Sabi nila,kapag nahanap mo na daw ang tunay na pag-ibig ay nahanap mo na rin ang iyong langit dito sa lupa. Kaya't naniniwala akong langit din ang maghahatid sa'yo patungo sa akin. Pero naiinip na akong maghintay at nanghihinayang sa bawat sandaling lumilipas , na hindi ko man lang magawang hawakan ang iyong mga kamay sa mga panahong kailangan mo ng karamay.Na hindi ko man lang magawang damayan ka kung dumadanas ka ng lumbay.Alam kong katulad ko,pakiramdam mo minsan ay binitawan ka na din ng mundo.Kaya't patawarin mo ako kung sa mga pagkakataong nararanasan mo yan ay wala ako d'yan para ikaw ay aking ma-salo. Kung totoong ang pag-ibig at ang langit ay may malalim na kaugnayan sa isa’t-isa,malakas ang kutob ko na tayo din ay iginuhit na katulad nila. Minsan na din akong nagtanong,saang sulok ng langit ka kaya naroroon? Malapit ka kaya sa araw? O marahil nasa tabi ka lang ng buwan,na sa tuwing sasapit ang dilim ako ay binabantayan.Kaya pala kahit saan ako magpunta ako'y lagi niyang sinusundan. Pero maaari din na ika'y kapiling ng mga bituin na kay daming nais mag angkin. Kay palad kong pagdating ng araw ikaw ay napa sa-akin. Kaya habang wala ka pa,ako muna ay magiging kaisa ng mga mabubuting kawal ng ating bayan. Makikidigma kung kinakailangan,ipaglalaban kung ano ang makat'wiran. Upang sa iyong pagdating ay malaya nating tatamasahin ang payapang buhay. Kaya habang wala ka pa ako'y taos puso kung manalangin sa ating may likha. Na paghariin niya nawa ang kabutihan sa aking puso bilang isang tao at higit sa lahat ay bilang kanyang anak , upang sa sandaling tayo'y pagtagpuin ako rin sa iyo ay magiging isang mabuting kabiyak. Hindi pa man tayo nagtatagpo,nais kung malaman mo na laman kang palagi ng aking panalangin. At habambuhay kong itatangi ang iyong pag-ibig na siyang dahilan kung bakit maka ilang ulit kong nanaising mabuhay. Nais kong ipagsigawan sa mundo na iniibig kitang wagas,ngunit mas mamatamisin kong hintayin ka at kapag naglapat na ang ating mga dibdib,ibubulong ko sa'yo na ikaw ang aking daigdig. Maghihintay lang ako,habang wala ka pa.




© 2018 Glen Castillo
All Rights Reserved.

PAG-IBIG, NAPA-KOMPLIKADO MO

NAGBUBUHOL-BUHOL ANG UTAK KO

MAPAGKUNWARI PA MINSA’Y SUSULPOT

WARI’Y NAGPAPANGGAP NA SUOT

MAPANGAHAS KA, AT WALANG PINIPILI

MATAPOS UMASA, PUSO’Y NASAWI

O MAPAGPANGGAP NA PAG-IBIG!

KAILAN KA MAKAKATIKIM NG GALIT?

TIWALA’Y NILAAN

PAGKATAPOS AY IIWAN

SUKDULANG HAPDI

KATUMBAS AY PIGHATI

HINDI MO BA NALALAMAN

KUNG GAANO KASAKIT MASAKTAN?

HINDI MO MANLANG BA TUTULUNGANG

MAG-HILOM ANG PUSONG NASAKTAN?

TATAWANAN MO NALANG BA

ANG PUSONG NAPILAYAN?

HABANG SA IYONG HIGAAN

IKA’Y SARAP NA SARAP SA PAG-HIMLAY?

O MAY AWA PA BANG NARARAMDAMAN?

SA PUSONG MINSA’Y MINAHAL

KAHIT HIBIK LAMANG NG BALIKAT

AY HUWAG SANANG IPAGKAIT

SA PUSONG MINSA’Y INIBIG

Hip Service
By Julian Malek

The zeal of cobblestone tolerance arrayed in fashionable hues masquerading as crimson secrecy, elevates the tide of man but some boats leak in their foundations. Therefore a cork to every exuberance and a triumphant torch for every sorrow lives onward in collective time. Larks that abound because prescience and PUGET sound, that brown has become the new orange which in turn prowls as a concealed swarthy black. To antagonize the willful and frenetic pace, a prodrome of lasting but memorialized disgrace. Should I move to a state by first or last name, or is the final appellation worthy of much more lasting fame. I scurry down the aisles, bemused by shimmering tiles and the beguiled audiences who see much in my limitation but doubt little about my debited elation. Ringmaster Barnum, how much horticulture is needed for assured superstardom, how many cloisters must we evacuate from the incendiary plumes of a metaphorical Harlem..  But know that no virtual reality can supplant the reality that does truly exist, or at least our time is too infernal and purblind to resist. Carrey the tops of mountains in the humor of wellsprings and fountains, we engage a menagerie of egos lilting of an etiolated pragmatic concern. Evicted from paradise, littered with say-cheese demise ensnaring three blind mice eaten alive by snake-eyed vice. To feel good without incorporated tyranny, we must see blue and red as alternatives to the same destiny. A world that reckons with the futilitarianism of pacified malcontent and astroturf monikers that lead the impressionable into a slaughter shed. Established or not, any enchantment under the sea must include fishes once a pastiche of me, but to them I avoid their courtesy flush and never even faintly blush as my egalitarian statements are lavish thrush.

Five TO Won baby one in 99, everyone here aboard the titanic stays alive, you got your boat baby and I got mine, gonna make it with babies numbered in surreal primes. Halt the slots game the nines, a stitch in time is going to turn out to be Mine. Flanger goals, girded piles, liminal like an aborted Harry Styles, we climb mountains we issue tithes, and the turmoil is etched into 45-notched bludgeons and two-tucked knives. Excuse you, where have you been all day, have you been sauntering in a gentle rain or a genteel pain, have you wallowed beyond the mires of doubt and ranked above David Blaine. I hope you tell me of your magic tricks, rather than your other flicks endeared I stand to fight an ineradicable itch. But if not, you placid pond dented by so many rocks and so many ripples give your heart over to me, before I clinch the special Olympics *******, we ran, we span the homespun garments of your left and right hand, but death is a specter that ghoulishly carouses along the carousel terminal disease we call life. I beseech your deepest affection and want to console you for your deepest struggle, to be there every time wed with time rather than a throttled scuttle. Moons make you guarded but maroons leave me desiccated, don’t ever let that wilted flower die, always water it with a rich but gentle ties and widened deck for all to at once marvel and pry.  Monsters of Mars Attacks once flanked my bed, as though the **** brain scared every gooseflesh and restrained every frisson of mystery. I lampoon myself for those cold Dark Knights and the protection ended by the plight of the poor mattering nothing to the deliberately internecine rich. I struck gold in a valley somewhere, an oxymoron of paradox that now you have the privilege to dock, to stay aboard to be a vessel of peace less widely deplored. Even if we don’t sprout wings, we garner the exactitude of measured things and our glass elevator though easily shattered by the glower of enslavement is actually our vista to heaven or listening to brethren tingles for rich mans trinkets and other things. For humanity deserves a legend and a princess, a regimented desuetude and a flanged lust but in our mistakes wildly flouted in momentary moments we become purified by the temptations of an alabaster palace.

***** the left-field wisdom of a pragmatic paragon ellipsis in prison, slip between the cracks and let my suburban muse become your urban ruse. To enchant a caged world beyond a reality delicately and deliberately unfurled. Squirming toads on highways enchanted but dead, are graves for the blue becoming purple in every dignified red. Gainsay assaults me with platitude, a repeated hitter quit on the first bunted ball into foul-line territory. Those gripes are swiped right in all circumstance no matter the plight. The pronged hearing of a trident sensitive to ambient collection, and suddenly we are all in the mad house even though the house of profaned pain is much worse. Glimpses of gambits that gambol for nickels in transit as occult grenades and known dice waddle through without artifice or device, and the laughter and slaughter that trains collegiate minds, differs no more than the tropes of a glamorous violence articled in sordid rhymes. This surfing movie means so much more than Surf Wax America pristine in limited but sacrilege nirvana. Teen spirits smell muskier than 90s pop dreams, the grasp and grunge of gouged eyes becomes a mummified staid, a scarecrow to those who disobey. Childhood flashes with blinding light, and new sight illuminates darkening blight, A blight eradicated only by two magazines and including one that houses the bullets that ***** themselves between death and comatose dreams both within astral sight. Littoral harbor on a seaside town, a shanty with a brackish gown that glides the gourmand to the cosmopolitan eatery on the outskirts of lost & found. But forever lost in embonpoint and forever gained in chavish that exonerates the gaunt, the etiolated prince in heart becomes irrefutable marrow in minded souls.

If I am a spy you are an ESPY, and if I cry than you are a baby,but since neither are the case my wiseacres will cultivate lava lamp dreams for a new generation and suddenly Boston bets on Harvard, but who knows of this piped blather squirming for relevance rather than voguish but temporary chatter. My regatta knows how to swim, my life now knows how to cringe and yet still win and in stilted plays of bungled sincerity the God of peace reminds us of our transcendent personalities. That we in sincerity top the barnacles of invention a novelty but a rarity. But the guillotine quill of emboldened unscripted parvenus ruthless in their eager dues, outdate and outlive the sued swayed blues that indemnify Clinton and make the atomic dog an amazing Winston hill a church often in sheltered disuse. Imps and urchins sting the sentiment, cloy the alimony of repentant betterment, but neither touches the gilded skies of pleonasm striving for raspy disguise as to dissuade further diatribe investigation. Lurking in those scared days of youth, the gore of unalloyed horror scourged me with a limp, that compassion itself could ever become a gimp. Now years later athletics better and scoring goals making the mildew sweat and the years wetter, not a global warming that can be alarmed by global mourning. Take peace at heart if distanced spears of separation make Idiocracy as a pastiche look exceedingly smart. And spar only with the true antagonists bridging malevolence with expedience. Killjoys sure, will joy even more sure, but still boys fluttered heart stopping dead at a stop-watched alarm the worst tragedy of our sordid sort. Give an African Child a real home rather than a spatial roam, a palatial desiccation of momentary Jonas Brothers snapping back at captives with sexualized foam.

Narrative blinds shuttered in an Island among mountains hardly ever wiser to sanitize the sanitarium among the wasps of stung power. Police crumple their uniforms as they prowl down the avenues, looking for misfits and widened platitudes. Somehow that the vigilance of those corrupted by their very career choice, look even worse when megalomania of private is the limelight of public, to their defense few turrets I can muster but castles in the sky will be the apartheid judge. Those that cling to virtue to eradicate Porsche-driven faked or real deaths at the most breakneck speed, that Fast & Furious operation if disclosed completely would turn the Shire of the ring into the hatred curtailed by a song in Sing-Sing. Immunity must not Yoda implore, that livery Liverpool marooned on islands can also to deplore the R.E.D. and still whet the sharpened stead and the fly-by-night Manchester United alights like militant peer pressure for wranglers in tights. But beating the Beatles at a game of Walruses and egg-shelled eyeful towers likely impedes rinkside hockey from anything over bellicose ballyhoo…it exists as a transient fixated glower. But who knows about soccer speculation when love is the transcendent temptation, when nest-egg hens rather than neglecting rig Bens of clockwork and clocked words designed arise better for their token ken. Do I must repeat the subtext of submarines, yellowed as though ugly unused as though unseen, as though the quixotic earthquakes of tintinnabulations Avatar dreams. Wafted souls console the disheartened thoughts of a dashed dream that Berlin hates more than a Furor’s unbridled and useless scream.
Demotic clips slinging from the bedridden silence of a token moon and its token friends, swimming in a shore of ambiguity whether history mellows or whether its furor melts away momentary doubts. I want to avoid the sting rays exorcised by due providence and become the amalgamated talents gentry and of course the upstart swagger of Jack Dawson. But with the psy-op going on, the people manipulated on all sides of a gray picket fence will the relationship bloom without muttered dissent or pretended smiles. Will we take upon the shuffled shuttle and dig with shovels deep-rooted Christmas trees and toast our lives to Dos Equis. We may never go out of style, but the treacle of illuminated imagery when divorced from sentiment bristle shows a swagger that prioritizes rather than amalgamates all love. I love being brash and brazen and honest because when she finally ditches the grandstand of delayed frenemies fandoms of other tinsel decorations without any substance beyond meretricious thrill. You want a roller coaster on some days, but most often you want the nutcracker to elope to secret hiding places. Swim with adventure not just in love, not just in affection with the starlight now matter how luminous, sixpence all the richer is no centuries any poorer and we could be that gilded couple of star and screen and if we ever have to scream, let our screams unite us in passion, rather than a milquetoast deference to pedestaled beauty. but of course the end times don’t laugh at your crumpled wizened relapse. Not out of convenience wed by a discriminating genetic harvest moon but a deeper engagement that flatters when stylish and bristles when romantic but never defiled, never riled of specious pretense. Promise me that you will always remember me in my flaws and my faults, in my scause factory destructions and the penults of PEN-ULTIMATE wisdom that comes before the grace of God in the annihilation of passion for eroded omission. If your goal is to be remembered, check that out…but the most admirable goal is as the propinquities of souls dusted in the wind returning to a spring equinox of passion and if you find in yourselves reservations do not depart from sacred land, and never jilt me because of a boisterous and menacing friend. You are everything to me right now, and I Hope this persists despite the vicissitudes of star-favored afflictions mixed with utter benediction without the pontification of stilted Benedictines  or rather the hyped ludic effrontery of termagants being made of younger and younger women. Leave it at this ,32 leaves the royal secret in royal hands and the Knights Templar and us we altogether hold hands, if only a prelude for a masquerade ball. But the stilted embarrassment of crestfallen time, let that be relegated and emphatically lets embrace what is like to not ever need a real white horse to get back into your favor, because we never go out of style we can brandish the best elements and reject the sentiments of the too newfangled and the too stodgy. We in our crenellated pleonasm can eager ride the lightning to another tomorrow and another yesterday and if even not that, we virtually make an indelible impression of embroidered love not too distant in ivory towers and not to vulgary( catering to popular sentiments) to become a trash glam movement. We soar, others deplore but let their purblind doubts render them blind to our burgeoning love.

