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AUGUST Sep 2018
Sa pagibig....

Pwede kang magdala, o ikaw ang dadalhin
Pwedeng kang paasa, o ikaw ang paasahin
Pwede kang manggamit, o ikaw ang gagamitin
Pwede kang mabigo, bago mo sya bigoin


Bago magmahal, dapat bang handa ka?
Na Bago ka masaktan, kailangan ng anestesia, ano para manhid muna?
At dapat bang may pamunas? Bago ka lumuha?
Ahh, Bago pala ang lahat, ano ba magiging luma?

At Ganon ba ngayon pagnagmahal?
Para manalo ang taya, dapat **** isugal!
Pano kung lahat mo na ginawa? Kulang parin
Di ba masakit?
Kung Alam na nating masikip sa damdamin, pinipilit pang pagkasyahin

Lahat naman talaga pwede diba?
Tulad ng sinabi ko sa unang stanza

Pwede kayong dalaway magkatuloyan
Pwede ding tuluyan kang iwanan
Pwede ka nyang maalala, pwede ding kalimutan
Pwede ka rin nyang paalalahanan na wag mo na syang ligawan
Pero laging pakatatandaan....
Lahat ay nagtatagumpay lang kung naiiwasan ang kabiguan

Pero ako, di parin ako matatakot magmahal
Kasi alam kong darating ang araw di magtatagal
Na ang natagpuan ko man di sakin itinadhana,
May itinadhana para sakin na di ko pa natatagpuan
Dun ako naniniwala,


Ang puso ko di parin nakasara
hinihintay lang kita aking sinta
Hanggan sa panahon na tayoy magkita
Lahat ng pagtingin ko sayo na

Ngunit ngayon, sa paglipas ng panahon
Ang anyo ng pagibig ay nagbago, Lasa nagkaroon
Noong nanliligaw sobrang sweet,Naging bitter ng nabasted
Meron pa ngang iba, iba iba ang tinitikman ng di mo nababatid

Parang sa kape din, noon stick to one lang ang timplahan
Ngayon naimbento na ang 3 in 1

Parang tema ng pelikula din, noon may happy ending
Ngayon dapat happy lang walang ending
Noon ang poreber pinaniniwalaan
Ngayon ang poreber, walang ganyan
Noon may pagibig na wagas
Ngayon ang pagibig nagwawakas

Kaya naaalala kita sa Noon at ngayon
Kasi,,,,
Noon, saksi ang langit,nagsumpaan tayo
Ngayon, dahil sa galit, sinusumpa mo na ako
Noon, ang nadarama natin masaya lang
Ngayon, ang nararamdaman natin masasayang lang
Noon, hawak hawak pa kita,Ngayon, bakit bumitaw ka na
Noon, andito ka pa, Ngayon, bakit anjan ka na

Di ko mawari ang pagibig kung itoy biyaya bakit masakit
kung gaano katamis noon, ngayon walang kasing pait
kung gano kainit noon, ngayon napakalamig
Kung gano ka kinikilig noon ,ngayon naging manhid

Kung gano tayo kalapit noon, malayong agwat ngayon
Kung gano tayo nagaalala noon, biglang nagkalimutan ngayon
Kung gano tayo kasaya noon, walang kasing lungkot ngayon
Pangako **** di ka magbabago noon, ngunit nagiba ka na pala ngayon

