"moira" poems
Bakit ka nag iba?
Meron nabang iba?
Akala ko mga lirico lamang ng kanta
Di ko alam na mararanasan ko din pala
Masaya naman tayo
Ngunit may dumating na iba
Simula nang masilayan mo sya
Nag iba ang turingan natin sa isa’t isa
Nasisira ako malagay ko lamang ang mga ngiti sa labi mo
Hindi ko alam na kaya din pala nyang ibigay sayo
Alam kong hindi na ako,
Ngunit handa akong magpaubaya para sa kaligayahan mo
Mahal kita
Kahit na hindi na ako ang mahal mo
Masaya ako
Kahit na hindi nako ang rason ng mga ngiti mo
Kailangan ba talaga ang magdusa?
Eh paano naman kung nais ko pang umasa?
Handa parin akong mahalin ka
Kahit patuloy kapang mag mahal ng iba
Ikaw yung bumuo sakin sa mga panahong ako'y sirang sira
Ngunit ikaw rin yung taong naging rason kung bakit ako ngayo'y lumuluha
Mga yakap **** binabalik balikan
Sana'y muli ko nang maranasan
Mahal kita
Higit pa sa pagmamahal ko sa iba
Di mo lang nga madama
Dahil atensyon mo'y laging nasa kanya
Ikaw ang aking hinahanap,oras oras, minu minuto
Kahit iba na ang hanap mo bawat segundo
Ako’y mananatili parin sayo kahit unti unti ng nasisira ang iyong mga pangako
Ako'y mananatiling kalmado kahit ang kwento nating dalawa'y unti unting sumasarado
Nag simula lahat sa salitang "kamusta"
Hindi ko inaasahang magtatapos sa "paalam na"
Ikaw ang bumuo ng aking mundo
Ngunit ikaw din pala ang sisira nito
Pangako **** walang iwanan
Pero ikaw din pala ang unang lilisan
Pangakong puno ng kasinungalingan
Hinihiling na sana'y hindi mo nalang binitawan Nang hindi na sana ako nasaktan
Tayong dalawa ang sumulat ng ating istorya, ngunit sa huli kayong dalawa ang lumigaya
Sabi nga ni moira,"ako yung nauna, pero sya ang wakas"
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 9:42 PM UTC
Born into a house of red hair
soulless people and
beer
my great grandmother is 101 and four months
and she has contracted Alzheimer’s
which means she sees those who have died before her
like her husband
two of her sisters and
four of her nine children
Her sister died just yesterday at 100 and 17 days sleeping in her bed
I was named after dead relatives
Moira for a cousin who died at 20,
before I was ever even born,
a cousin who sang like a bird
and could have been a mermaid
a beauty with straight white teeth and blonde hair
who found death after struggling with anorexia
Katherine for my great aunt who I never met
but my mother told me of her wearing sunglasses and
her sleek black car and
silky hair always tied back in red ribbons and
how she would sneak cookies to the children
holding her legs in the kitchen
I was born into an Irish house
I was born to people who have slaved their life away to make it
My great grandmother was born in Ireland in 1912
and came to America with her family when she was 10
my great grandfather was a French Canadian born in Quebec
who I was told was gentle and quiet
who smoked when he was happy or sad
and worked on houses and cars and a large family
I was born into the legacy
I was born with their blood in my veins
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
Outside Stockholm
in that base camp
having put up the tents
and unloaded the bags
and suitcases
from the top
of the truck
you walked with Moira
to the camp cafe
and order two beers
and burgers and fries
and looked out
the window
at the spread of tents
over the campsite
and Moira said
if I have to share a tent
with that Yank girl another night
I’ll go mad
her and her talk
and boasting
of how many men
she’s *******
and where she’s been
and what she’s done
and always wearing
that leather gear
all black and tight
showing her backside
and small ****
and so Moira went on
and you listened
half heartedly
wondering what Judith
was doing in Florence
and who she was with
and if she remembered you
and would bring you back
some gift like she did
from Amsterdam
that postcard
of a Chagall print
which you pinned
to your wall
and if she so much
as boasts of her education
once more
I’ll break her
FECKING JAW
Moira said loudly
so that people nearby
turned their heads
and stared
your thoughts of Judith
blew away
and the image
of the Chagall print
pinned to your bedroom wall
maybe she’ll sleep elsewhere
you said
who else to sleep with?