Forget the brisk trees dangled in the wind on winding paths through haunted forest or remember them because of ghoulish fortress but with our apotropaic lamp we can avert most evil and call the rest fun and gains and shun but fames never profaned, never inalterable a destiny to magical to be some whimpered catcall. Or we could linger beneath lambent street lights disguised as though wilted garb, attrition of circumstance waiting patiently for the matinee and the vintner to escort us beyond the garb of pretense in a city so abundant with it that it deserves castigation. But I digress, a beachside cliff overlooking tepid waters tumultuous in their power but august in their noises, the cadence of love will sing a half-moon bay on full-moon nights and we will frisk each other like grasping at straws of permanent tracks trammeled of the elite and a sidetracked basque bet. Trim those antlers and instead grow metaphorical wings, to us we all sing but few can match your elegance and everyone would be crazy not to see your ennobled age and together thrilling songs to emulate thriller in sales we will collaboratively sing.
Haughty sneers from lifeless lycanthropy straggling furtively along the pastiched sidewalks of grime, livid because they can’t share the lingering limelight, with as many guarded perks of privacy clambering like a hive of snarky sharks. Lets ditch the big town dreams in terms of posh and stature if only for a caressed moment beneath the unadulterated stars and if you find spars **** to the extent they are amiable than I say guess what my name is Lars! Or wait a second, paused in the big city spotlight our stenciled hearts will guide whatever progeny is yours or mine or ours together we will sing the most comforting lullaby, and caves no longer must we abide. Yearn and earn every inch, as I gripe with my delicate saddened pinch but I think the innuendo speaks . Ripen with our trips to Napa, long afternoon sunsets swim in our hearts as we taste the vanguard’s toast on elegant wine.I console with entreaty to disavow the omen of that San Franciscan church October 2008, the doom implied by Einstein, the raillery of a world grinding down the endless decadence of a railed future inalterable in destiny or partialy amenable to widespread coquetry.

Forget those rumbles in your past that made you feel partial to insecurity and learning the ropes you transcended all and live in all eternity. Thimble and brook, tolerant of all those tokes I took your rebellious side flattens the yeast of Exodus raspy in its begrudged clapping. But the Pharaoh of the modern world sheltered me under his prickly thorns, shielded me from the sickly things that life adorns. We have the numbers on our side, the weight of destiny on our shoulders, dedicate yourself to yourself and I will preen the most vibrant wisdom and love will leap like Apollo across all borders not for camel-****** hoarders. We are culminated destiny in the wings of the best daydream

Napa-ibig ako sa aking kinakaibigan.
Sa una siguro’y ang pakiramdam ay magaan.
Nagkakilala ng basta-basta, walang dahilan.
Siguro dahil na rin sa  mabuting kapalaran.

Isang araw’y nalaman ko,
Magkapit-bahay lang pala kami.
Lalong nagkalapit ang puso’t damdamin.
Makalipas ang isang taon ng pagkikilala,
Sa dami ng tambay, kain, at gala,
Sa problema ng tropa o kaya’t sa pamilya,
Sa ngiti at ngisi sa bawa’t asaran,
Sa halip na ika’y may pagkasira,
Sa iyong puso na palaging hinihiwa,

Naroon ako sa iyong tabi,
Unti-unting napapangiti,
Napapamahal,
Nahuhulog ang dibdib,
Sa iyong pagkatao’t diwa.

Naaalala ko pa noong ika-siyam ng Mayo,
Bago matapos ang taon ng pag-aaral,
Sa isang buwan magkakahiwalayan na,
Magkokolehiyo na’t iiwan ang mga pinagdaanan.
Umiyak ka sakin habang nakain pa ng pakwan.
Na natatakot lang magsimula ulit,
Na makaranas ng bagong landas,
Na magbago, at maging kung sino man.
Na mahal mo ang iyong mga kaibigan,
Na ayaw mo silang iwanan.

Sinabi ko sayo,
Ika’y minamahal,
Ika’y itinatangi.
Ngunit hindi ko masabi,
Na ako ang magmamahal,
Ako ang magtatangi sa’yo.
Kaya ako’y gumawa ng katwiran,
Na kaming mga kaibigan mo,
Ay naririto lamang.

Ang pag-ibig ay parang nota,
Sa musika ng tadhana,
Sa teatro ng buhay.
Ito’y maligaya,
Upang hikayatin,
Ang ating puso na makinig.
Ngunit hindi kang saya ang ipinaparating.
Kundi’ hirap, lungkot, at paghihinagpis.

Parang emosyonal na gitara,
Na minsan nasisira,
Napuputol ang kwerdas,
Nasasaktan ang kamay,
Nalulumbay sa tono,
Habang humihiyaw,
Kumakanta ng buong puso,
Para sa ating mga sinta.

Dumating ang Agosto,
Miyerkules ng unang linggo,
Sa ika-beintidos ko nalaman,
Na galing pa sa iyong dila,
Na ako’y huli na sa paligsahan,
Na mayroon ng nanalo sa laban.
Ang puso mo’y nasagip na ng iba,
Ika’y nagkwento ng matagal-tagal.
Ang ningning sa iyong mata’y,
Parang ilaw sa entablado,
Nakikita ko ang mga sumasayaw,
Ligaya ang aking nararamdaman,
Habang ang aktor ay ako,
Na iyong tinitigan ng husto.
Pinipilit makinig nang maigi,
Sa kwentong busilak ng pag-ibig.

Ngunit pagkatapos ng kwento,
Naiwan akong mag-isa.
Sumigaw ng wala sa tono,
Sa kanta na puro hiyaw.
Hindi ko inakala,
Na ang kanta ko’y ganito,
Naisulat na ang mga nota,
Ngunit bakit masakit sa tenga?
Sa simula ng ika’y makita,
Nagsimula na ang tugtog.
Ngunit hindi ikaw ang aking kasayaw,
Hindi rin naiwasang mahulog.
Kahit pigilan ko man ang sarili,
Ako’y nahatak ng iyong tunog.
Magaling ka sumagaw,
Kwento mo’y ako’y napaikot.

Napapaisip ako,
Anong nangyari,
Bakit natapos,
Ang ating kanta.
Ng wala man lang paalam.
Ika’y bumula.
Nawala sa aking buhay.
Na para bang multo.
Hindi ko malapitan,
Mahawakan,
Matawag,
Ni mabanggit ang iyong pangalan.
Nawala ang ating teatro,
Nagkahiwalagan ang magkaibigan,
Ang direktor ay lumisan,
Upang maiwasan ang drama.

Napapaisip ako ngayon,
Bakit ikaw pa rin sa ngayon!
Ikaw na multo ng nakaraan,
Ang aking minamahal hanggang ngayon.

I.
Pangalawang pagkakataon?
Karapat-dapat ka pa ba para doon?
Matapos **** saktan ang damdamin.
Ganun-ganun nalang ba ‘yun?

II.
Hindi mo alam ang dinanas kong hirap,
Habang ikaw, hayun at nagpapasarap.
Ang hirap mabuhay ng wala ka,
Dahil sanay na akong nasa tabi kita.

III.
Pero pinilit kong tumayo para mabuhay!
Sinanay ko ang sarili na wala ka,
At lahat ng pagkalimot nagawa na.
Pero ang sugat sa puso'y naghihilom pa.

IV.
Matapos ang isang taon,
Landas natin ay muling nagkita.
Akala ko lahat ng ala-ala'y wala na.
Akala ko nakaraos na ako sa sakit, hindi pa pala.

V.
Iiwasan sana kita kaso braso mo'y ibinuka,
Para tayong nagpapatintero sa kalsada.
Pagkat humihingi ka ng sandali,
Para makapag-usap tayong maigi.

VI.
Pumayag ako,
Kahit alam kong masasaktan lang ako.
Kahit alam kong 'di pa kaya ng puso ko.
Pumayag ako!

VII.
Bakas sa mukha mo ang pagkatuwa!
Dahil sa wakas masasabi mo na,
Kung bakit ka nalang nangiwan bigla.
Aaminin ko, ako rin ay nakaramdam ng kaunting tuwa.

VIII.
Pero hindi ko yun ipinahalata,
Sapagkat, kung iyon ay iyong makikita,
Marahil ika'y umasa na pinatawad na kita.
Mali! Maling mali!

IX.
Napa-usog ka bahagya at nagbuntong hininga pa.
Napahawak ka saking braso, tumingin sa aking mga mata.
Sinabi mo lahat ng dahilan kong bakit ako iniwan,
Ako ay naliwanagan sa iyong mga tinuran.

X.
Humihingi ka ng pangalawang pagkakataon,
Pero hindi ko yun ganun-ganun.
Tugon ko'y: “Aking pag-iisipan” at umalis na lamang.
Hinabol mo ako’t sinabing: “Mahal kita 'di kita kinalimutan.”

XI.
Hindi ako sumagot at sa paglalakad diretso lamang.
Pero alam ko sa sarili kong mahal pa rin kita.
Alas dose na at diwa ko’y gising pa,
Dahil sa aking naaalala ang ating muling pagkikita.

XII.
Napag-isip-isip kung dapat pa bang pagbigyan kita.
Kahit na alam ko sa sarili kong mahal pa rin kita,
Nagdadalawang isip pa rin ako baka masaktan na naman ulit ako.
Hanggang ngayon naguguluhan pa rin ako.

XIV.
Dumaan ang dalawang linggo,
At sinipat mo na ako sa bahay ko.
Halatang nasasabik ka na sa isasagot ko.
Niyakap kita ng mahigpit sumigaw ng “Oo!”

XV.
Sa una'y nagtataka ka pa sa kinilos ko,
At hanggang sa unti-unti kang nangiti.
Dahil naliwagan na ang loko.
Matagal ko ng pinag-isipan 'to at “Oo” ang sagot ko.

XVI.
At dahil mahal pa kita, hindi ko na natiis pa,
Hindi sapat ang mga daliri ko kung gaano ko,
Lubos na pinag-isipan ang isasagot ko sa'yo.
At magmamahalan tayo muli, sa pangalawang pagkakataon.

Ngayon ko nalang ulit naramdaman yung sakit
Ngayon ko nalang ulit naranasan na umiyak
Ngayon ko nalang ulit nagawa na umasa

Ngayon nalang ulit ako nag mahal ng ganito
Ngayon nalang ulit ako nag mahal ng ganito katindi
Ngayon ko nalang ulit to naramdaman

Ngayon nalang ulit ako nagpaka tanga
Ngayon nalang ulit ako nagpaka lasing
Ngayon nalang ulit ako nagpaka baliw

Ngayon nalang ulit ako sumayaw sa kanta ng pag-ibig na walang himig
Ngayon nalang nalang ulit ako nalunod sa dagat ng pag ibig na wala namang tubig
Ngayon nalang ulit ako napa hinto sa pagtakbo habang umaandar ang oras

Ngayon nalang ulit ako umasa na merong tayo
Ngayon nalang ulit ako nasaktan ng ganito
Ngayon nalang ulit....

1:23 am
07/24/16
Sunday

Spoken word poetry by:
Quencie D.R

Puno ang aking isipan ng mga katanungan,
Ni hindi ko alam kung may patutunguhan.
Hindi ko alam kung paano o saan sisimulan,
Kung tatakbo palayo o sayo ay ika'y lalapitan.

Eto na sisimulan ko na ngunit nagaalangan,
Sa simulang tanungin ang yong pangalan.
Nang di naglaon nalaman ko yung katauhan,
Di nagtagal tayo ay naging magkaibigan.