Kung Ano man ang meron noon, lahat yun nawala ngayon
Jame Aug 2016
Paano ko ba sisimulan ang sulat na ito na iginagawa ko na naman para sa’yo?
Marami na akong naipon na mga sulat, sulat na punong-puno ng mga walang kwentang kasaysayan at letra na hindi ‘ko maigunita sa iyo
Bakit? Ewan ko, hindi ko alam, putangina may pakialam ka ba?
Hindi ko alam kung ibibigay ko sa’yo ang mga sulat na hindi ko natuluyang ibigay sa’yo dahil Una, hindi ko alam kung may pakialam ka pa sa mga salita ko
Ang aking mga salita na punong-puno ng galit, ng damdamin at pagmamahal
Kasi Pangalawa, noon, kahit walang kwenta ang aking mga sinasabi, ito’y tuluyan **** binibigyan ng halaga
Noon, kahit ako’y galit sa iyo at ika’y galit sa akin, nauubos ang iyong salita at hininga sa mga bagay na gusto kong marinig para lang tayo’y magkaayos
Noon, nakuntento tayo sa isa’t-isa kahit tayo’y naliligaw at nabubulag pa sa mundong ito na punong-puno ng kasinungalingan
Noon, ginagawa mo ang lahat para lang tayo ay magkita
Noon, pinupuno ko ang iyong mga araw nang ligaya at mga ngiting hanggang tenga
Noon, hinahayaan mo lang tayo’y maging masaya
Noon, ako’y sa iyo at ika’y akin
Noon, ika’y andito at wala doon
Noon, ako’y mahal mo at ika’y mahal ko
Naghahanap ng mga dahilan kung saan ako nagkulang, o kung saan ako nagkamali
Kung ito ba’y dahil sa aking pananamit o sa aking pananalita
Kung ito ba’y dahil hindi ako kagaya niya o sadyang nawala na lang talaga ang iyong mga nararamdaman bigla
Kaya inuulit ko, saan ako nagkulang? Saan ako nagkamali?
Nagkulang ba ako sa higpit nang yakap at haplos?
Nagkulang ba ang aking mga boses sa pagsigaw sa mundo na mahal kita?
Nagkulang ba ako sa pagsuyo at sa aking pagamin ng mga kasalanan?
Nagkulang ba ako sa pagbuhos ng aking mga damdamin?
Nagkulang ba ako sa paglaban?
Nagkulang ba ako sa bilang ng araw na mawawala ka na?
Nagkulang ba ako sa halik?
Dahil sinta, kung alam ko lang ng mas maaga pa na ika’y hindi magtatagal, sana’y tinagalan ko ang aking mga halik at inagahan ang aking pagbitaw
Pero hindi,
Kaya ang nagbunga ngayo’y isang babae na katulad ko na
Ngayo’y nasasaktan at nalulunod sa sariling mga luha
Natatapilok sa sariling mga paa, dahil sa sariling katangahan
Ngayon, isang tanga na natalo at nakanganga
Ngayon, umaasa na lang ako sa isang idlap ng iyong mga mata
Ngayon, naghihintay na lang ako sa iyong pagpansin o pagtawag sa aking pangalan
Ngayon, nagbabakasakaling may halaga pa rin ako sa’yo
Ngayon, umaasang iniisip mo pa rin ako
Ngayon, nagbabakasakali na masaya ka na.
Masaya ka na sa kanya.
Masaya ka na sa piling ng iba.
Mas masaya ka na kesa aking nagawa.
Ngayon, nangangarap na lang na maging masaya
Ngayon, sinusubukang kalimutan ka
Pangatlo, dahil ngayon,
Mahal pa rin kita,
at wala ka na.
#tagalog #past #noon #ngayon #pagmamahal #love #filipinopoem
Random Guy Oct 2019
Ang kwento natin ay binuo sa gitna ng maling sitwasyon at maling pagkakataon.

High school.

Magkaibigan tayo noon.
Nagsasabihan ng problema, umiiyak sa isa't isa.
Kabisado mo ako, at kabisado na rin kita.
Tantya ko ang birong magpapatawa sayo at tantya ko rin naman ang tamang kiliti upang mawala ang galit mo.

Nakahanap tayo sa isa't isa ng kanlungan at hingahan sa nakakasulasok na mundo.

