"mutinous" poems
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into ****** motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.
19.1k
Manila,
Manila,
Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys
and the hollers of the drivers as they say,
“Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!)
Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights
that surround every tree around the Meralco building
when September begins;
Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive
twenty-four by seven
where traffic enforcers dodge cars
and vans
trucks and tricycles
and jeepneys and bicycles
while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears
with a smile and a salute to all the drivers
from dawn to dusk;
The noise awakens the outskirts of your city
filled with people who never fails to smile
even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina,
where children watch the roads
transform into this ocean of black water
and small wooden boats become the means of transportation;
paddling in between houses
as the adults try to go to work;
where chickens waddling upon roofs
and cats chasing rats
become the best forms of entertainment
but Manila,
your lingering smell of cancer
comes with the dark blue starless sky
telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies.
Manila, say good night
while they hold it tight
protecting it from the dark humid air
where thieves come out to
thumb down unscrutinised objects
from shallow pockets
by the flickering lamps
across the blazing red and emerald green lights
you see less
and less
and less
faces
as the Sun sinks and says good bye.
Stop
and try to tranquilise yourself.
Your city is now lead
by a blood-thirsty leader.
Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people.
Manila,
ignore them
and sleep well.
Let the truth decay
while lives burn and vanish.
Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy.
Halcyon days are over
but
Manila,
you are still a beautiful city.
Your resilient people
overflows with hospitable hearts.
Their faces plastered with big smiles
as they welcome us for you
and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!)
proud and mighty.
Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits,
Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves,
The Pearl of the Orient Seas
was my hood.
Manila,
despite your lack of snow
and intense weather swings,
You are
and will always be
my home.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
I fell in love with you
More accurately
I fell in love with the feelings you transferred into me
But those mutinous emotions betrayed me
The moment you did
The withdrawal from your love was too intense
I desperately needed something to replace those feelings
I always said I could run from anything
as long as it didn't involve running
But after walking with you for so long
It's hard to change my pace
The path too tough to face
Your memories fueled the chase
Until I found my escape
The kneading needles turned me fetal
Shocked my veins like eels
Fetuses aren't the most ambulatory
The race became a marathon story
Your effervescent ghost pursued me
Breaking the sound barrier to reach me
I floated vacantly in the stew of your noise
The needles touched me
The way you wouldn't
The needles bled me
The way you would
Then the race ended as abruptly as it started
Only to begin another race
...But things were different this time
Slugs waved as they passed a sprinter
Tormented by a lane filled with needles
The hostile crowd watched with pity
As a once great athlete
Was forced to acknowledge his janitorial duties
The fickle mob cheered with triumph
Upon his valiant return
He was quicker than ever before
And the masses exalted him
He ran faster than everybody
And waited for nobody
Anxious they might reveal his secret
That his speed was derived from his feather weight
After the needles hollowed out his insides
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 2:30 PM UTC
billboard's calligraph --
past the haze of Manila infested
by car sprawls and belching machines.
magnanimous treatise of tarpaulins,
people chin-up asking God
with askance
something like this
"o god make this bearable
like a mound of fresh fruits
from ****** labour."
maniacal sensurround:
earth-shattering frequency
of footsteps trampling the mouth
of monolith shadows - the peak
of this quake is our complete silence.
rain's catharsis in effect
sousing us in the blood of unreal light.
this diastolic shrinkage
jamming the beat of constricting vessels.
the adrenaline surges
within the dermis of this pretension.
a collective of tired beings heeding
the recherché of voice metamorphosing
into form, a dagger-butterfly
paring us skin to bone, cranial
to visceral, soul to nothing -
catapult of a trajectory spit
plummeting in eased-up pace
from Taft Avenue flyover
to a subjugated wagon of scraps
and empty wine bottles.
today's paper reads:
"Palace hits hiring
of **** dancers"
fancying to fall right in the
spanked curved of this
insatiate melodrama - something
prayer could not save from
this land's mutinous ignominy.
we resume to fulfill our madness,
hundreds of tack-headed people
rolling down the streets of Makati,
drenched with rain's trilling aftermath.
squinting to look at
no sun, only the grieving of skyscrape,
thumbing down unidentified objects
in the depth of loose pockets,
desperate for home.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
Alone in a snowy field,
Branches plead,
Moans lost in the wind
while flurries dance,
Heavy with fruit long since spoiled,
Mutinous apples cling,
Their coppery smirks
defy Persephone's call to plunge,
They hold tight,
Swelled with spongy pride,
Winter's swirling display fuels rebellion,
Their snowy caps worn with aplomb,
Parisian pommes de neige
usurp nature's order,
Flexing branches like Diana's bow,
A heart-shaped shadow in the wood,
Threatening to break,
While robins bide their time.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
It was not when temptation came,
Swiftly and blastingly as flame,
And seared me white with burning scars;
When I stood up for age-long wars
And held the very Fiend at grips;
When all my mutinous body rose
To range itself beside my foes,
And, like a greyhound in the slips,
The Beast that dwells within me roared,
Lunging and straining at his cord. . . .