Aking hihimayin kung gaano kahaba o kaikli,
Etong tulang patungkol sayo at pinili.
Kung ilang pahina at itatantya kung sakali,
Sisimulan ko na ngunit eto ako nagbabakasali.

Simula sa  "Ako at Ikaw" ngunit walang tayo,
Ano bang pakiramdam ng maging gwapo?
Dahil lahat ng niligawan mo iyong napa-Oo.
Babe,Mahal at lahat ng tawagan nagamit mo.

Balita ko madaming nagkakagusto sayo,
May nakahome based na sa puso mo.
Nakatres ba? Ilang puntos ba sya sayo?
Gusto mo pala maglaro sana sinabihan mo ako.

Gusto mo ng one-on-one pero madami pa pala,
Kung tutuusin sa mobile legends adik ka na.
Paiba iba ka ng character bane,alpha at angela,
Inugali mo na pati sa laro kotang - kota ka na.

Di kami isang laro pag napagtripan mo na,
Di kami dota iffirst blood mo tapos GG na.
Di kami coc o lol iiwan mo pag nagsawa kana,
Ano bang degree natapos mo at bihasa kana.

Patawad!! Kung ginusto kita,
Patawad sa mga binitawan'g salita.
Patawad kung mahal na kita,
Patawad kung ako'y lalayo muna.

Nagbilang ako mula isa hanggang sampu
Sana sa pagdilat makalimot na ko…

Isa, dalawa, tatlo
Tatlong araw mula nang magkakilala tayo
Hindi batid kung ano ba ang pakay mo
Mga nakakakilig na salitang binibitawan mo
Sabi ko, "Hindi ako magpapauto."

Apat, lima, anim
Naalala ko pa ang araw ng iyong pag-amin
Kaba at hiya bumalot sa iyong damdamin
Tuwa at saya nangibabaw nang ako'y napa-oo
Sabi ko, "Susugal ako kasi alam kong tatayan mo ako."

Pito, walo, siyam
Sa palipas ng panahon tila ika'y nagbago
Biglang lumamig ang iyong pakikitungo
Dumating ang oras ng katotohannang kinakatakutan ko
Sabi mo, "Pasensya kana, kailangan ko lang ng espasyo."

Sampu
Sa lahat ng mga pinangako at sinabi mo
Isa lang ang tapat at naging totoo
Ngunit nagbubulag-bulagan ako
Dahil sabi mo, "Nagsisisi ka dahil ako'y nasaktan mo."

Gaya ng sabi ko
Pagbilang ko nang sampu
Sana makalimot na ako
Ngunit heto pa rin ako
Naniniwala sa mga matamis **** pangako
Kahit alam kong nagsisinungaling ang puso mo

there's a guy
sequestered
someplace in a
secret location

his job is to keep
****** alive

since the purported
death of mein Fuhrer
this has become the
most important job
in the world

with ****** alive
and well, we know
what evil looks like
and it sports a
funny mustache

compared to ******’s
lip growth even
old Beelzebub’s
goatee looks
kinda cute

with ****** alive
nations churn out
industrial strength
collateral damage
on the scale of a
Fortune 500
sausage maker
wholly blessed
with the
moral impunity
of profiting on
the war on
terror

assembly lines
manufacturing
the stewed vats
of pink slime
soylent green
lays a wide grin on
Henry Ford’s face
watching happy
Chinese proles
grind through
the day’s
bleating stocks
grateful to have
a wage paying job

we are
the righteous
dudes,

hanging ten on
Malibu pipes
water boarding
the terrorists

pouring waves of
umbrellaed  
Coolattas down
the desert thirsty
gullets of
dead enders

and they don’t
even have
the decency
lay a tip on
their earnest
servers

freakin
barbarians

we are the
empowered
heavies
licensed to
dispatch
immediate
fast food
have it your way
justice,
with
drone strikes
on reprobate
Americans who
spent their last
bill of rights on
a Happy Meal
of Freedom Fries
leaving the
executioner
begging for nickel
change so he
can pick up
a dime bag
of the best
Afghan horse
after laying a
bullet between
old Osama’s
cross crooked
eyes

when civilized men
begin to wonder
if the modus operandi
of intelligence
gathering could be
construed as torture,
we point northward
to scurrying Koreans
sneaking briefcase
nukes over the the
southern border
cleverly disguised
as Chicano grape
pickers heading
for Napa.

in national
tantrums of
undulating
shock and awe
we launch
cruise missiles
to deliver the
news of a well
considered
Bush Doctrine
self conferring the
sweet liberty
to detonate
bunker busters
in noble strikes
of preemptive
interventionism

we hate war
so much
we initiate
warfare before
a war breaks out

we reserve
first strike
blitzkrieg
prerogatives
as an exalted
strength to
alleviate the pain
of enduring
the weakness of
protracted peace

we are firm in the
belief that the blasted
dust from our bombs
form the cornerstones
of future democracies

to serve the greater
global good, America
has dispatched a
humanitarian team of
Navy Seals to East
Africa to get Kony

we’re rooting out this
bad guy whose
trying to implement
his twisted version
of a Santorumish
10 Commandment
based paradise

Kony is living proof that
Islamo Fascists don’t
hold a monopoly on
terror and though
Kony’s got some
powerful supernatural juju
Seals got motion sensors
that can spot a
cantankerous poltergeist
through the darkest jungle
canopies

it also will minimize
the risk of friendly fire
casualties

they’ll have to be careful
not to wander into
the disputed oil fields
of southern Sudan
and they’ll need to
be mindful of Chinese
engineers building
pipelines and refineries

But thank goodness
that guy has kept
the touchstone of evil
alive and well.

we’ll always
recognize it
when we see it
and get hot
on the trail of
******’s latest
incarnations
when they
show their
ungodly face

civilized people
demand justice

and we will not rest until
Kony’s head is displayed
atop a spike on YouTube
buzzing with the hum
of ecstatic flies joining
the chorus of happy
tribesmen singing
kumbaya with
stirring gratitude
from the aboriginal
comfort of their
mud and
grass huts

****** lives
Osama is dead
Lets get Kony

Music selection:

Smash Mouth,
Walking on the Sun

Oakland
May Day
5/1/12
jbm

I

In the depths of the Greyhound Terminal
sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky
        waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart
worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in
        the night-time red downtown heaven
staring through my eyeglasses I realized shuddering
        these thoughts were not eternity, nor the poverty
        of our lives, irritable baggage clerks,
nor the millions of weeping relatives surrounding the
        buses waving goodbye,
nor other millions of the poor rushing around from
        city to city to see their loved ones,
nor an indian dead with fright talking to a huge cop
        by the Coke machine,
nor this trembling old lady with a cane taking the last
        trip of her life,
nor the red-capped cynical porter collecting his quar-
        ters and smiling over the smashed baggage,
nor me looking around at the horrible dream,
nor mustached ***** Operating Clerk named *****,
        dealing out with his marvelous long hand the
        fate of thousands of express packages,
nor fairy Sam in the basement limping from leaden
        trunk to trunk,
nor Joe at the counter with his nervous breakdown
        smiling cowardly at the customers,
nor the grayish-green whale's stomach interior loft
        where we keep the baggage in hideous racks,
hundreds of suitcases full of tragedy rocking back and
        forth waiting to be opened,
nor the baggage that's lost, nor damaged handles,
        nameplates vanished, busted wires & broken
        ropes, whole trunks exploding on the concrete
        floor,
nor seabags emptied into the night in the final
        warehouse.

                II

Yet ***** reminded me of Angel, unloading a bus,
dressed in blue overalls black face official Angel's work-
        man cap,
pushing with his belly a huge tin horse piled high with
        black baggage,
looking up as he passed the yellow light bulb of the loft
and holding high on his arm an iron shepherd's crook.

                III

It was the racks, I realized, sitting myself on top of
        them now as is my wont at lunchtime to rest
        my tired foot,
it was the racks, great wooden shelves and stanchions
        posts and beams assembled floor to roof jumbled
        with baggage,
--the Japanese white metal postwar trunk gaudily
        flowered & headed for Fort Bragg,
one Mexican green paper package in purple rope
        adorned with names for Nogales,
hundreds of radiators all at once for Eureka,
crates of Hawaiian underwear,
rolls of posters scattered over the Peninsula, nuts to
        Sacramento,
one human eye for Napa,
an aluminum box of human blood for Stockton
and a little red package of teeth for Calistoga-
it was the racks and these on the racks I saw naked
        in electric light the night before I quit,
the racks were created to hang our possessions, to keep
        us together, a temporary shift in space,
God's only way of building the rickety structure of
        Time,
to hold the bags to send on the roads, to carry our
        luggage from place to place
looking for a bus to ride us back home to Eternity
        where the heart was left and farewell tears
        began.

                IV

A swarm of baggage sitting by the counter as the trans-
        continental bus pulls in.
The clock registering 12:15 A.M., May 9, 1956, the
        second hand moving forward, red.
Getting ready to load my last bus.-Farewell, Walnut
        Creek Richmond Vallejo Portland Pacific
        Highway
Fleet-footed Quicksilver, God of transience.
One last package sits lone at midnight sticking up out
        of the Coast rack high as the dusty fluorescent
        light.
        
The wage they pay us is too low to live on. Tragedy
        reduced to numbers.
This for the poor shepherds. I am a communist.
Farewell ye Greyhound where I suffered so much,
        hurt my knee and scraped my hand and built
        my pectoral muscles big as a ******.

                             May 9, 1956

"Isang stored card po."
Sabay abot ng 100piso.
Pinasok sa makina "toot".
Bumaba sa hagdan.
"Hay, nakakpagod."
Nakita ang mahabang pila ng mga taong nagaantay.
Napa-buntong hininga.
5...10...15minuto wala pa din.
Ako'y lumingon sa kanan't kaliwa.
Inobserbahan ang mga taong iritable na sa pagaantay.

Sa kaliwa, nakita ko ang isang lalaki,
Postura, nakasalamin at kagalang galang ang suot.
Mukha nagtatrabaho sa isang malakingkumapanya at may mataas na posisyon.
Abala sa pagtingin sa relos na rolex ang tatak.
Ako'y napatanong sa sarili ko,
"bakit niya mas piniling pumila dito kung saan malulukot ang suot na barong?"

Sa kanan naman ay isang studyanteng binata,
Naka-uniporme, maangas ang dating.
May naksaksak na earphones sa magkabilang tenga at sumasabay ang indak ng mga paa.
Nais ko sana makihati sa musikang kanya naririnig.

Sa likod ko ay isang babae,
Napapamura na sa inis.
Mukhang malalate na sa opisina.
Naka-make up at nakheels.
Gusto ko siya bulangan,
"Ate, kalma lang. Hindi mapapabilis ng pagmumura mo ang pagdating nian."

At sa wakas dumating na,
Ang hinihintay ng lahat.
Inihanda ko na ang sarili,
dahil sigurado ako ay maitutulak, masisiksik,
matatapakan at masisiko sa loob ng train ng MRT.

Maraming tanong sa isip ko
At isa na doon kung meron bang tayo
Ngunit hindi mo ako pinapansin
Katulad ng iyong emosyon, mahirap basahin

Ngayon ay umaasa parin ako
Sa sinabi nila na gusto mo daw ako?
Ako'y kinilig at napatalon sa sobrang saya
Pero hindi ko maiwasan na mag isip kung meron nga ba?

Hindi ko alam kung nalaman mo na
Na ako'y may lihim na pagkagusto, hindi ba halata?
Siguro sa sobrang pagka-manhid mo
Hindi mo alam na may umaasang tao sayo

Hindi ko alam kung anong iyong pahiwatig
Lalo na ang mga nakakalusaw **** titig
At sa tuwing ika'y napa-padaan
Hindi ko mapigilang humanga at ika'y pagmasdan

I’ll take the left side, you take the right
cause I’d rather not be the one who broke your parents’
“genuinely antique” bed
I heard the wood give way just now
when we sat on the edge
and I know, tonight, it’s coming down.

I should probably be more of your gentleman,
but I think that’s what put us into this mess
when we got to the cabin I complimented your ma,
“Natasha is such a unique name in this age”
Her reply, flat through the grimace
“its an old and ugly Russian name, call me Nat.”
Your dad invited me to walk in the woods,
where I tripped over a root, ten feet in
and threw your father head first into poison oak.
It’s hard to tell through the swelling,
but I’m pretty sure he’s still scowling.
Then trying to help after dinner I knocked their
“two-hundred-dollar, honest-to-jesus, Napa Valley’s Best”
bottle a’ wine
onto their “ten-thousand-dollar, straight from Andkhoy.”
Afghani carpet.

So, I’m sorry
but I can imagine you’d forgive me
your boyfriend,
who loves and adores you,
for sleeping this day off
and letting the night drop out from under you.