she said
huh? who else is there?
what about that Yorkshire girl?
you asked
maybe she will
I’ll ask
Moira said
can only say no
and she sat
and thought
and sipped her beer
and the other people
looked away
and returned
to their conversations
and you sipped yours
taking note of her small hands
and plumpish fingers
and the small *******
pushing through
the tight tee shirt
and the small
silver crucifix
hanging down between
and her moving chin
and you wondered
how well she *******
but didn’t ask
being
you thought
rather rude.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
Green light beam shines upon the web of streets,
The messenger from strange and distant worlds.
You're far away, for me it all repeats -
My town is empty, shadows roam the walls.
No Savior comes, I run into the void.
And when the masts of pines come into view,
I stop and fall on salty sand, destroyed.
It does not matter if I cry for you -
It's not the wind that rustles sleepy trees,
It's not the chirps of sparrows or jays,
It's Moira, saddened by the Fate she sees,
Unknits the lace of my remaining days...
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
In Hamburg
an American girl
climbed aboard
sitting next
to the Southend teacher
with the spectacles
and loud mouth
and she looked back
at the rest of you
and said
Hi you guys
how’s it going?
murmured replies returned
Moira said
behind
her cupped mouth
a ******* Yank
is all we need
you looked
windowward
spying new buildings
post-war
the could-be-any-where
kind of set up
the driver drove off
the Polish mother
and daughter
muttered
in their tongue
Moira’s hips
pushed into yours
as the mini bus
turned sharp
down some side street
the American girl
chatted up
the driver
some long haired
hippy type
smoking and puffing
and you remembering
the night before
the tent up
the canvas tight
and you and Billy
down on your bags
he staring up
at the canvas
green and unclean
you listening to Moira
in the next tent
sharing with some
unfortunate giving it
the rant and rave
about some misgivings
in her Glasgow tone
Billy raising his eyes
in disbelief
and you wondering
if ever she silenced
her tongue and tone
and charmed her
fearsome stare
whether you’d be happy there
lying beside her
kissing her neck
or lips or cheek
or nestling between
her small plump ****
but looking beside you
as the mini bus
moved off at a pace
you saw her sour face glare
at the American’s head
and thought you’d rather kiss
the old Polish mother instead.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
From Dover
to Zeebrugge
across on the ferry
Moira said nothing
kept herself
to herself
except moaning
at her brother
until you reached
the base camp
outside the port
and in the bar
after seeing
the caravans
instead of tents
she said
did you see the state
of those caravans?
talk about dosshouses
you studied her
as she spoke
her lips moving
ten to the dozen
her eyes blazing
like a lit up
Swan Vesta
you saw her
short frame shake
with her anger
I’ve told Billy
to have a go
but will he?
no ****
he won’t say boo
to a ghost
if it was tired
to a chair
and on she went
her words spreading
through the bar
like spilt oil
but all the time
her eyes
were on you
her hands gesturing
the thumb
pointing back
towards
the caravans
the barman
a Belgium guy
gazed at her
bemused
wiping glasses
in the background
someone put a coin
in the jukebox
and out played
loud and clear
Heartbreak Hotel
and all you
could think was
I wonder how she kisses
this wild eyed girl?
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:26 AM UTC
a quantum of soul and cherry ***** in the backseat of a ford-
we were going to eighty-six the world
the sinews of our unattainable hands
that yanked themselves free
and went to ruining our best Bellamy salutes
and went to forming ladders and tarmacs in the vapor of the night
and went to everything
it's wasn't the shaking or the vim of the stockyards on the days they hung up ornaments
it wasn't those who followed a cheekier Moira and gawked at Rita of Cascia as she passed by
it was the way escape felt with you as it's stern
it's the way escape felt with you full of sanguinity
the kind that your mother gave you in the belly of California
the kind that I ripped away for ***** and giggles
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 1:15 AM UTC
I am a simulation rebelling against my natural coding.
I refuse to believe what others think, just because it's written in the pages of an old book,
that, if you flip over too quickly,
could cut you.
I am an alien, lost on a planet unknown,
trying to speak English to its inhabitants,
and all they speak is in tongues.
