui regorge
De vieux amours déracinés,
Flamboie encor comme une forge,
Et que tu couves sous ta gorge
Un peu de l'orgueil des damnés ;
Mais tant, ma chère, que tes rêves
N'auront pas reflété l'Enfer,
Et qu'en un cauchemar sans trêves,
Songeant de poisons et de glaives,
Eprise de poudre et de fer,
N'ouvrant à chacun qu'avec crainte,
Déchiffrant le malheur partout,
Te convulsant quand l'heure tinte,
Tu n'auras pas senti l'étreinte
De l'irrésistible Dégoût,
Tu ne pourras, esclave reine
Qui ne m'aimes qu'avec effroi,
Dans l'horreur de la nuit malsaine,
Me dire, l'âme de cris pleine :
" Je suis ton égale, Ô mon Roi ! "
929
Por tus ojos verdes yo me perdería,
sirena de aquellas que Ulises, sagaz,
amaba y temía.
Por tus ojos verdes yo me perdería.
Por tus ojos verdes en lo que, fugaz,
brillar suele, a veces, la melancolía;
por tus ojos verdes tan llenos de paz,
misteriosos como la esperanza mía;
por tus ojos verdes, conjuro eficaz,
yo me salvaría.
811
I straddle thru the crowd and their
drunken madrigal
stinking of variant spit.
Eyes closed,I feel myself walk,my veins
fall and strive like
movement slid across a tv screen.
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 2:59 PM UTC
My boyfriend is
Multitalented
He sings beautifully
Voice of an angel
Used to be a madrigal
He can draw
From caricatures to portraits
Leaves me in awe
He writes rhymes
Raps and beats
Some deep, some sweet
He can skate
Shreds the park
Wheels leave a mark
How did I get so lucky
A dash of fate
And a pinch of destiny
Because he and I
Were meant to be
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
Madrigal Au soleil.
Bel astre à qui je dois mon être et ma beauté,
Ajoute l'immortalité
A l'éclat non pareil dont je suis embellie ;
Empêche que le temps n'efface mes couleurs :
Pour trône donne-moi le beau front de Julie ;
Et, si cet heureux sort à ma gloire s'allie,
Je serai la reine des fleurs.
740
Ms. West,
Shall I call you Oesta?
Do you read Proust,
Or Jackelyn Susan,
better yet, Susan Sontag?
Home schooled?
Lived in another land?
Were I to say "Portnoy "
Would you fill in with "Complaint?"
"Madrigal" from me
would elicit "Trecento" from you?
How would silence feel
were we to meet in your room?
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 11:06 AM UTC
Adonde el viento, impávido, subleva
torres de luz contra la sangre mía,
tú, billete, flor nueva,
cortada en los balcones del tranvía.
Huyes, directa, rectamente liso,
en tu pétalo un nombre y un encuentro
latentes, a ese centro
cerrado y por cortar del compromiso.
Y no arde en ti la rosa, ni en ti priva
el finado clavel, si la violeta
contemporánea, viva,
del libro que viaja en la chaqueta.
718