INDEX


                            Foreword

1  Despertación of Etréstles 13

2  Constitución New Government . 22

3  diabolic Intromisión 25

4  Kanti, the Corcel . 28

5  Ante the Council 30

6 Inauguración the Monument to Botsaris . 36

7  Losas abandoned 41

8  Satagénesis and Deidagénesis Four. Five

9   Enviados to Deidagénesis / Lepanto 52

10 Drestnia in Kalidona 56

11 Etréstles returns Lepanto 64

12 And the fourth cemetery 71

13 Top of the flight of Lucifer 79

14 In the crypt of the patriarchs 87

15 Etréstles part Valplacci 98

16 Etréstles fleet in the Ionian Sea 114

17 Near Messolonghi 120

18 A new era begins 123

19 Universal Era breaks 129

20 Goodbye Messolonghi 135

21 At the beginning of a new millennium. 141

Epilogue. 153








FOREWORD






Mi theme concept concerning Cemeteries, has been maintained for many years under a remarkable process falls recoup credibility. Unknown worlds which we do not know what to believe, are usually put into question.

Constantly let the silent fields where lie the dead, but it is not, rather that me thinks so. Undoubtedly, the Quantum Theory indicates a basic unit of the whole universe, showing that it is possible to decompose the world into small units of independent existence. This theory shows that the dynamics in the art is such that, solid objects are in constant motion entramando relations between different parts of a unified whole.

As we believe that matter is inherently sterile, we think the cemetery is in the same condition, and therefore inert bodies are also only turned into a pile of bones scattered.





7

8 Etréstles


My conception of the world of subterranean acting, aims to support the theory of Quantum, because at first glance it seems that under these moles cement there putrefaction and eternal solitude. Well, I, I do not think so, I think there is tremendous activity, above all tends to seek fulfillment in a world that concerns him, and also has the infinite grace of thanks from all lurking diseases that shake us. That is, each inhabitant of the subterranean acting as a Franciscan Noble receives worship existence, and not faints by the destructive effects of all known diseases.

Near the garden of heroes, they are the remains of those who died in this output. It was a legendary struggle for libertarian revolution of 1821 in Greece, exactly Messolonghi. Markos Botsaris's tomb and the statue of Lord Byron great Hellenophile found in this garden.

Once, I was looking for a book, and this was inevadiblemente of oriental trend. I used to remind my teacher, the monk talking Virajánanda Given the processes of time, yesterday, today and tomorrow; all at once were a pure unity. That physical death had to be spiritual satisfaction, so that the spirit can not disconnect your disposable body. Child saw my family to go to leave flowers garden home to their loved ones. But I am noticing that my grandparents were still alive, and then would leave, looking for ways to inhale the smell of the earth to prepare the farewell that someday would come from the dark beyond. It never was painful to see them

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 9


from, because I've always been with them. In addition always our body, which would be living in a merger with vague spirits, to vague minds that do not hold their interest in spirituality as a way of life, tend to make us climb through dark passages of ignorance.

Etréstles, the protagonist; It has place at a lineage that marks limits warriors of ancient Greece, since fought with neighboring nations. Thus, generation after generation, he meddles in successive reincarnations that are to be transported in time by different spaces.

Its Vitabión and Regma Mother, father and as Staktos and Esaedt, both from different eras. His monogamous romantic company is coyuntada with the presence of Drestnia; woman who had to pull out of her womb, better said from his rib, emulating the biblical account.

While it is noteworthy that the secondary characters are related to Greek mythology such as Eurydice, and real characters like Markos Botsaris, who was a great hero who drove the Turks. The famous Florentine sculptor and architect Lorenzo Ghiberti, is present in the action, so that his image is immortalized in an eternal cemetery. Similarly we should mention Asurbanipal king of Assyria (667-626 C), the Auriga; the coachman and truck driver where he had his Herreros over time to release the Hellenic descent.

Other memorable as Aristotle, Hesiod, Praxiteles, which are knowledge to every reader of Greek literature. The judge presiding over the classroom

10 E tr é stles


sesionaba time to time, trying to revive the rituals and reject the stubborn efforts of Lucifer, who was trying to have a place on earth, then God expelled him from heaven.

In the chapter of the onslaught of Lucifer, he is accompanied by his minions Heosphoros and Phosphoros; they are the ones who brought Lucifer from heaven to Messolonghi. In addition Mesopotamian demons appear hostile world, these were the Annunaki who were the jailers of the dead in hell. The Etimmu, were the ghosts of all those who had died unhappy. The Utukku lived in desolate places or cemeteries; they are all part of malignancy presence as oppressive form and manner of presence to the exuberance of good all-encompassing.

Kanti Botsaris steed, is nothing more than his superconsciousness, wearing it as a link between the different physical and oneiric dimensions. It should be noted that Kanti is a Cretan horse and belongs to the fallen in battle, as Botsaris.

Eulalia and Zultina, both courtesans who spent their lives together with Ghiberti and Botsaris.

And it could not ignore the Menopausal, puerperal and Enamorada, as they like female members suffer alone beyond the earthly life that had consequences that affect the desolate silence of death camps.

And to finish, arrival at Valplacci, where it meets a world and a rare man in an unknown dimension by Etréstles. subsequently arriving at Patmos, where St.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi eleven


John the Theologian, to regain some of its lost soul by the intrusion of Lucifer. Here manages to discover that there is no need to fight warriors who always talk about physical war, because many of them tend to succumb to the same battlefields. discovering, mind mentor as the best ally to overcome any difficulty, wherever it is that the human race is found, or infra-human.

Finally, Etréstles is discovered in a way that would open a new numeral cycle, to start a new era and a new physical space where the projection Messolonghi be situated; nothing less than Nineveh, Ashurbanipal land where the winds blow, as a priest in his exsufflation it does to remove the demons that inhabit the world.

The "Zero" is the initiator of a new era, from whose base the only means available to the new life that awaits the residents of escombroso Messolonghi, after the invasion of Lucifer appears.

My concept of the cemeteries, while seeking an answer to approximate I think now that enormous efforts are made to understand fully. Cemetery remains for me a scenario of hideousness and terror, seen from the observation point that everyone has it, however, I think that in a strange world where you're not supposed to govern ethics, aesthetics, law , and the professional, economic and social status; It is where more wealth is the multiestimulante vitality, "I think

12 E tr é stles


nowhere inhabited earthly souls, will be able to find more life here in the

Messolonghi cemetery ".


José Luis Carreño Troncoso San Antonio, 1997




1





Wake-up of Etréstles



Dfter sleeping a thousand years fell on my face greater light current Solar. I slept without smiling at the crowds inhumaron smearing me my only bones.

The search of that hubbub, made me celebrate the porous bodies and pelusientos arañosos falling on my fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my view to the nearby burial vaults me. Some were swollen with a semblance augury despertativa; like starting today, with the ominous words They moved from today, the paddling of my fleshless jaws.

Among gravestones of Floreas esmeraldinas dinosauric, in a clear blue autumn, some birds refregaban on edges of the carved stones. Meanwhile, mustards was riding on dry leaves leaves clavelinas. The white-clad looked up Drestnia slab that closed their senses, remained behind bars with his hands crossed as evolving body


13

14 E tr é stles


to attend a new era of geography and different technology. On his chest he would run the living vertiginante wind up the corporeal hint in the light of Koumeterium Messolonghi; that housed over a thousand years ago, at Etréstles of Kalavrita.

This huge palace and flat, it is nothing more than an asylum, where the worst plague that began with the death of the sentinels of Lucifer, who dropped this place with its beautiful golden layers originated; whose satagénesis emerge the burning soil to ten fossilized cemeteries under the Messolonghi.

He walked slowly dragging my old body, the tenth floor, and that teenage girls pointed stones would break my nails; as such if they were claws of a mammal trapped by lava from a volcano. In each advance I awaken in my armor patriotic my last fight, and his enternecedor observe how parents tilled by the conglomerate caste, fighting in underground elements.

Etréstles awakening ...:

Etréstles ...: Which of all columns erected is able to open all columns built in the pavilion of these moles without form or color ... just vitalizing lung diaphragm Eólico my daydreams, is who I think would ...?

To all who are runaways and trapped underground Messolonghi, I bring you good tidings ... Auriga with its Herreros come from the region of the Dodecanese to loosen the bars you father

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi fifteen


Staktos lucid and my mother Vitabión well that in a thousand years, has been damaged her beautiful body. Since my birth in Ayia Lavra, I was being buried for the ninth time in the Ninth Fossilized Cemetery. Whose archpriest with holy oil trickled down my wall, pretending to be a dance of water generated at the bottom of the Ionian. Between the arches of the temple columns running down my mother Vitabión; outward sacravertebral bathe in the water of my past christenings. My past lives were providing mandated by the Auriga their previous lives. And your mother ... A day tried the weight of my recycle ... ?!

Beyond you., Comrades of wars, pilgrimages sacrosanct, lush gauzy baths civilization in the Olympic and equestrian fields.

To you. That you lie here, as is my death in my last life in the hands of a Spartan soldier. Pcs., Blood of my blood, I feel inside me speak your need ...

And in the postrería Drestnia, which by its sixth rising from here from Messolonghi, between bars sealed thy grave situation for the Hellenic indeterminar.

I had to drink from the Pinosa resin to speak here, with my bony hands to touch the others are like yours ...

... Drestnia, my rib still preserved, I will be reborn placating the domain of collective wishful thinking, which prevents your freedom.

My rib you return to your present life, whose cold, flower seeds esqueletizaron the perimeter of your life ...

16 E tr é stles


Etréstles was with them into the Koumeterium Messolonghi, to about 1800 meters zenith direction.

They were to be the Necromesolongui Council to define the minutes. -while music with winds adorned arrival-. Just at the moment, came the Auriga with its blacksmiths, they came to liberate Drestnia with its multiconciencia. What happiness to Etréstles! He ran through the underground halls, to the oldest Koumeterium, the first fossilized. Where thousands of years ago, with many now extinct species, Etréstles came to them resoundingly good news.

While the Council inveighed promulgating the divine sarmiento spray fields Dodecanese in producing seeds of Markos Botsaris.

Judge…: With my lameness, I have to advocate the reintegration of outstanding Markos Botsaris, that once we free them of the Turkish occupation!

Asurbanipal ...My Sirio reign, full of dynamism, placed on their doorposts the powerful image of South-west wind, in honor of his victorious from Kalidona.

Etréstles brought Drestnia just walking the Council and thousands of harmoniums undermined doubts Manor invoking the hero. They all stand, the Council at its octagonal table with his assistants left empty vine glasses to welcome, to the last surviving female first Koumeterium Messolonghi.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 17


Harmoniums, as Apollonian rubies widen the dimensions of the cavernales vaults. She sit and ends the music. Drestnia with some leaves on his shoulders, adorned the new escenáculo, which would sit by the new future.

Asurbanipal ...: To you gifts Oh, the universe, you are welcome to this Council, where one day they brought me to praise my contributions from the entrance of Humanity!

But the issue for today, will await the arrival of Markos Botsaris as you who have reached this border, thanks to the generous Auriga.

Charioteer…: ***** wax Orion; Eternal fuel, donated them strength to my steeds pairs, that were raised over distant lands, to reach my Herreros desoldering the bars of Drestnia.

Blacksmith…: Our eyes closed every hundred kilometers, but Eurydice with your calendar, made the aphelion arrimara us this feat.

Ecos ...: Dust ..., Mito ... Dream ... illusion ... have swirled galloping millennia, wearing gray Borrasca ...!

What dark words illuminate the hopes, just below, it is well known that there is much to do, because there is more activity on the surface ...!

Judge…: Etréstles, Drestnia ... past, present, or future will speak of you.

18 E tr é stles


You Drestnia ... !, how long dream ..., defied your gothic vision, not move my neck to your neighbors, loved ensepulcrados in the first Fossilized Koumeterium.

Vitabión ...: Messolonghi lives up to all cemeteries in the world, where they loved their near them. But they do not know life here is more dynamic than in the world of their own.

Menopausal women ...My husband cry on my slab, because his infidelity caused me a bad venereum, which today has removed me from his life. The cries and cries for me ****** decline, all for being with another woman condemned me.

one curtain rises and leaves Funebrio; concelebrating priest all recent deaths ...

Funebrio ...: Woman when you cry my black clothes, cry black tears ...!

Your husband remains static, no movement, despite many kilometers to their own devices. Forbidden habit becomes, how tempting. But contestataria Mother Nature pours us their punishment.

Staktos ...: Friends kisses you give yourself, Where have posted ideations ...?

O dais to scatter everywhere the osculaciones they meet other mouths.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 19


Etréstles ...: Everyone I ask do well to prepare your labors. Even so, his desire to hold my naughty pleas heart in this hour by the arrival of Drestnia.

The judge asks adjourn for the recess could then discuss strategies for future deaths.

Sepulcrero ...Lord Judge at the stepped eastern sector have buried an architect. We could ask your cooperation to Botsaris monument.

Judge…: All in good time. It will be done, does anyone want something narrow ...? -Drestnia raised his hand and asked ...:

Drestnia ...: With Etréstles in the last minutes of our lives, which extortioner once it is finished this monument, where our souls will be destined to remain here temporarily ... Messolonghi?