Lumapit at patuloy pang napalapit ang loob ko sa'yo, at ikaw sa akin. Hindi ko na rin namalayan na mahal na pala kita. Taguan ng nararamdaman ang nilaro natin ng ilang buwan. Totoo, laking gulat ko rin sa sarili ko kung paano ako nahulog sa'yo. Dahil ang katulad mo ay isang dyosa na hindi ko dapat lapitan, hagkan, o kahit hawakan man lang. Hanggang ang simpleng tingin ay naging mga titig, mga haplos lang dapat sa kamay ay naging mga kapit, at magkatabi lamang ngunit iba ang dikit.

Napuno ang puso ko ng pagmamahal at umabot na ito sa pagsabog. Naglahad ng nararamdaman, nagbabakasakaling pareho ang 'yong nadarama.

Pero mas laking gulat ko nang sabihin **** mahal mo rin ako. At isa 'yon sa pinaka masayang araw ng buhay ko.

Simula noon ay araw araw nang hawak ang iyong kamay, inaamoy ang iyong buhok, nagpapalitan ng mga mensahe, kinakantahan; ginagawa ang lahat upang mapakita lang sayo.. na mahal kita. Pero higit sa mga pinakita natin sa isa't isa ay mas tumimbang ang mga hindi natin pinakita ngunit pinadama.

Hawak ko ang buwan at ang mga bituin kapag kasama kita ngunit bakit ba kapag tayo'y masaya ay talagang lungkot ang susunod.

Nalaman ng mga magulang mo kung ano ang meron tayo. Hindi ko noon inasahan na ang mga susunod na mga linggo at buwan ay ang pinaka madilim na parte ng buhay ko. Dahil ang kwento natin ay binuo sa gitna ng maling sitwasyon at maling pagkakataon.

Papasok ka sa eskwela ng mapula ang mata at may pasa sa braso. Ngunit ang mas pumapatay sa akin ay ang ngiti sa labi mo. Mga ngiting hindi ko masabing peke dahil totoo. Dahil ba masaya kang makita ako kahit na ang sakit na nararamdaman mo ay dahil sa pagmamahal ko? Hindi nanlamig ang pagmamahal natin dahil sa kung ano mang ginawa natin sa loob ng relasyon. Kundi ang lamig ng pataw ng galit ng mas nakatatanda sa atin. At ang mas masakit ay hindi pa natin kayang lumaban.

Ang hindi mo alam ay walang lumipas na araw na hindi rin ako umiyak sa harap ng ating mga kaibigan, sa harap ng salamin, sa harap ng isang ****, sa harap ng mga matang nangungusap at ang sabi ay...

"may isang pagmamahalan na naman ang namatay."

Pinatay sa gitna ng saya, pinatay sa gitna ng ligaya, pinatay sa gitna ng magandang paglago.

Pinatay tayo ng tadhana. Pinatay tayo ng mga taong walang tiwala. Pinatay tayo ng mga taong ang  tingin sa atin ay mga isip-bata. Oo, tayo'y mga bata pa noon ngunit alam ko, alam ko na ang pag-ibig na 'yon ay totoo.

Nagsimula ka ng hindi pumasok sa eskwela. At kung ilang oras kitang hindi nakita sa iyong upuan ay ganon ding haba ng oras ng aking pagiyak sa likod ng silid. Sinisisi ang sarili sa kung bakit ganito at bakit ganyan. Bakit ganito ang tadhana? Bakit ganyan ang pag-ibig? At makikita nila sa mga luha ko na lumuluha na rin ito dahil sa patuloy na pagpatak, bagsak sa kahoy na upuan. At mas lalong bumabagsak ang luha ko dahil hindi ko alam kung anong nangyayari sayo. Sinasaktan ka ba? Umiiyak ka rin ba? Mahal mo pa ba ako? Kung pwede lang hugasan ng luha ang mga tanong ay kakayanin, dahil sa dami ay kayang anurin ang mga ito.