For all the blusterings of Hell,
It was not then I slipped and fell;
For all the storm, for all the hate,
I kept my soul inviolate!
But when the fight was fought and won,
And there was Peace as still as Death
On everything beneath the sun.
Just as I started to draw breath,
And yawn, and stretch, and pat myself,
-- The grass began to whisper things --
And every tree became an elf,
That grinned and chuckled counsellings:
Birds, beasts, one thing alone they said,
Beating and dinning at my head.
I could not fly. I could not shun it.
Slimily twisting, slow and blind,
It crept and crept into my mind.
Whispered and shouted, sneered and laughed,
Screamed out until my brain was daft. . . .
One snaky word, "What if you'd done it?"
And I began to think . . .
Ah, well,
What matter how I slipped and fell?
Or you, you gutter-searcher say!
Tell where you found me yesterday!
2k
If rumors were to be believed, five seconds of gaze into her deep brown eyes could ensnare the wisest of all souls. Could turn them into a monolith of indiscretion; with only remnant of an evidence left behind in the slithering echo of a misdemeanor. As legends go, the mutinous tresses of her hair, with each twist of chestnut curls, inspire the stirring nethers of a churning cerulean sea. On face of what lies as the joy of a crescent enveloped by locks of cloud, her smile could set a storm across the eye of mind. And fill the flickering moment of acquaintance with eternal nostalgia ; the helplessness of an infinitely profound longing with an addicting desire to offend the very fabric of life itself.
If rumors were to be believed, the sky crashed its soul into the foxy eyes of an enchantress; and although she was no Medusa, it still turned to stone.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
there are grim reapers in the park
their phantom breaths a sick breeze
on the bank of the stormy Danube
murmuring in mutinous trees
people wearing coats
too warm
too bright
buying bread and cigarettes
placing bets
guessing which city
is due to scream today
and then heal
all over again
because
that is the way
- that's always been
our way
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
For Anastasia
*Give patience, Lord, to us Thy children
In these dark, stormy days to bear
The persecution of our people,
The torture falling to our share.
--
When we are plundered and insulted
In days of mutinous unrest
We turn for help to thee, Christ-Saviour,
That we may stand the bitter test.
-Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanov*
Weakened by the revolutionists,
they lived their last days out simply.
Cold borscht and cabbage rolls.
The family was herded to the slaughter house.
Precious jewels and ikons sewn into their clothing,
Give strength, Just God, to us who need it.
The baby boy was butchered like a suckling piglet.
Low ceilings and dim light made it hard
to take aim and fire. Tears and prayers collided
with bullets and blood, spattered on the walls.
A thick cloud of smoke and plaster settled
upon a dynasty dead.
She raised herself from the dead,
Clawing, moaning, screaming,
stifled by blood--
Then disappeared, falling into
the abyss of immortality.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
It's pulsing along with the beat of my heart
With heavy heart and heavier mind
It sings of seven poisons laced dart
Or of three deciding fate of mine
'I've done nothing '
Pleads the side of you unwilling to Die
'And that is everything '
Says your mutinous lie
But can anyone trust lies?
Can anyone define life
without the words of others
That four chambered thing in my chest
It picks up speed
Then slows
Like the arcs in books
Or maybe in the orchestra hall
I like the grey sky
You can only see as far as you can imagine
Though it warps slightly
For me
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Light taps upon pane.
Snow again. Flakes, silver dark.
Now the time has come.
Dark mutinous Shannon waves.
His soul soared slowly, last end.