Judge…: General demented wars, take Etréstles the field of Lepanto, because there are stubborn souls who defy the vanquished souls ...

… and as for you, the benevolent Auriga take your soul colors of the sunset, to divide megatons of the Romantics, who along with Ghiberti, on some trunks of beautiful minerals, will anchor his best poems and hiperestésicas forward to outshine their suicides groups.

After the meeting, the attendees are removed, and Drestnia with Etréstles go to spring the celestial napa

twenty E tr é stles


with its golden glow waiting to sail to Tangier and Morocco. In their ships were concurrent, Etréstles woman carrying her ribcage navigation oriented towards the sound of the oars that were the femurs of a Diplodocus itself.

Drestni

Getting married on a beach, mountaintop, remote villa or rustic rural setting is a romantic ideal for many brides.

But what does that mean for the wedding dress?

Should you go formal or footloose? Will your gown fit in your suitcase?

A bride having a "destination wedding" should think about versatility when choosing a gown. She must be "concerned about being comfortable, more so than your typical bride. She has to contend with weather and terrain, making her gown choice critical to how at-ease she feels on her special day," says Lori Conley, senior buyer for David's Bridal.

Christine Pagulayan of Toronto and her fiancé, Ian McIntyre, jetted to Costa Rica in 2013 for a resort wedding.

"I had a (dress) style in mind: strapless, low back, white with ruching. Initially, I thought about going short, since we were going to get married on a beach, but I then realized that even if it may be heavy or sweaty, I wanted a real wedding dress. So we found one that had a gorgeous train, but it also had a bustle so I could dance," Pagulayan says.

Some dress trends for destination brides:

• LIGHT FABRICS AND SHORT HEMS: Many traveling brides favor lightweight, airy fabrics.

"Chiffon and organza are always favorites. Full trains can be cumbersome if you're navigating sand or grass," says Conley, of David's.

"A lot of brides opt for the ease of a sweep train," which just grazes the floor.

David's destination-friendly dresses include styles in full or tea-length tulle, soft lace or chiffon, Conley says. Fabrics that travel well for brides wanting a more structured gown include silk gazar, georgette and crepe, which are "lighter-weight versions of silk faille and Mikado," says Carrie Goldberg, associate fashion editor for Martha Stewart Weddings.

J. Crew's Karina short dress, for instance, has a flapper-esque fringe, and is covered in corded lace. • SEPARATES: "Tops and bottoms are not only easier to pack, they allow for mixing and matching fabric and fit to get a silhouette that feels unique to your personal style," says Goldberg.

Separates work for any destination, she says: "A full organza skirt may appeal to a bride getting married on the beach; pairing it with a delicate silk camisole suits the location. The same skirt would suit a mountaintop affair when paired with a fur bolero or a fine knit."

J.Crew's Sloane poly-cotton long skirt has a simple, draped profile; a silk cami top embellished with beads, crystals, sequins and paillettes in a floral motif creates a dressy look.

At David's Bridal, there's the crisp Mikado cropped top balanced by a flowing, organza ball-gown skirt, creating a modern silhouette.

• COLOR: Let the venue inform your choice of hue, Goldberg says.

"A sunset wedding in Napa pairs beautifully with a blush gown, while the colors of an Amalfi Coast wedding may inspire the bride to opt for something blue."

• VERSATILITY: For bridesmaids — or perhaps even the bride — White House Black Market has a clever option: a short or long pull-on gown with a customizable top. You can adjust the straps on the "Genius" dress to make a halter, one-shoulder or cap-sleeved version. Easy to pack, affordable and available in a range of colors, these might be a good option for a group of bridesmaids.

• FOOTWEAR: Flats or wedges are ideal for beach or garden: "The more surface area the sole of your shoes have, the easier it will be to walk," says Conley.

Keep in mind that satin or grosgrain might get stained by grass or sand.

Another option for beach brides is "foot jewelry," an accessory that does away with the need for an actual shoe.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses

Me, a teacher of poetry, the idea is insane.
Yet I’m here once a week at the nuthouse. Oops. Hospital.
A lunch conversation with a nurse.
“That old guy, Russell, he seems so gentle,” I say. “So normal.”
Russell writes about hummingbirds.
“It’s either here or prison,” the nurse says.
“Oh,” I say.
Actually I’m not allowed to ask about patients.

But the nurse, now she’s worked up.
“Russell had custody of his granddaughter,” the nurse says.
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“The mom died,” the nurse says, “the baby was six months.”
“Oh,” I say.
“To call him ‘*** offender’ sounds too clinical,” the nurse says.
I say nothing.
“He must’ve bought Vaseline by the bucket,” the nurse says.
“Um…” I say.
“He ****** that baby every day,” the nurse says.
“Three hundred and sixty-four days a year,” the nurse says.
“Christmas, she got a holiday,” the nurse says.
“Oh,” I say, and I push my plate away.

“Sorry,” the nurse says, “I ruined your appetite.”
“Not your fault,” I say.
“I hate hummingbirds,” the nurse says. “I hate poetry.”
I say nothing.
“Can a poem be ugly?” the nurse asks.
I reach for a fresh napkin, slide it across the tabletop.
“If a poem could ****,” the nurse says, “I’d write one.”
From my pocket, I hand her a pen.

Sabi nila,kapag nahanap mo na daw ang tunay na pag-ibig ay nahanap mo na rin ang iyong langit dito sa lupa. Kaya't naniniwala akong langit din ang maghahatid sa'yo patungo sa akin. Pero naiinip na akong maghintay at nanghihinayang sa bawat sandaling lumilipas , na hindi ko man lang magawang hawakan ang iyong mga kamay sa mga panahong kailangan mo ng karamay.Na hindi ko man lang magawang damayan ka kung dumadanas ka ng lumbay.Alam kong katulad ko,pakiramdam mo minsan ay binitawan ka na din ng mundo.Kaya't patawarin mo ako kung sa mga pagkakataong nararanasan mo yan ay wala ako d'yan para ikaw ay aking ma-salo. Kung totoong ang pag-ibig at ang langit ay may malalim na kaugnayan sa isa’t-isa,malakas ang kutob ko na tayo din ay iginuhit na katulad nila. Minsan na din akong nagtanong,saang sulok ng langit ka kaya naroroon? Malapit ka kaya sa araw? O marahil nasa tabi ka lang ng buwan,na sa tuwing sasapit ang dilim ako ay binabantayan.Kaya pala kahit saan ako magpunta ako'y lagi niyang sinusundan. Pero maaari din na ika'y kapiling ng mga bituin na kay daming nais mag angkin. Kay palad kong pagdating ng araw ikaw ay napa sa-akin. Kaya habang wala ka pa,ako muna ay magiging kaisa ng mga mabubuting kawal ng ating bayan. Makikidigma kung kinakailangan,ipaglalaban kung ano ang makat'wiran. Upang sa iyong pagdating ay malaya nating tatamasahin ang payapang buhay. Kaya habang wala ka pa ako'y taos puso kung manalangin sa ating may likha. Na paghariin niya nawa ang kabutihan sa aking puso bilang isang tao at higit sa lahat ay bilang kanyang anak , upang sa sandaling tayo'y pagtagpuin ako rin sa iyo ay magiging isang mabuting kabiyak. Hindi pa man tayo nagtatagpo,nais kung malaman mo na laman kang palagi ng aking panalangin. At habambuhay kong itatangi ang iyong pag-ibig na siyang dahilan kung bakit maka ilang ulit kong nanaising mabuhay. Nais kong ipagsigawan sa mundo na iniibig kitang wagas,ngunit mas mamatamisin kong hintayin ka at kapag naglapat na ang ating mga dibdib,ibubulong ko sa'yo na ikaw ang aking daigdig. Maghihintay lang ako,habang wala ka pa.




© 2018 Glen Castillo
All Rights Reserved

<p><p> Call me prevedibile.ma mi piace un matrimonio cortile .tutto grazie al padre della sposa .E quando il cortile è questo grande .è il mio modo preferito per iniziare la giornata .Susan Beard design catturato una giornata così bella .che passerò la mia giornata proprio qui nella gallery !<p><p> ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsal affresco 2StylesTraditional Elegance<p> dalla splendida sposa .Jen e Brian incontrati alla Georgetown University nell'autunno del 2004 ( Brian un sophomore .Jen un Freshman ) !Hanno iniziato ufficialmente incontri nel mese di aprile del 2005.in modo colpito nel segno otto anni prima del loro matrimonio l'8 giugno !Su  <a href="http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-corti-c-49"><b>abiti da sposa corti</b></a>  26 maggio.2013 Brian si mise su un ginocchio durante un viaggio in bicicletta sopra il Golden Gate Bridge di San Francisco .California!Hanno  <p><a href="http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=695" target="blank"><img width="240" height="320" src="http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/4416335353535395744.jpg"></a></p>  continuato il viaggio a celebrare vigneti di tutto Sonoma e Napa Valley.Jen è un acquirente a Bloomingdale e Brian è un Associate Investment Banker presso Credit Suisse .Attualmente vivono insieme nel West Village di New York City.<p> Jen non può immaginare un posto più meraviglioso per crescere rispetto al suo 100 anni vecchia casa in pietra ( sapere come Colmar) nella linea principale di Filadelfia .Il destino può avere  <a href="http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1"><b>abiti da sposa on line</b></a>  .Brian ' nonna vive a soli dieci minuti da Jen ' famiglia e quindi la zona è diventata una destinazione popolare per la coppia di trascorrere del tempo con la famiglia e prendersi una pausa dalla vita frenetica della città .Crescere con due sorelle .La casa di famiglia Donohoe era sempre vivace con le ragazze in giro la tenuta di 3 ettari che includono una piscina e un campo da tennis .Che si trattasse di una sfilata di moda .una festa in piscina .un gioco di dress up .tag o il tennis .negli ultimi tre decenni inondati questa casa con meravigliosi ricordi di un amore.famiglia felice e dell'infanzia .Jen e Brian si sono trovati la fortuna di avere l' opportunità di condividere non solo con i loro cari ad un bellissimo posto che è stato così speciale per entrambi .ma a fare la loro prima memoria.come marito e moglie in un luogo che incarna così chiaramente lo spiritodell'amore e della famiglia .Come le immagini mostrano chiaramente che era senza dubbio il giorno più bello sia Jen e la vita di Brian .<p> Il cortile è pieno di bellissimi giardini all'italiana ispirato un elegante tema festa in giardino .Immaginato come un affare giardino -chic romantico e lussureggiante .combinando elementi del giardino casuali ( ad esempio le tabelle fattoria di legno nella cena di tende ) con i dettagli formali.come vasi d'argento .tenting drappeggiato e lampadari appesi .La cravatta dress code facoltativo nero iniettato formalità al concetto di un matrimonio cortile.La serata è iniziata con un cocktail intorno alla piscina e giardini seguita da una cena seduti e balli sul campo da tennis tenda della famiglia <p> Fotografia : Susan Beard | dell'artista: . Blossom Productions | Wedding Planner : I DO Wedding Consulting | Floral Design : Table Art| Abito da sposa : Amsale | Inviti : Loveleigh Inviti | Catering : Feastivities | illuminazione : Eventions | banda : Starlight Orchestre | <b>abiti da sposa corti</b>  Hair \u0026 Make Up : Aleksandra Ambrozy | Tenda : EventQuipAmsale è un membro del nostro Look Book .Per ulteriori informazioni su come vengono scelti i membri .fare clic qui .Aleksandra Ambrozy Trucco e Capelli Artistry è un membro del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Aleksandra Ambrozy Trucco e ... VISTA</p>

So tired
Back to work and then there's this social event and that social event
and the last one is the best one and I'm still trying to get over not having
last years job that was taken from me and given to you and still
trying not to even think about this because this is a whole new year and

Driving past Napa Valley's Wineries
Hotels, Buses, wine
Everything wine and I don't know where I'm going
My GPS broke, and the directions are drive straight and you'll see it

Suburbia has turned into true wealth
I've gone back in time, wine Haciendas on hill tops
like feudal mansions, waiting for the peasants to do the actual
work of wine, the dirt and the sweat of wine as the owners
twiddle their thumbs and worry about the stock market and their wine

I arrive at my Castle.  For a few moments I will be allowed to taste
the lifestyle of the wine and pretend that I too belong in this castle
watching grapes ripen and waiting for the teaming hordes to do my work
and the mechanical wine processors sit idly waiting for the grapes and I feel a tinge of
sadness and fear for the grapes to be processed like in a slaughter house
until I realize they are only fruit, and not mammals

And on the hot deck overlooking the beautiful, silent valley with grapes ripening before
our eyes the only chair left is next to you

I sit down and look to my right and I see the woman who I feared would take my job and now did
and I wonder how it is that this has happened that I've driven for miles in the hot sun
through miles of grapevines only to be made to sit next to you who jealously drooled over
my job and could never say anything good about my work and then you won.