I see their mouths moving
and yet I hear nothing a gabble of words
that string like rope out of their mouths
to strangle.
I am the scissors,
cutting the Moira between me and you.
I left you a note on the nightstand
with the wedding ring I wore
at first, it acted like a buoy, kept me afloat,
now it is made of lead,
and, with permission, it'd to drag me to the depths.
I am the looped flowers growing
out of my grandmothers piano,
my fingers play melodies that
the birds can sing,
so the children of the future can hear my voice.
I am the scent of your dead mother's perfume.
The one that haunts you whilst you sleep,
and kisses your cheek to make sure you
still think of me.
I am the treehouse set alight,
without a match in my hands,
or gasoline as my lotion,
I sink further and further into the grounds
as the flame rises,
choking you with my scent,
you cry out for mercy at Maria up above.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 8:02 PM UTC
Unfurl origami entries dated
March 8, June 2, countless undated of an
amygdala hijacked
that pitted Moira against Peirce,
rejecting my name of Kismet,
to watch Forer take his effect
(who now has spread his contagion),
babysitting Little Albert while
Watson scribbled notes in the lecture hall;
witness sagacity smeared all over skull walls,
spackled on cranial ceilings
as I stuck my head out onto subway platforms and
displayed out onto train tracks in my
mind's eye in favour of recalling
Christmas festivities with sisters dolled up in
grandeur hospital ball gowns as
subjects were consoled in camps and
I slept in fields
screaming anything audible to
no one,
listening to track 2 on a
continuous loop,
sitting on flagpoles and lamp posts
as vandals smashed and grabbed,
cackles echoing in alleyways...
now before I vanish right before
your very eyes
tell me,
why
am
I
here
?
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
Outside Oslo
in the base camp
after showering
you met Moira
in the cafe
for breakfast
and coffee
she was in a mood
about the Yank girl
and having to share
a tent with her
(when she wasn’t off
someplace being *******
Moira said)
and always chewing gum
and those *******
she wears
I’ve seen more cloth
on a finger cut
she said
I’ll take your word for it
you said
she pouted
and stared at you
the finger cut I meant
you said
by the way
are you into
Oslo today?
you asked
mind if I hang along?
sure as long as you don’t
talk about the Yank
or football or Mahler
or whoever else
is hid up
in that brain of yours
she sipped her coffee
and ate her breakfast
saying nothing more
and you watched
as she ate
her eyes dark
and deep
her hair frizzed up
after the shower
her tee shirt
holding tight
her ****
and her blue jeans
hugging her thighs
as you’d like to do
later in Oslo
you toured about
the streets
saw the sights
had a beer or two
while you sat
with her
in some bar
she talking of Glasgow
and her job
and her brother
and his girlfriend
and how
she had this awful
wiggly ****
and floppy *******
and large eyes
like cow pats
soft and brown
and she laughed
and you liked it
when she laughed
it made her seem better
more human
less grumpy
less critical
and had you been
more brave you might
have kissed her
there and then
but you didn’t
you just ordered
another beer
and talked of Nietzsche
and Mahler
just to watch
her lips move
and incidentally
bore her.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
She spat out
a string
of four letter
abuse words
followed by American *****
you stood at the bar
at the base camp
outside Stockholm
sipping a beer
Moira stood beside you
in grumpy mood
her Glaswegian tones
still in the air
others in the bar
gazed your way
amused
some giving
a small titter
if have to share a tent
with her one more night
I’ll suffocate her
with my sleeping bag
over her head
she said
you girls
don’t get on then?