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
If only I could summon the will to banish my daemons;
Exorcise the rot that for too long has brought me low;
Waged a war unseen and unheard by the outside;
Inside, a mutinous cacophony of a ****** battlefield;
Where the parts of me unfouled by corruption, weep;
Tears of crimson blood run down as flowing rivers rage;
Anger, that the current refuses to change its course;
Sadness, that I was the one who had diverted destiny;
Swept away by tides no mortal man can hope to shake;
Trapped, like mighty Atlas, beneath the weight of fate;
An unfortunate purgatory of endless indecision;
A fear to see myself beyond the scars I have caused;
Calloused, my pessimism knows no boundaries;
There can be no going back to brighter days;
When days are comparable only to the blackest night;
Sunrises carry the gravitas of the setting sun, reversed;
Life, loses the beauty that once inspired the muse;
Leaving me feeling empty, lost on 'oft forgotten seas;
Praying for Charybdis to churn and drown my daemons;
Finally setting me free from this self imposed slavery;
Shattering the chains holding my past to my present
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 1:21 PM UTC
Hope and desire ,
Want and fire,
The dawn, the start,
new beginnings, empty cart
New year, and jan of first,
Parched us in that undeniable thirst.
Brush away the old, learn anew,
Wee bit carte blanche, to run askew,
Every year same old story,
Can revelry sometimes be a tad gory.
A moment of solitude,
To think about those who can’t,
Pause pause pause,
Change the rant.
2019,
All those resolutions,
and the mutinous cacophony,
2020
Let peace reign supreme
and create a veritable symphony.
Bid adieu to resolutions and to do’s in your head,
this cycle shall break
Create a “to don’t” list instead...
Don’t pressure yourself to party
Don’t forget to be thankful for this year
No matter this years sorrow,
There is that beautiful promise
Of a beckoning tomorrow.
Don’t set any more resolutions,
Live each day with gratitude,
When the new year becomes old
You’ll have many a tale untold.
Don’t stay in the past,
It binds in Chains,
Unfettered you soar,
Hopes, desires, wings and more.
Hope is a song,
It’s notes lilting
It’s wings shiny
And it’s span embracing.
2020 let’s call you hope
2020 let’s call you love
2020 more than anything
Let’s call you dawn of another day...

Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 12:47 AM UTC
Mutinous clouds like a suit of armour
Obscuring views.
Crescent moon finds a *****
And lifts the mood.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
The rush of gentle wind overwhelms me--
meaning only to propel me,
but instead
it makes me stop.
The thoughts in my mind
nauseate me--
churning and spinning and crashing
along my sides,
Mutinous--
threatening to throw me over.
From wave after wave
of connections unknown
all I have learned is that
I cannot surrender.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
#*‘Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale*!
H. W. Longfellow
When bureaucrats, with obfuscation
monotone in data-speak
and mumble to their mutinous nation,
bloodless vessels spring a leak.
Scan in vain the rolling breakers;
leadership is out to sea.
Overscripted undertakers
claim to speak for you and me…
The Ship of State, adrift, becalmed
floats on; a most ill-fated craft.
The body politic, unembalmed
begins to ripen fore and aft.
The crew, grown callous to the rot
and numbed by such expediency
with one last desperate cannon shot
forsake all hope of mutiny.
While computers spit statistics,
crewmen spread the expectant word;
(no more trust in mere ballistics…
hope delayed is hope transferred.)
“Make ready to abandon ship !
The captain’s just a talking head.
Lower the lifeboat, let her rip –
before, like him, we end up dead…”
The Ship of State is rent with breaches
data-leakage, data driven –
the lifeboat flounders, coral-riven
seeking distant wave-washed beaches.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
Vanquished by my hopes and dreams
Held hostage by reality
I stumble through this thing called life
A prisoner of mortality
I know not what tomorrow brings
My mutinous dreams have fled
My hopes have long since passed away
To never know where they led
Humbled by my crippled past
My spirit, weak and weary
By casting lots, I choose my path
My future, bleak and dreary
Hampered by my lack of faith
I wander to and fro
Absent from my hopes and dreams
I know not where to go
An abyss of hollow understanding
For nothing's as it seems
A life no longer worth living
That's barren of hopes and dreams
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC
We missed our chance.
But it’s not a problem: we gave it all
All came back sighing, lovestruck:
Then mutinous alliances recalled,
We fled.
Now, cautioning and antennae’d
Weary, we crawl upon hot lava
Yet still we wave.
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 5:32 PM UTC
do not say it, express it
my life in a moment has been
a momentarily lapse of reason.
my heart in this venture has been
a vexing vent into a loving treason.
my soul caught up betwixt has been
a bewitching of what makes "me".
my fate in mutation has been
a mutinous stranding at sea.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
We are well-defined
in the obvious
the elemental;
food, *** laughter, song.
I accept your guitar
and understand your hands.
You understand my chaos
and accept my need
to outwardly order things.