And we talk and I'm very clever and you don't like that because I'm supposed to be stupid
and it's supposed to be obvious why you got the job not me and not some seniority thing
and you say nothing nice, and it's only me keeping up a charade of conversation that
could turn ugly at the drop of a pin but doesn't due to my skill
and you then leave made uncomfortable by the evidence of my continued existence
and lack of dumbness

And it's only later that I realize in my imagination I wanted to hurl you from the deck
and into the wine press

My Heart Was Saying One Thing, My Mind Another ...

Some things you just know — like the feeling I get when looking at my children or the way I felt the first time I looked into the Grand Canyon. Some experiences are too strong for reason or words. There are some things, that even though they defy all conventional wisdom in your heart and your mind — you just know.

Never dying on a motorcycle is one of those things. I can’t explain it rationally, it’s just something that I’ve always known. It’s a feeling that has been deep inside of me since I first threw my right leg over the seat of that old powder blue moped. I knew I was never going to die as the result of a motorcycle crash. In many ways, I feel safest when I’m back on two-wheels and headed for points previously unknown.

Lately Though, I’ve Been Made To Feel Differently

I now had my daughter on the back of the bike with me. I’ve started to wonder whether my premonition covers just me, or does it also protect all who ride as co-pilot and passenger? Would the same Gods of 2-wheeled travel, who have watched over me for so long, also extend their protection to those I love and now share my adventures with?

Our flight from Philadelphia had arrived in Idaho Falls five days ago. We hurried to the dealership, picked up our beloved Yamaha Venture Royale, and then began our quest of another ten-day odyssey through the Rocky Mountain West. This was Melissa’s third tour with her dad, and we both shared the intense excitement of not knowing what the next week would hold. We had no specific destination or itinerary. This week would be more important than that. Just by casting our fate into the winds that blew across the eastern slopes of the great Rocky Mountains, we knew that all destinations would then be secure.

Then We Almost Hit Our First Deer

Three days ago, just South of Dupoyer Montana, two doe’s and a fawn appeared out of nowhere on the road directly in front of us. Melissa never saw them as I grabbed ******* the front brake. The front brake provides 80-90% of all stopping power on a motorcycle but also causes the greatest loss of control if you freeze up the front wheel. As the front wheel locked, the bike’s back tire swerved right and we moved violently into the left oncoming lane just narrowly missing the three deer.

They Never Moved

The old axiom that goes … Head right for the deer, because they won’t be there when you get there, wouldn’t have worked today. They just watched us go by as if it happened to them every day. Judging by the number of dead deer we had seen along highway #89 coming South, it probably did.

Strike One!

We pulled into Great Falls for the night and over dinner relived again how close we had actually come — so close to it all being over. Collisions with deer are tragic enough in a car or SUV, but on a motorcycle usually only one of the unfortunate participants gets up and walks away — and that’s almost always the deer. The rider is normally a statistic. We thanked the Gods of the highway for protecting us this day, and after a short walk around town we went back to the motel for a good (and thankful) night’s sleep.

The next morning was another one of those idyllic Rocky Mountain days. The skies were clear, there was no humidity, and the temperature was in the low 60’s with a horizon that stretched beyond forever. If we were ever to forget the reason why we do these trips just the memory of this morning would be enough to drive that amnesia away forever. We had breakfast at the 5th Street Diner, put our fleece vests on under our riding jackets, and headed South again.

We had a short ride to Bozeman today, and my daughter was especially excited. It was one of her all-time favorite western towns. It was western for sure, but also a college town. Being the home of Montana State University, and she being a college student herself, she felt particularly at home there. I loved it too.

We stopped mid-morning for coffee and took off our fleece vests. As I opened the travel trunk in the rear to put the vests away, I noticed that two screws had fallen out of the trunk lid. These were the screws that secured the top lid to the bottom or base of the trunk. I had to fix this pretty quickly, or we were liable to have the top blow off from the strong winds as we made our way down the road. We spent most of that afternoon at Ackley Lake, in the Lewis and Clark National Forest, before continuing South on Rt #89 towards Bozeman. I was still worried about the lid falling off and was using a big piece of duct tape as a temporary fix.

It was about 5:45 p.m. when we entered the small Montana town of White Sulphur Springs. They had a NAPA automotive store and by luck it was still open until six. I rushed inside and found the exact size screws that I needed. Melissa then watched me do my best ‘shade tree mechanic’ impersonation. I replaced the two missing screws while the bike was sitting in the parking lot to the left of the store. We then had fruit drinks, split a tuna salad sandwich from the café across the street, and were again on our way.

The sun was just starting to descend behind the mountains to our west, and we both agreed that this was truly the most beautiful time of day to ride. We were barely a mile out of town when I heard my daughter scream …

DAAAAAD !!!

At that moment, I felt the back of the bike move as if someone had their hand on just the rear tire and was shaking it back and forth. Then I saw it. An elk had just come out of the creek bed below, and to our right, and had misjudged how long it would take us to pass by. It darted across the highway a half second too soon brushing the back of the bike with its right shoulder and almost causing us to fall.

This time my daughter saw it coming before I did, and I’ll never forget the sound of her voice coming across the bike’s intercom at a decibel level I had never heard from her before. She is normally very calm and reserved.

We had actually made contact with the elk and stayed upright. If it had happened in front of the bike, we wouldn’t have had a chance. Thank God, with over forty years of experience and some luck, I didn’t lock up the front brake this time. That would have caused us to lose control of the front tire and as we had already lost control of the one in the back, it would have almost guaranteed a crash to our left.

Strike Two!

We rode slowly the rest of the way to Bozeman. We convinced each other that two near misses in less than a week would be enough for five more years of riding based on the odds. At the Best Western Motel in Bozeman, we unloaded the bike and went to my daughter’s favorite restaurant for Hummus. As the waitress took our order and then left, Melissa stared at me across the table with a very serious look in her eyes. “Dad, I don’t think we should ride anymore after about four o’clock in the afternoon. The animals all seem to drink twice a day, (the roads following the rivers and streams), and it’s early in the morning and later in the evening when we’re most at risk.” I said I agreed, and we made a pact to not leave before 9:30 in the morning and to be off the road by 4:00 in the afternoon.

This meant we wouldn’t be riding during our favorite part of the day which was dusk, but safety came first, and we would try as hard as we could to live within our new schedule. Our next stop tomorrow would be Gardiner Montana which was the small river town right at the North entrance (Mammoth Hot Springs) to Yellowstone National Park. There were colder temperatures, and possibly snow, in the forecast, so we put our fleece vests back on before leaving Bozeman. At 9:30 a.m. we were again headed South on Rt. #89 through Paradise Valley.

After a few stops to hike and sightsee, we arrived in Gardiner at 4:10, only a few minutes beyond our new maxim. It had already started to snow. It was early June, and as all regular visitors to Yellowstone know, it can snow in the park any of the 365 days of the year. We hoped it wouldn’t last. There was not much to do in Gardiner and as beautiful as it was here, we wanted to try and get to West Yellowstone if we were going to be stuck in the snow. We had dinner at the K-Bar Café and were in bed at the motel by the bridge before nine. All through the night, the snow continued to fall intermittently as the temperature dropped.

When we awoke the next morning, the snow had stopped but not before depositing a good two to three inches on the ground. The town plow had cleared the road, and the weather forecast for southern Montana said temperatures would reach into the high 40’s by mid-afternoon. The Venture was totally covered in snow and seemed to be protesting what I was about to ask it to do. I cleaned the snow off the bike and rode slowly across the street and filled it up with gas. I then came back to the motel, loaded our bags, and Melissa got on the bike behind me.

“Are we gonna be alright in the snow, Dad?” she asked. As I told her we’d be fine if it didn’t get any worse than it was right now, I had the ******* crossed on my left hand that was controlling the clutch.

We swung around the long loop through Gardiner, went through the Great Arch that Teddy Roosevelt built honoring our first National Park, and entered Yellowstone. As we approached the guard shack to buy our pass, the female park ranger said, “You’re going where? There’s four inches of snow at the top. We plowed it an hour ago, but you never know how it’s going to be until you get over it.”

‘OVER IT,’ is where we were headed, and then down toward the Madison River where we would turn right and continue on to West Yellowstone. Even though the Park is almost 100% within the state of Wyoming, two of its entrances (North and West) sit right inside the border of the great state of Montana.

“If you keep it slow and watch your brakes, you’ll probably be fine.” “Two Harley riders came through an hour ago, and I haven’t heard anything bad about them. They were headed straight to Fishing Bridge and then to the Lodge at Old Faithful.” “Well, If the Harleys can make it we certainly can” I told my daughter, as we paid the $20.00 fee and headed up the sloping, and partially snow-covered, mountain.

We made it over the top which was less than a ten-mile ride headed South through the park. This part of the trip didn’t require braking and would be easier than the descent on the backside of the mountain. As we started our way down, I noticed the road was starting to clear. Within ten minutes, the asphalt on this side of the mountain was totally dry and our confidence rose with each bend of the road. It was just then that my daughter said, “Dad, I need to stop, can you find me a restroom?” A restroom in Yellowstone, not the easiest thing to find. If I did find one, at best it would be a government issue outhouse, but I told her I’d try. “Please hurry, Dad,” Melissa said.

In another mile, there was a covered ‘lookout’ with three port-a-potties off to the right. I pulled over quickly, and my daughter headed to the closest one on the left. I then walked over to the observation stand and looked out to the East towards Cody. As most Yellowstone vistas, the beauty was beyond description, but something wasn’t quite right, and …

Something Felt Strange

I looked off in the distance at Mt. Washburn. The grand old mountain stood majestic at almost 10,000 feet, and with its snow-capped peak, it looked just like the picture postcards of itself that they sold in the lodge. I still felt strange.

Then I Understood Why

As I looked off to my right to walk back to the bike, I saw it.

Standing to the left of my motorcycle, and less than thirty yards in front of me, was the biggest silver and black coyote I had even seen. Many Park visitors mistake these larger coyotes for wolves, and this guy was looking straight at me with his head down. As I walked slowly back to the bike, he never took his eyes off me with only his head moving to follow my travel. I got to the bike and wondered if I should shout to my daughter. I knew if I did, it would probably scare the Coyote away, and this was shaping up to be another of those seminal Yellowstone moments. I wanted to see what would happen next.

I slowly opened the trunk lid on the back of the bike. We always carried two things in addition to water — and that was fig-newtons and beef jerky. The reasoning was, that no matter what happened, with those three staples we could make it through almost anything. I took a big piece of beef jerky out of the pouch and showed it to the hungry Coyote. His head immediately rose up and he pointed his nose in the air while taking in the aroma of something that he had probably never smelled before.

I don’t normally feed any of the animals in Yellowstone, but this encounter seemed different. This animal was trying to make contact and on instinct alone I reacted. As I walked slowly to the front of the bike, I ripped off a small piece of the beef jerky and threw it to the coyote. He immediately jumped backwards (coyotes are prone to jumping) while keeping his head and eyes focused on me. He then took two steps forward, sniffed the processed beef, picked it up in his jaws, and in one swallow it was gone. He now looked at me again.

This Time I Was Two-Steps Closer

He was now less than fifteen feet away with his head once again down. He was showing no signs of aggressive behavior, and as I still had my helmet and riding suit on, I felt like I was in no danger. I didn’t think a fifty-pound coyote could bite through Kevlar and fiberglass, and I was starting to feel a strange connection with this animal that was getting a little closer all the time. I threw him another piece.

Was It About The Beef Jerky, Or Was It Something More?

Again, he took two steps forward to retrieve the snack and then raised his eyes up to look at me. At this close range I started questioning myself. What if it is a Wolf I asked, and then once again I looked at his tail. Nope, it’s a Coyote, I convinced myself, as I held my ground and continued to extend my hand out in the direction of my new friend. This time he didn’t move. It was now my turn. I was down on both knees in the leftover snow from last night and started to inch my way forward by sliding one knee in his direction and then the other. He took a small step back.

I then started to talk to him in a low and hushed tone. He moved one step closer. The beef jerky at the end of my hand was now less than five feet from his mouth. We stayed in this position for the longest time until I heard a loud “DAD!!!” coming from the direction of the port-a-potties. My daughter was finished and saw me kneeling down in front of the ‘Wolf.’

When she screamed, the Coyote bounded (jumped) again and ran off in the opposite direction (East) from where I was kneeling. He ran about fifty yards and then turned around to take one more look at me. He then slowly entered the tree line that bordered the left side of the road up ahead.

“Dad, what were you doing?” my daughter asked. “Do you think you’re Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves?” I laughed and said no, “just trying to communicate with a new friend.” My daughter continued to shake her head in my direction as she put on her helmet. I started the bike, put it in gear, and we headed again South down the park mountain road.

We had gone less than a quarter of a mile when something darted right out in front of the bike. It was that same Coyote that I had tried to feed just minutes before. He was about twenty yards in front of me and thank God I didn’t have to do any fancy maneuvering to miss him. I didn’t even have to use the brakes.