Ilang linggo pa ay hindi na tayo nakapag usap, pumapasok ka ngunit ang kaya lang nating gawin ay maghawak ng kamay. Dahil kalakip ng mga salita ay patak ng luha. Kaya tinakpan natin lahat ng ito ng hawak sa kamay, patong ng ulo sa balikat, yakap. At hindi ko inasahan na huli na pala 'yon. Dahil tapos na ang taong 2011-2012 ng eskwela. At hindi na kita nakita; ni anino, ni bagong larawan mo, sa loob ng maraming taon.

Ang meron lang ako ay ang manila paper na binigay mo sa kaibigan natin para ibigay sa akin. Na nagpaisip sa akin na sana, sana man lang ay nakita kita bago mo inabot ang pinaka mahabang mensahe na nabasa ko, mula sa pagiibigang pinilit na pinapatay.

Pagkatapos ng mga tagpong iyon, nalaman kong lilipat ka na ng eskwela sa susunod na taon. At parang 'yon na ang nagpa manhid sa pusong meron ako noon. O kung meron pa ba ako non noon. Dahil sa ilang linggo at buwan ng pinaka madilim na parte ng buhay ko ay unti-unti na pala itong nabasag, nawala, at nadurog.

Ilang taon rin bago ito nabuo o nabuo nga ba talaga ito. Ilang taon din akong nagmahal ng walang puso, dahil utak ang ginamit ko. Doon ko nasabi na ang pagmamahal ko sayo ay ang unang pagmamahal ko sa una kong puso.

Ilang taon akong nagpagaling, nakahanap ng kanlungan sa iba, kasayahan, kakumpletuhan, kabuuan.

Sa likod ng aking isip ang tanong na, "Nasaan na kaya s'ya?"

Hindi naaalis sa mga inuman ng barkada ang mga tanong na, "Saan na s'ya? Nakita mo na ba 'yon ulit?" Alam kong ramdam din nila, na kahit ano ang isagot ko ay may marka 'yon sa puso ko.

"Nakita ko s'ya sa Fatima ah."

"Nakakasalubong ko 'yon ah."

At kahit ilan pang pahapyaw ng mga tropa ang magpaalala ng ikaw ay may sakit pa rin. Kahit hindi ko ipakita, ramdam.

Walong taon.

Walong taon ang lumipas ng muli tayong magusap.
Kamusta?
Maayos naman,
Ikaw?
Okay lang din.

At para bang binalot muli ang puso ko ng muling pagkawasak mula noong umpisa.

At tila ba hindi pa pala natapos ang istorya natin sa nakalipas na walong taon, hindi pa pala namatay ang 2012 na bersyon ng mga sarili natin.

Nagusap tayo. Pero 'yon pala ang mali natin. Na kaya pala hindi na tayo nagusap hanggang sa mga huling sandali ng pagkikita natin ay alam nating ang mga salita ay katumbas ng luha, at ang mga salita ay katumbas ng sakit, at ang mga salita ay katumbas ng muling pagwawakas.

Apat na libo tatlong daan at walumput tatlong milya ang layo natin sa isa't isa. Muli, ang parte ng kwentong ito ay nabuo na naman sa gitna ng maling sitwasyon at maling pagkakataon.

At ang pinaka masakit sa lahat at ang punit sa kwento nating dalawa ay meron na akong iba. Dahil alam kong hindi kita nahintay, at sana malaman **** hindi ka rin naman nagparamdam. Ang kwento nating dalawa ay masyadong naging komplikado dahil sa iba't ibang kamalian ng sitwasyon at pagkakataon.

At alam kong sa pagkakataon na ito ay hindi na dapat natin ito sisihin, dahil ang kamalian ay nasa atin nang dalawa. Kung paanong naging sobrang huli na pala, o sobrang aga pa pala.