you said
more expletives followed
after which she sipped
from her glass
of white wine
you lit a cigarette
all the time
watching her
listening to her
talking about
the American girl
the tour guide and driver
had picked up
in Hamburg
how she spent ages
in the shower
at base camps
across northern Europe
how she got her man
whom she slept with
and what she did
and leather
said Moira
her and her ****** leather
I know her sort
she added
you studied her
as she spoke
her short stature
her wild blazing eyes
her hair tight curled
her small ****
pressing against
her tee shirt
then she was silent
and leaned on the bar
sipping the wine
grimacing
staring at the mirror
behind the bar
maybe we could swap tents
you said
you share
with the Australian bore
and I with the Yank girl
that’s a case
from the frying pan
into he fire
Moira said gruffly
I’d rather share my tent
with a shaggy dog
with fleas
she said
I guess
you thought
taking in her tight ***
some
are hard to please.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC
Oslo that summer
having left the base camp
and the tent
with the Australian guy
(he was with the Yank girl)
you walked about
looking at the sights
Moira beside you
in her denims
and white tee shirt
and her hair frizzed
after a shower
(which she had taken alone
worse luck)
and she was talking
about the Yank girl
with whom she shared
her tent
O the perfume she wears
I’d rather sleep
in a tent
with a camel
than with her
and her voice
***** my head
and do you know
I've heard about
her love life
from the very beginning
I’d rather spend the night
listening to a duck quack
you nodded
and listened
taking in her fire talk
her four letters words
filling the air
floating there
like black
angry birds
you can share with me
any time
well you could
if I didn't have
the Australian guy there
smelling of beer
and talking about Sheilas
and how he did this
and that
you said
no
Moira said
and have them
talk about me too
no I’m not that
kind of girl
besides
how would we work it
to allow that to be?
don't get so angry
about things
why do you Scots
get so moody?
it's not just us
she said
it's the ******* world's
view of us
as wee tight ********
when we're not
anyway
she went on
giving you the stare
what do you
know of Scots?
lived in Edinburgh
for a while
you said
nice place
so much history
well there you go
she said
anyway what’s that
got to do
with the Yank *****
and her perfume
and the love life
of a ******* rabbit
nothing I guess
you said
I think she's over here
studying art
O then
that explains it
the way she has
the I-couldn’t-go-a-day
-without- a man's- ****
-in-me
kind of talk
and philosophy
Moira said
spitting out words
like broken teeth
what about a beer?
you said
chill out
and take in a view
and have a smoke
and I can tell you
of my love life?
the beer's a good idea
but I’m not so keen
on the tales
of your **** life
she said
so you found a bar
off a street
and sat outside
with two beers
and a couple of smokes
and you wondering
how she bedded
and how indeed
to get her into your tent
and what to do
with the Australian guy
and the Yank dame
and off she went again
moaning about
the Southend
teacher guy
did you see him
at the from
of the mini bus
giving it all
that talk of history
and that Lancaster *****
all ears and ******* teeth ?
you sat and smiled
listening to her
talking of herself
and the world's grief.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
fate...
an invisible power
meant to intertwine our strings
but soon disappear
so everyone else may watch us
begin to fray
where we've tied our knots.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 8:42 PM UTC
Do you feel me holding you, protective?
You're part of my sphere of influence, mine to care for, to feel for.
It doesn't stop when you **** me off, when I'm impatient or uncomfortable.
When my heart expands to include you...and yours.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
Stockholm
Moira said grumpily
I wanted
to go to Greece
but the **** war
put a stop
to that
she was sitting
with me
in a small café
she was in denim
with a pink blouse
smoking
a menthol cigarette
I like it here
I said
it's clean
and the girls
are nice and ****
and I am not?
she said
staring at me
her Scottish tones
sharp as razors
present company
included
I said smiling
she didn't smile
her lips were thin
and her eyes
were icy blue
I think have
Swedish roots
I said
she inhaled
and looked away
I’m fed up
she said
that Yank woman
is getting to me
with her talk
of men and ***
and how much
she can have them
eating out
of her hand
and I have to share
a tent with the *****
why she can't share
with the men
in camp
is beyond me
I don't fancy her
at all
I said
I should hope not
Moira said
I had you down
as one with taste
I lit a cigarette
and watched her
sitting opposite
she sipped
her *** and cola
your brother said
you were engaged
I said
what's that to you?
she said
nothing except
I can't imagine you
engaged to anyone
well I’m not
any more
I gave him the elbow
always after
getting me
into his bed
after a night out
what's wrong
with men
can't they just
have a night out
without ***
guess not
I said
I drank my beer
and studied her
moody features
anyway
she said
hope you're not
expecting anything
after this wee
drink and smoke?
I wouldn’t dream of it
I said
but I had
but I didn't her
well not
at that time
I had to wait
for her mood
to clear
and her heart
to soften
and the Yank dame
to take a hike
to some guy's bed
and I made plans
but only
in my young guy's head.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
THE ESSENTIAL INGREDIENT
"Oh love is teasing
and love is pleasing. . ."
my sister sings to the cake
she is about to bake.