Still, this was now three encounters in less than a week. Or was it three? I convinced myself that running over a Coyote wouldn’t have been fatal. Painful maybe, but we would have survived it.

Strike Two And A Half!

We couldn’t help but laugh as we wondered if the Coyote had done it on purpose. Was he trying to scare us for not leaving the rest of the beef jerky or just saying goodbye? We’d never know for sure, but I wanted to believe that the latter was true. I will always wonder about how close he may have come.

As we got to the bottom of the long mountain descent, the sign announcing the Madison River and the road to West Yellowstone came up on the right. We made the turn and then spent what seemed like forever marveling at the beauty of the Madison River. It looked like an easy ride into West Yellowstone until it started to snow again. We crested a large hill with only ten miles left to go. At the bottom of the hill was what looked like a lake covering the entire road. The bottom of the road where the hill ended was lower than the surrounding ground and was acting like a reservoir for the melting snow from the hills that surrounded it.

This Low Spot Was Right In The Middle Of The Road

We approached slowly and stopped to survey the approaching water. We needed to decide the right thing to do next. The yellow line that divided the road was barely visible through the water, and we both guessed that it couldn’t be more than twelve to fourteen inches deep. I decided guessing wasn’t good enough and put the kickstand down on the bike. Melissa held the clutch in to allow the motor to keep idling. I then walked into the water in my waterproof riding boots. The boots were over sixteen inches high. “Yep, no more than six or eight inches,” I yelled back to Melissa. “It just looks deeper. If we go slow, we’ll be fine to go through.”

I walked back, got on the bike, and retracted the kickstand and then put it in first gear. Just as I started to approach the pool, I noticed a huge shadow to my right. Two large Moose were standing just off the apron on the right side of the road. It looked like they either wanted to cross the flooded asphalt, or drink, as they stood less than twenty-five feet away from where we now were. Every time I moved closer to the water, they did the same thing. Three times we did this, and a Broadway choreographer couldn’t have scripted it better. The two Moose moved in concert with our timing getting closer to not only the water, but to us, each time we moved.

Moose, like Grizzly’s, have no real natural enemies except man, and unlike all other members of the deer family, they have a perpetually bad disposition. They seem to be permanently in a bad mood and are not to be trifled with or approached. Even the great Grizzly gives the Moose a wide berth. I stopped the bike again unsure of what to do next.

It Was A True Mexican Standoff In The Woods Of Wyoming

“Melissa then said, “Dad; Let’s try banging on the tank and blowing the horn like we do with Buffalo. Maybe then they’ll cross in front of us, and we can get outta here.” I thought it was a good idea and worth a try. I again put the kickstand down and told Melissa that if they charged us not to run but to get down low beneath the left side of the bike. That way, the Venture would hopefully take the brunt of their charge. I started banging on the tank, as I pushed the horn button with my other hand …

Nothing, Nada!

Both Moose just held their ground stoically looking at the water. It was a true ‘Mexican standoff,’ where we were Speedy Gonzalez faced off against the great Montezuma. No matter how much noise we made, the Moose never budged an inch. After fifteen minutes of this, we decided to go for it. I put the bike back into gear, and going faster than I normally would, I entered the reservoir on top of the still visible yellow line. With a rooster tail of water shooting out from behind the bike over twenty-feet long, we crossed the flooded road.

Once across, we went fifty yards past the water and then stopped to look back. Both Moose had turned around and were headed back into the woods from where they had come. They either had no more interest in traversing the water or had been playing with us making our crossing difficult, while at the same time memorable, and another great story to tell.

Strike Three!

We pulled into West Yellowstone, and the snow was coming down in blizzard like sheets. We spent the next two days touring the shops and museums and even visited the Grizzly Bear ‘Habitat,’ which neither of us will ever do again. Grizzly Bears belong in the wild and not in some enclosure to be gawked at by accidental tourists. We also talked about our past four days ‘communing’ with the animals. We both agreed that we had been lucky and that we would continue to live within our 9:30 to 4:00 schedule as we continued our trip.

I lay in bed that night both thankful and in wonder of all that had happened. I thought about the deer, elk, coyote, and moose that had crossed over into our world. As hair-raising as it had been at the time, I wouldn’t have a changed a thing. I also thought about my over forty years of motorcycle riding. It was just then that a familiar maxim was once again forefront in my mind — as well as my heart. I repeated the familiar words over to myself as I slowly drifted off to sleep …

“When I Die, It Will Never Be On A Motorcycle”

Before I start I’m going to stand before you bare and open like in front of a looking glass that’s what
Their called in James town up in gold country they have the old hotels that were there a
Hundred Years ago they just have seven to eight rooms no phones or televisions rustic and
Original that will play into this write but for me personally I come to my computer with burning
Tears flowing down my face with my heart broken this also will bleed into this write I’m
Celebrating people that we have lost and a country teetering on disaster in the case of the
People I can’t let go and as my country dies I die with it and lately I feel the sooner the better
This feeling is a new ripple in my life maybe it prophetic I had a dream that the first girl I loved
And lost died it troubled me a great deal in the dream there was a coffin and I saw her standing
There what was the worst I lost contact over the thirty years in California I found out where she
Was when later I checked her home town obituaries it wasn’t her the dream was about it was
Her mother she died of cancer on my birthday I sent Linda a book without saying who it was
From the book’s title is Oma it is about the life of a one God Pentecostal pioneer preacher from
Our faith it spells out the true salvation message and the hardships she endured to give it to the
Needy of her day I can do no more I gave her the greatest gift I could ever give this is my
Conviction and it stands true for me buffeted by doubts of others because if you truly say you
Love them it stands true for all time or you were insincere in the first place that can be a pitfall
Of youth I told about how I fell in love at six with Eileen you wouldn’t understand the depth of
Pain and the tears that came from my convulsing tiny body when through her window I heard
She was getting married years have come and gone in sizable number I still love her I wasn’t
Just saying something the small scars on my heart are practically invisible because my heart has
Gotten bigger and adult scars hide the smaller ones Linda, Judy from ***** wine country I left
Town with a dead soul and much pain I held up in a hotel in Monterey twenty five hundred
Miles from home let’s just say Napa wine means a lot more to me than most people it has a
Beautiful girl attached with it and lost because at that time I wouldn’t promise to stay in
California I have just got out of the service the timber land of home was calling and I had to
Answer she turned out to be the luckiest of all God gave me a promise the night after I slept in  
A Cow pasture with my duffel bag as a pillow and a number of cows at a short distance the next
Day at the camp meeting the main speaker told these words someone here has a drunkard for a
Father and a harlot for a mother but God is going to use you in a great way this was spoken
Again a month later at a youth camp I stood outside on the edge of the crowd the preacher
Said the same thing not about the parents but What God was going to do but he added this
Killer stipulation he said you can change the hands on the clock but you can’t change the time I
Entered into marriage with a southern girl from outside of Nashville I’m still waiting many
Snows of winter has come and gone they are less numerous than my wife’s tears but factor in
The pain and its even you see to reach others you must feel the blast of many contrary winds
Live a life where you can’t be and give what you promised I guess this belongs in a private
Journal not openly public but I want you to know what and how I write is genuine and the day is
Still coming that from great suffering I will be able to bless and give not hot air but real and true
Help that will heal your spirit

Thursday April 2


Morphing monsters - old poem for writing.com  Dark Dreamscape

Morphing Images from a Hellish Nightmare

Note: From a real nightmare End Note

I am in a room
Drinking at a party
And smoking ****
Watching people all around me

Change into hideous creatures
Monsters from the deepest depths of hell
Everyone in the room
Has been transformed except me

The Chief of them all
Wears a Trumpian mask

Complete with orange hair
Half human half pig

His deputy
Wears the face of Putin

But his body
Half human, half horse

The other creatures wear masks
Many of them wear
Green Pepe the alt-right
Symbolic frog masks

And have T-shirts
Bearing alt right slogans
And **** symbols

And as they prance about
They chant alt. Right slogans
And neo-**** chants
Jews will not Replace us

And the rest of these creatures
Are hideous ugly beasts
With only a vestige of humanity left

And these monsters are engaged
In all sorts of foul evil deeds

****** violence death
All around

And non-stop
violent drug-fueled ******
As these creatures

Half human half monsters
Half male, half female creatures

Snort coke, *******, speed
Drop acid, Smoke ****
drink ***** shots
Scotch, bourbon and beer

The Trumpian Pig leads the charge
Starts engaging in ****** with Putin
Who chases after people
Cutting off their heads with his sword

They turn on to their fellow creatures
****** and killing each other
and eating their fellow creatures
All night long

Then they attack me
Screaming
Jews will not replace us

And I wake up
Screaming

As the sun comes up
Just another nightmare
    







Kimchi Blues  Poetry Soup prompt April 2

based on poetry superhighway prompt for day 2

Kimchi
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


Kimchi

Various forms of contemporary kimchi
Course
Banchan
Place of origin
Korea
Associated national cuisine
North Korea
South Korea
Main ingredients
Various vegetables including cabbage and Korean radish
Variations
Baechu-kimchi, baek-kimchi, dongchimi, kkakdugi, nabak-kimchi, pa-kimchi, yeolmu-kimchi, gat-kimchi
Cookbook: Kimchi
  Media: Kimchi
Korean name
Hangul
??
Revised Romanization
kimchi
McCune–Reischauer
kimchi
IPA
[kim.t??i]
Kimch­i (/?k?mt?i?/; Korean: ??, romanized: gimchi, IPA: [kim.t??i]), a staple in Korean cuisine, is a famous[1]traditional side dish of salted and fermented vegetables, such as napa cabbage and Korean radish, made with a widely varying selection of seasonings including gochugaru (chili powder), spring onions, garlic, ginger, and jeotgal (salted seafood), etc.[2][3]
There are hundreds of varieties of kimchi made with different vegetables as the main ingredients.[4][5]Traditionally, kimchi was stored in-ground in large earthenware to prevent the kimchi from being frozen during the winter months. It was the primary way of storing vegetables throughout the seasons. In the summer the in-ground storage kept the kimchi cool enough to slow down the fermentation process.[3] In contemporary times, kimchi refrigerators are more commonly used to store kimchi.

Oh yeah
I got the kimchi blues
every day since I first ate it
back in the day

long before I went to Korea
ended up staying on in Korea
after I retired from decades
in the Foreign Service
and ten years studying and living
in Korea
before I joined the Foreign Service

When I first ate kimchi
I was hooked
sort of a spicier version
of German sauerkraut
which I loved on my top dog
from Berkeley high school days

then off to Korea
in the peace corps
where I ate kimchi
every day for every meal

and eventually I woke up
dreaming of kimchi and rice
instead of pancakes and eggs

then I knew
that I had finally adjusted
and was becoming half Korean

and now I am a hopeless kimchi addict
need to have my spicy kimchi
which is so good for you
perhaps even defeating the dreaded corona virus?
who knows but I will be eating Kimchi
until my day is done

sa umaga, sa akin ay anino ka lamang
na sa pagsapit ng kadiliman
ika'y mawawala
ngunit sa gabi, sa akin ika'y nagiging hangin
sisinbol ng malambing
at hahaplos sa aking balat

tunay nga na may mahika ang isang tulad mo
isang matipuno at matalinong nilalang
na kahit sa mga oras na walang pagkikita
ang iyong palad aking nararamdaman
sa aking balat na tila sa'yo'y isang libro
na iyong walang tigil na pagmasdan
at hindi titigilan ang paghanga

sadya nga napa-irog mo ako,
isang binata na iyo'y napasinto-sinto
na kahit wala ka sa tabi ko
napukaw mo ang damdamin ko.

Masaya ako nasa pagmulat ng aking mga mata ay mensahe mo agad ang aking makikita
Hindi namn nabago dahil simula umpisa ay binabati mo na ako ng "magandang umaga", " kumusta ang tulog mo"? "Kumain kana ba"?Hindi bat masarap sa feeling? Nasa bawat palitan ng ating mga mensahe ay kinakailangan ng paggalang animoy bumabalik sa nakaraan.
Parang Lola't lolo mo lang na nangangaral sayo tuwing ikay sasagot ng pabalang.
At kapag nawala ang "po" at "opo" sa mga pangungusap na ating binibitawan ay siguradong away na ang labanan, tampuhan, at suyuan.
Bakit hindi ka nag "oopo"? Bakit walang "po"?
Galit kaba? Ano bang ginawa ko sayo?
Mga palitan ng salita na hindi natin sigurado kung may patutunguhan paba.
Naalala ko pa nga nung gabing hindi ka nagrereply sa mga message ko. At mga ilang minuto, hindi ako nakuntento sa tagal ng reply mo. Napa-call na ako, baka bukod sa busy ka e baka may kausap ka ng iba. Para ba akong nahihibang parang sirang plakang hindi ko maintindihan, at hindi ako matatahimik hanggat diko alam ang dahilan ng ilang minutong iyong pananahan hanggang umabot ng ilang oras ay hindi parin nagnonotif...
Ang pangalan mo sa phone ko.
Hindi na ako nag-atubili hinawakan ko na ang aking telepono, tinawagan kita at naka-ilang miss call ako sayo pero tanging ring lang yung naririnig ko.
Hinayaan ko lang ang sarili ko sa panonood sa yt ng mga palabas na nakakatawa. Tulad na lang ng mga prank na walang kwenta. Yung tipong matatawa ka na lng sa kanila.
Matatawa ka na lng kasi kahit anong paglimot ang gawin mo ay maiisip mo parin kung bakit wala pa siyang reply sa mga text at calls mo. Sayang naman yung unli call and text na pinaload ko, kung hindi mo rin sasagutin mga tawag at text ko.
Hanggang sa umabot na ang umaga, heto ako't mulat parin ang mga mata.
Hindi ako dinalaw ng antok dahil mas nangingibabaw ang pag-aalala.
At ngayon ko lang narealize na alas otso palang pala kagabi e tulog kana.

hmph... where are the open mics?