Sleight-of-hand; my manifest patina
to deflect scrutiny
of a disorderly mind
and a mutinous heart.
(I don't know any more than you
why I love you always, sometimes)
You have called me anchor,
kissed my rope-burned palms
in return
I have witnessed your knight,
crossed your chivalrous cloak
thrown down on ***** water.
Yet, for all the elements,
for all the ropes and ladders
there still exists this aether;
the candle's blue flicker
where you drift, and I
drown.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
Skeletons from my past
that haunt me leap from my closet,
Heart beating fast,
sinful things that I have amassed,
now my mayflowers mast.
Both cast & crew, planked eyes, 2thru which they view.
mutinous! venomous!
Now its down to the brig for the both of us. Couple Capn's in cuffs. ...
What will await us on this new land?
Gold? Diamonds? If only!!! ... ...
Then suddenly unlocked for me
Was the prison we were sitting in
S'like I was a slave now free
to begin again. Now hate is not my sin even as the spiritual muses spew vile things as I exit from: within
the anchored vessel Wrecka'less
one. my faith has been tested, & second, lessons taught with a gun... make mans war's never won.
Go! Explore while there's still sun left!
Roll on cue (sonset)
curtains. exit stage left.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
Dead soldiers can’t march.
They can’t hear your lies.
They can’t hear their buddies
Or their agonizing cries.
The politicians lie so smoothly
Some dreams are so lifelike
And the lies are said so truthfully
That some life seems dreamlike.
Dead soldiers are not the ones,
The ones out looking for war.
They, above everyone else,
Know exactly what war is for.
Congress keep swords sharpened
Year after hypocritical year.
Don’t let it happen again
Don’t let it happen here.
Dead soldiers can’t hear you
When you pray to the crowd.
They can’t hear the platitudes
No matter how florid and loud.
They are beyond your excuses
And they never really mattered.
People in power are safe far away
From where all the blood is splattered.
Dead soldiers can’t hug their kids
Or kiss their wives in the morning.
No more time exists for them
It ended with little warning.
They did what they were told to do
With no mutinous thought in their head.
They were obedient and loyal
And now they are quietly dead.
Congress keep swords sharpened
Year after hypocritical year.
Don’t let it happen again
Don’t let it happen here.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
"No more tears now; I will think about revenge."
-- Mary, Queen of Scots
------------------------------------------------
Someone once told me that
I have the eyes of a Queen,
that they have known sorrow
in this life and in the last.
I think I must have shared
a heart with
Mary, Queen of Scots,
for I too have experienced
profound betrayal,
one that has shackled itself
to my being so violently,
that my soul has turned
purple with contusion.
Tell me--have you no shame?
Will you betray your Queen?
Will you exclude her
from your most sacred gatherings
of friendship and empathy?
Will you speak of her
most intimate secrets?
Will you befriend her foes?
Will you defile her name
in your own frivolous writings?
Will you accuse her of treason
so as to distract from
your own mutinous crimes?
My beloved companions,
my brothers and sisters--
will you attempt to commit
this heinous sin of sororicide
against the woman
who loved you so generously
(so poetically)?
I entreat--
will you?
(yet, I know you already have).
But though my Queendom
may be small,
it is not insignificant,
for it is vast in ways
incomprehensible to your
selfish minds--
its kindness and poetry
are infinite,
both of which you
have taken gross advantage of.
And though my Queendom
may crumble at your hands,
it shall never fall;
with stanzas
mighty and passionate
I will rebuild without you.
You have overstayed
your welcome here.
(perhaps you never belonged
in the first place).
There was once a time
when you vowed to protect
your Queen
and, now, all I've got
to show for it
is a broken pinkie
and the scuff of footprints
across my spine.
What shall it be next?
My head upon a silver platter?
No.
I was not reborn
only so my reign should
be sullied by these
treacherous sadists
I once called "friends".
It is my head
you want,
but this time,
it is yours I shall have.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
dearest whole-hearted embrace of like minds
that sheltered me from my youth,
that purposed me,
that loved me when i didn't,
couldn't,
would you shelter this outlier now,
purpose it, if possible,
or love this stranger in sheep's clothing?
or
would you lower your ladders into the gray abyss
and hope for something to crawl out?
or
shun me?
your blessed self-appointed savior
held my mutinous hand.
indeed, i will always owe him
a debt of gratitude,
concept or not.
and he will always be my savior,
concept or not.
dearest haven,
i have found safety within your fold
but
your safety starts to hinder me.
i need you now to
let
me
go.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 1:26 PM UTC