"And love is a pleasure
when first it's new. . ."
The rich Christmas mix
listens with all of its ingredients.
"Ahhhh but as love gets older
sure love gets colder. . ."
the brandy & fruit
weep into the bowl
"...and fades away like
the morning dew."
There is a lot of brandy in the mix.
There is a lot of brandy in sis.
Sad Irish folk songs
appear to be
the essential ingredient.
A pink and green balloon
clings to the ceiling
refusing to come down
by poker or by broom.
Takes refuge in the corner
just above the Christmas star.
My heart is breaking
with baking.
"I know my love
by his way of talking..."
flour in her hair
making her so ghostly
as if the original protagonist
came back from the grave
and sang her heart out
". ..and I know my love
by his eyes so blue..."
until the creambuttersugar
is all fluffy.
He voice adding a zing
of lemon peel.
At this stage
the eegs are beaten
". . .and if my love leaves me
what will I do?"
Slowly slowly whipped
to form peaks.
Now the cake is tipsy.
So - is sis.
I am drunk
on her singing.
My mind is in mourning
for all the love loved
and lost.
She daubs my nose and laughs.
I lick it off.
The tip of my tongue
a windscreen wiper!
And so the brandy fruit mixture
is folded in.
I can still taste
her singing.
Her cake the only cake
I could ever ate and oh
her almond icing!
These songs forever
Moira.
And still she sings
down all the years
and I love her versions
the best!
"...and a troubled mind sure
can know no rest
and still she cries bonny boys are few
and if my love leaves me
what will I do!"
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
Irises Witnessing
I don't necessarily believe in moira,
as the Greeks laid it out, doubting...
although, I do have faith in everyone
having a mighty purpose, promising
everything is balancing on a tightrope
of betterment, yet some choose doom
allowing their wings to crumble under
the weight of the weary world's gloom
instead the air is an aerial playground,
but they're perpetually shot down, aim
irises witnessing those colorful heavens,
stillness, takes deep the time, aforesaid
James Kenneth Blaylock
1-4-18
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
Realize eminem was lust but Kim has it..
Lock down.. on a love madness...
Hell thats sad practice...
If sad meant immaculate gravity
Of happiness...between a mad man
And a divine enchantress...
So I grab.. james mckokis
And transition...
Into woman from a bad habit...
Practically a man click
With a bad ****
Definition... claps the light in
Darkness of Sandberg
Time of sand between two
Sand hands shift...
My mom is spacial cosmic passion
Its wise to grab your chance
And he... Andy... sand man... sand berg
Has the last word....
Is it dog or dmx I love
or is ******* dog **** become my tragic matter turned to bad word...
*** im rath rapture
In the last saturated hand of black dirt...
Before I bless half earth
With magnetic aura...
Poring black dirt
Through ashes in a Moira...
Sanctum
My God will be the last verse
Last word
The son asks never the rapture
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 6:41 PM UTC
I.
There's a fear in my eyes when I see you
All tomorrows appear in a blink
Fearing there'd be day when I will awake
And I wouldn't find you near
There are days when the pasts seem to shadow
All the hope that you've gathered for me
But then the darkness fades and then I awake
And I feel love setting us free
Chorus:
And all at once, all fears disappear
Knowing that I have you here
Though lies may come, there's nothing I can't do.
For I see His promise when I look at you."
II.
So I thank you for all of your patience
For loving me even when I explode
Taking all of the pain but nothing else to gain
Just knowing I don't feel alone
Oh I promise that I'll always choose you
I will trust you wherever you lead
And when there are days when you'll feel afraid
I promise I won't walk away
Chorus:
Coz all at once my future is here
It's better than all of my dreams
Though storms may come, there's nothing I can't do
For He keeps His promise, and the promise is you
III.
So I stand here today with a promise
That together we'll run towards love
That I know there are days whether it shines or it rains
Together we'll lift up a praise
And when our time here has ended
And God asks me what I had been through
I would lay at His feet all our victories
And thank Him for giving me you
I'll always thank Him for giving me you
Chorus:
Through battles won, and fears overcome
I found a faithful one
Through highs and lows
You will never be alone
Forever and always
My forever and always
Forever and always
I love you, my home
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 6:47 AM UTC