Ang kwento nating dalawa ay maaaring dito na matatapos ngunit ayoko naman ding magsalita ng tapos, kagaya ng nangyari matapos ang walong taon, biglang nabuksan ang kwento. At hindi ko alam kung ilang taon ulit, o talagang tapos na.

Pero kagaya nga ng sabi mo, ito ang ang paborito **** kwento sa lahat, at oo, ako rin. Ang kwentong ito ay magsasalin salin pa sa inuman, sa kwentuhan, sa simpleng halinghingan, kwentong bayan; na may isang lalaki at babae na nagmahalan kahit pa pinilit itong patayin at makipag patayan. Isang kwentong puno ng kawasakan, at patuloy na pinaglaruan ng tadhana. Tapos na nga ba ang pahina? Muli, kagaya ng nakalipas na walong taon, ang sagot ay oo. Ngunit ang kwento ay buhay pa, at patuloy na mabubuhay pa sa puso ko.
giggletoes
NOON
A whole day lives in a room
That accommodates the noon,
Which is just before the afternoon
And when no one sees the moon.

No one regards the noon,
But yet regard afternoon
Which comes after the visitation of the noon.

By heart dances to the noon tune,
When I'm said to be immune
And is unheard of having danger loom,
While it stays in its room.

Approaching comes the noon with fumes,
Even without perfumes,
Giving a beautiful tune
Than that of a sand dune.

A minute lasts the noon,
When silence may last in a room,
So does the noon leave boom,
Thereby leaving the afternoon
To rule the rest of the day,
Before the approach of the moon.

But look...
Approaching comes the noon.
As the day takes form
And the night comes to an end
Then I’ve already made the first mistake
And I know it’s still a brand new day
What can I do to be set free
That I may follow You

I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night

What can I say to excuse myself
There is so much I know
I cannot explain why I serve You in pain
When You have made the way
Still I sit here and burn in my desires and lusts
Lord Jesus have Your way

I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night

Now I pray for Your strength today
Hold my hand and lead the way
Help me to see me the way You see
And make me follow You
Jesus I surrender all
To You my King of Kings

I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
I need my Saviour by my side
Morning, noon, and night
“Tabing Dagat”

Naalala mo pa ba? Ang huling sandali na kasama kita?
Nong panahong sinabi **** susuko ka na
Nong panahong ako ay binitawan mo na
At ika’y umalis at iniwan ako sa tabing dagat mag isa

Saksi ang mga hampas ng alon noon sa mga pangako mo
Pangako na noo’y pinanghawakan ko at ngayon ito’y nag laho
Pangako mo na parang kastillo ng buhangin na iyong binoo
At sa isang iglap lang ito’y hinampas ng alon hanggang sa ito’y gumoho

Inukit mo pa noon ang pagalan naten sa basang buhangin
At sinabayan mopa sa pag kanta na puno ng mga dalangin
Dama yong pagmamahal noon at sa init ng mga yakap mo
Pero dama ko rin yong sakit nong araw na ako’y iniwan mo

Hawakan mo mga kamay ko at walang isa sa atin ang bibitaw
Ngunit nong pag bitaw mo mundo ko’y tuloyan naring nagunaw
Saan na ba yong mga pangako mo noon na pinaniniwalaan ko
Mga pangako na ngayo’y diko alam kung yon ba ay totoo

Nilakbay ko ule ang dagat dahil baka sakaling nan’doon ka
Kaso ultimo animo mo’y di ko na masilayan at di ko Makita
Nag laho ka na nga gaya nong mga pangako mo noon
Babalikan pa ba ako kahit alam kung may mahal ka na ngayon?

Kay sakit mahal na pag-ibig naten noon ay  inanod narin ng alon
Tanging alaala naten nong kahapon ay siyang lage kung baon
Kung sakali mang babalik ka pa alam mo na kung saan ako makikita
Sa tabi ng dagat kung saan mo rin ako iniwan at binitawan  sinta
#heartbreak #love #broken
Timothy Oct 2012
Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury*
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Of which vertú engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye,
So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

Bifil that in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,
Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,
At nyght were come into that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye
Of sondry folk, by áventure y-falle
In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.
The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
And wel we weren esed atte beste.
And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem everychon,
That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
And made forward erly for to ryse,
To take oure wey, ther as I yow devyse.