This coffee-bean bag city abound

with eclectic fusions of wireless access

enter-the-net -abilities

Kenya to Columbia / slow, dark roasts...

and Napa Valley vineyards

intermingling

at Cream...

How oddly bright, surrounded by glass

windows--like discovery of x-ray vision,

through clear walls i see how packed

like an iMac convention it is

inside...

   Poetry readings: Yahoo local search directed us here,

barista-scented alcoholic webmasters

thin-legged tables laid out like a life-sized

chess board--us three white rooks performing

black bishop moves to the cashier;

curious like George as to where

in Carmen-cool-San Diego,

in this glowing rubix cubed place;

   where in the fluoresent skin of Comp-USA borne

peoples of the web, where

where oh where's the poetry?

Reading Vista-windows rather than obsolescent-absolutes

of books by Keats

or obsessive-compulsive Koontz...

   Though bright and machine-warm, Cream

felt metallic-shiny, slick as plastic; conversations

with an electric hiss

rather than a hum of heart-beats and laughter

where's the **** poetry??

   the readings?

a prolific geek or Hemingway refined older men

on a single microphone;

turn-table-tales in rhyme

on a platform made by the local grind

college theatre teckies (staple-gunned and glued)...

where are those poets?

   those spoken-word-wisdoms, writers

performing, even in their Goth-blacks, even in

their Seattle angst of cordoruoys or dock martins;

forget Starbucks, leave behind Jitterz,

the Expresso Roma is the poetry of coffee

no enterprise

can replicate

duplicate the unique...

   sadly i must concede, the spoken word

and poetic fluffers are a dying breed; as far as

i can web-surf, no place

houses them any longer, no more

do they sprinkle their pixie-dust of verse

or prose, mosaics,

fantastics of floral or funk

imagery and emotional

stark revelations of discovery...

   sadly--it is the day's turning of a page;

***** is the word,

adverb to lost horizons, i am

a dinosaur of the mess-no-beatnik-era,

"poet-a-sore-is-rest"

deep thoughts' ooze now the blood of

{fingers snapping} history

"yeah, man, cool...outta sight"

and i'm not yet extinct;

i am a teradactyl with so much sky

soon without a place to land, / below

crash into the matrix sea--Cream pixelates my woes...

communication has become a plastic factory

to Japan, and Europe, my inner "screeeeech!"

"where is the poetry?!"

Eternal knowing
Enter this holy sacred place an actual event in history the most important action to ever occur in human history this determines
destinies in the manger is the Christ child dwell think of the implications your journey can be in some cases the same as the wise
Men a long and arduous one nothing is more precious or crucial now look up from the past to the present but more importantly
The future this is a dark future for sure the area that I have to explore this story will set the tone I believe most knows this poem
A man without a country written by Edward Everett Hale (1822–1909 it takes you into the world of a young naval officer who is found
Guilty of high treason against the United States his unusual punishment was felt to be fitting although the toughest sentence ever
Passed on a prisoner if he could be that calloused and cold against such a nation who’s high ideals and love of freedom could be
Trampled under without care then his punishment would be for the rest of his life he would never set foot on this blessed shore again
The story details his first reaction of brashness but then as time passes he has a change of heart he falls in love with his native land
But his plight is to always be shifted to a ship that is setting sails to faraway lands his home only the hold of ships it tells in deep detail
The strain on the men that must continue this punishment and his own life as it ages the despair the reality of not belonging the
Aloneness that crushes him and grips your heart as the reader while this bears on your mind I will take you into mine this is what rips
My heart as this man I look at people I don’t just casually glance I study them at deep levels when I see them hug someone touching
A most human need to be loved and give love to be accepted then my burden beyond the manger the cross as I said before beyond the
Open grave that is the ultimate reason of his birth the word says who shall escape if they neglect such a great salvation as this just like
The young naval officer that betrayed his country here is the punishment more awful than even the flames of the lake of fire see as I see
These precious real people separated from Jesus the greatest love never as the song says sheltered in the arms of God never hear his
Voice his touch that’s true hell my friend our families will follow us in to this domain but it’s called outer darkness we will be all alone
Before we had distraction on earth quiet peace oh yes and we consume more alcohol at the time that is supposed to be set aside to
Honor his birth than at any other time of the year all will truly be burned as wood hay and stubble we have this great invitation to be
His home by becoming the temple that he will live in from a desolate waste land to a land where ever you go he is with you a king
Above all king’s resident within your body that has become his temple with all the gifts of the spirit love mercy peace and many more
That elevates you to the highest plane giving you opportunities the base life never can even hint at the only thing is it does benefit and
Feels God’s love though it is imperceptible this will end I hope we don’t lose all that is human and become like the enemy I met a
Demonic angel when I was in Napa California he was trying to act as a messenger from God words can’t explain the instant recognition
Of who was there though unseen it was repulsive my mind pictured something bubbling with every imaginable disease how appropriate
Since hell is where all sicknesses comes from and instantly I understood the ease of this and his kind how they perpetrated the holocaust the word
Says my sheep will know my voice I knew who his master was if we don’t make it this going to be our lot to exist in and with this filth
That filth will pain us the most knowing we were invited to walk in holiness be loved given a city a universe at our feet all is asked is do
the right thing He will give you power for each step.

Purple tips softly graze the tops of the golden fields.
Vines line the wire fences
Grapes as supple as your lips.
Motors and metal  wind down the valley floors
Hills between Sonoma and napa shimmer with darkness.
The trees line the tips of each hill creating shadows following the ridges.

Twangy sounds of banjos strum in the background
Familiar laughter. Common conversation.
Passing the Fremont diner, Steinbecks route is traveled again

These days are for the daisies, accented with juniper and babies breath
A gazebo beneath a tree like shade on a cloudy afternoon

With our glasses more vertical than not; I drink you in and swear away the day

She smiles, because I stare off for long periods of time
Reasoning, that I don't want her to catch me gazing at what I have no right to love

A gardener's guilt
Plucking the ripe and ready
It's the time of season for cessation
The paradoxical harvest
An event of sustenance and death

A consumer has no sensation other than taste
A carnivore only taste one flavor

Your flesh on the vine
A rare and coveted commodity
Past vintages become quartets of meaningless digits, like discarded combinations on a constantly changing tumbler

The fortuitous ones will eventually get their chance, but only after the
horticulturist has gotten his fill

For I have forced breath into you
Developing your unique character
With subtle augmentations to your composition; and experience above all else

Only the most bitterly tortured fruit becomes wine of notoriety
A sadistic vintner periodically sampling the evolution of his wares

Very often the inflictions are bored by both master and slave

I feel it in you
It's the only time I do
Feel
Misery is contingent upon company

A fool's philosopher
With flawless adages and quips

He is no different

Eventually we all will be met with the contradictions of our exasperated convolutions

Then where will you be?

Why, you have been made golden!
A hopewell beacon amongst the treacherous and ******
You are now nebulous and immaculate
Like the figure encased with in the marble

Does the sculpture recall the stripping sensation induced by the artisanal hands of the craftsman?

Or is it's ears filled with the clamoring?

Ingrates and dolts who only appreciate the product rather than the steadfast passions of it's means

Amongst the gawking gazers I am indistinguishable; as you are now to me

Hioheprenazine dreams
In sight of crispy creams
Computerized cognitive testing
I found her body arresting

The women wanted Jean Beliveau to buy them
Firm white peaches - so he fried them
Yonder girl bit in with a left arm left useless
All taxation claims hence were baseless

I recall pineapple scented gin was popular
Like the movies of Francis Ford Coppola
Raining over south Napa Valley
Into the arms of Kirstie Alley.

First, Tom Cochran, and next, Rascal Flatts,
sang that
     Life is a Highway
and that's partially true if
you're willing to consider that
     coasting is not an option
that you rarely have the opportunity
to drive hundreds of miles without
rubberneckers or blue Q-Tips driving
     forty in a sixty-five
to drive from Napa to San Diego without
stopping for mixed nuts and a frozen coffee
     and Smartfood
to drive with movie-like abandon without
the Thelma & Louise slo-mo sending you
     careening toward the crevasse
Life is a highway riddled, web-like, with
unexpected off-ramps and
unforeseen on-ramps and
inconvenient detours that take you places
     you never dreamed you'd go
          you never thought you'd end up
but there are
     rest stops and
     diners and
     fruit stands offering organic sunshine
and there are
     flat tires and
     empty tanks and
     road crews repaving your path in 104 degree heat
and there are
     national parks and
     natural wonders and
     the world's largest frying pan
      the world's largest ball of twine
       the world's crookedest road
        the world's newest you
Your life is a highway that is made of
     choices
which lead you on your own
Choose-Your-Own-Adventure
with epic battles for good and evil and
pots of gold at the end of sprinkler-rainbows and
endless hints that
     YOU MAY ALREADY BE A WINNER!!!
Your life is a highway and
     if you miss your off-ramp
accept your new path
           . . . because there's no going back and
     if you miss your on-ramp
enjoy the scenery and the cows and the Texas Stop-Signs
           . . . because you never know when you'll
see them again
Your life is a highway and
     this is your off-ramp, so
take it with
          your eyes open to wonder
          your heart open to magic
          your life open to change
               because that is you evolving
Honor the view in your rearview mirror as you
keep your eyes on the horizon and
     with joy
      with fear
       with electric anticipation
Take your exit!

I'm off to the Bay area tomorrow*

Throw me toward the setting sun--
to the West, when my work is done.
Land me at the golden door
of California’s northern shore.
Fiery orange steel-gird gate
tempts those weary of their fate.
Defy the plunge that ends it all,
and heed the sunshine’s cheery call.
Traverse the gate, into the wild,
where restless souls may rest awhile,
beyond the towns, toward the coast,
where whales return and hawks will roost.
The golden hills of Sonoma
will calm the pains of any trauma.
The wines and vines of the Napa valley
will help to pass the time happily.
And as you cross the Golden Gate
the Pacific blue will calmly wait.
Glance to the east and you will see
the placid Bay by the white city.
The sky is bigger here; it spans
the hills, the bridge, the bay and ocean.
Its azure grandeur soon dispels
any suicidal notion.

Kunting pagdilat ng kanyang mga mata na di-gaano masingkit
ay ginagahis ang hita't bisig - yumuyukod
Pagsisilbihan ang prinsesa
Tapat na kawal na di sadyang napa-ibig na

Sa pook na madalang dalawin ng banaag ay nanimpuho
Malago ang mga paragis
Nang mga ulap ay bumababa na parang sumasimpatiya
Nahahagkan ang mukha

Kulang sa init at lamig
Walang lasa ang inihaing pag-ibig
na di tumagal sa panlasa
Paano lubusan na ipangangahulugan
kung di nakaranas ng karinyo ng dalaga

Nangatuyo na ang mga uhay sa tumana
habang sinusulyapan ang kasaysayan
Kahit lipos ng balbas ay ngingiti pa

Kahit ilang ulit pa ilalarawan ang anyo na singganda ng mga likas na yaman
Sa hubog na baywang
balingkinitang katawan ay di magsasawa
Nagsusumamo ang puso sa kalangitan

My love for you is a paper lantern lit in the sky
The northern lights in Iceland
Big Sur drives along the coast
Light house journeys
The hills behind my house towering my childhood
Walks around my neighborhood
The passenger seat in my car
Oregon and roadtrips
The grey stripped sweater that I sleep with every night
The plants that I desperately try to keep alive
Late nights on my red couch kissing each other, trying to be closer and closer
My 21st birthday in Napa when I imagined what living with you would be like as we sat on the couch in the hotel room watching dumb tv shows
Carriage Hills
Music that only you could ever relate to you
Words that only you would say
Lists that we created together
Random places where we've peed or kissed
Jumping into a body of water with you in the middle of the night
My love for you exists when i close my eyes because when i close my eyes and think of my happiest moments i see you