But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space,
Er that I ferther in this tale pace,
Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun
To telle yow al the condicioun
Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,
And whiche they weren and of what degree,
And eek in what array that they were inne;
And at a Knyght than wol I first bigynne.

A Knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the tyme that he first bigan
To riden out, he loved chivalrie,
Trouthe and honóur, fredom and curteisie.
Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,
And thereto hadde he riden, no man ferre,
As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse,
And evere honóured for his worthynesse.
At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne;
Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne
Aboven alle nacions in Pruce.
In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce,—
No cristen man so ofte of his degree.
In Gernade at the seege eek hadde he be
Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye.
At Lyeys was he, and at Satalye,
Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See
At many a noble armee hadde he be.

At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,
And foughten for oure feith at Tramyssene
In lyste thries, and ay slayn his foo.
This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also
Somtyme with the lord of Palatye
Agayn another hethen in Turkye;
And evermoore he hadde a sovereyn prys.
And though that he were worthy, he was wys,
And of his port as meeke as is a mayde.
He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde,
In al his lyf, unto no maner wight.
He was a verray, parfit, gentil knyght.

But for to tellen yow of his array,
His hors weren goode, but he was nat gay;
Of fustian he wered a gypon
Al bismótered with his habergeon;
For he was late y-come from his viage,
And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.

With hym ther was his sone, a yong Squiér,
A lovyere and a ***** bacheler,
With lokkes crulle as they were leyd in presse.
Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.
Of his statúre he was of evene lengthe,
And wonderly delyvere and of greet strengthe.
And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachie
In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Pycardie,
And born hym weel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his lady grace.
Embrouded was he, as it were a meede
Al ful of fresshe floures whyte and reede.
Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day;
He was as fressh as is the month of May.
Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wyde;
Wel koude he sitte on hors and faire ryde;
He koude songes make and wel endite,
Juste and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write.
So hoote he lovede that by nyghtertale
He sleep namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale.
Curteis he was, lowely and servysáble,
And carf biforn his fader at the table.

A Yeman hadde he and servántz namo
At that tyme, for hym liste ride soo;
And he was clad in cote and hood of grene.
A sheef of pecock arwes bright and kene,
Under his belt he bar ful thriftily—
Wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly;
His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe—
And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe.
A not-heed hadde he, with a broun viságe.
Of woodecraft wel koude he al the uságe.
Upon his arm he baar a gay bracér,
And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,
And on that oother syde a gay daggere,
Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere;
A Cristophere on his brest of silver sheene.
An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene.
A forster was he, soothly as I gesse.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,
That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy;
Hire gretteste ooth was but by seinte Loy,
And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.
Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,
Entuned in hir nose ful semely;
And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly,
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.
At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle:
She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,
Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe.
Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe
Thát no drope ne fille upon hire brist;
In curteisie was set ful muchel hir list.
Hire over-lippe wyped she so clene
That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene
Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.
Ful semely after hir mete she raughte.
And sikerly she was of greet desport,
And ful plesáunt and amyable of port,
And peyned hire to countrefete cheere
Of court, and been estatlich of manere,
And to ben holden digne of reverence.
But for to speken of hire conscience,
She was so charitable and so pitous
She wolde wepe if that she saugh a mous
Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.
Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde
With rosted flessh, or milk and wastel breed;
But soore wepte she if oon of hem were deed,
Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte;
And al was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semyly hir wympul pynched was;
Hire nose tretys, her eyen greye as glas,
Hir mouth ful smal and ther-to softe and reed;
But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;
It was almoost a spanne brood, I trowe;
For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.
Ful fetys was hir cloke, as I was war;
Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar
A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene,
And ther-on heng a brooch of gold ful sheene,
On which ther was first write a crowned A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.

Another Nonne with hire hadde she,
That was hire chapeleyne, and Preestes thre.

A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrie,
An outridere, that lovede venerie;
A manly man, to been an abbot able.
Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable;
And whan he rood, men myghte his brydel heere
Gýnglen in a whistlynge wynd als cleere,
And eek as loude, as dooth the chapel belle,
Ther as this lord was kepere of the celle.
The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneit,
By-cause that it was old and som-del streit,—
This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,
And heeld after the newe world the space.
He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen
That seith that hunters ben nat hooly men,
Ne that a monk, whan he is recchelees,
Is likned til a fissh that is waterlees,—
This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloystre.
But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oystre;
And I seyde his opinioun was good.
What sholde he studie and make hymselven wood,
Upon a book in cloystre alwey to poure,
Or swynken with his handes and labóure,
As Austyn bit? How shal the world be served?
Lat Austyn have his swynk to him reserved.
Therfore he was a prikasour aright:
Grehoundes he hadde, as swift as fowel in flight;
Of prikyng and of huntyng for the hare
Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
I seigh his sleves y-púrfiled at the hond
With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;
And for to festne his hood under his chyn
He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pyn;
A love-knotte in the gretter ende ther was.
His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,
And eek his face, as he hadde been enoynt.
He was a lord ful fat and in good poynt;
His eyen stepe, and rollynge in his heed,
That stemed as a forneys of a leed;
His bootes souple, his hors in greet estaat.
Now certeinly he was a fair prelaat.
He was nat pale, as a forpyned goost:
A fat swan loved he best of any roost.
His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.

A Frere ther was, a wantowne and a merye,
A lymytour, a ful solémpne man.
In alle the ordres foure is noon that kan
So muchel of daliaunce and fair langage.
He hadde maad ful many a mariage
Of yonge wommen at his owene cost.
Unto his ordre he was a noble post.
Ful wel biloved and famulier was he
With frankeleyns over al in his contree,
And eek with worthy wommen of the toun;
For he hadde power of confessioun,
As seyde hym-self, moore than a curát,
For of his ordre he was licenciat.
Ful swetely herde he confessioun,
And plesaunt was his absolucioun.
He was an esy man to yeve penaunce
There as he wiste to have a good pitaunce;
For unto a povre ordre for to yive
Is signe that a man is wel y-shryve;
For, if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt
He wiste that a man was répentaunt;
For many a man so hard is of his herte
He may nat wepe al-thogh hym soore smerte.
Therfore in stede of wepynge and preyéres
Men moote yeve silver to the povre freres.
His typet was ay farsed full of knyves
And pynnes, for to yeven faire wyves.
And certeinly he hadde a murye note:
Wel koude he synge and pleyen on a rote;
Of yeddynges he baar outrely the pris.
His nekke whit was as the flour-de-lys;
Ther-to he strong was as a champioun.
He knew the tavernes wel in every toun,
And everich hostiler and tappestere
Bet than a lazar or a beggestere;
For unto swich a worthy man as he
Acorded nat, as by his facultee,
To have with sike lazars aqueyntaunce;
It is nat honest, it may nat avaunce
Fór to deelen with no swich poraille,
But al with riche and selleres of vitaille.
And over-al, ther as profit sholde arise,
Curteis he was and lowely of servyse.
Ther nas no man nowher so vertuous.
He was the beste beggere in his hous;
[And yaf a certeyn ferme for the graunt,
Noon of his brethren cam ther in his haunt;]
For thogh a wydwe hadde noght a sho,
So plesaunt was his In principio,
Yet wolde he have a ferthyng er he wente:
His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.
And rage he koude, as it were right a whelpe.
In love-dayes ther koude he muchel helpe,
For there he was nat lyk a cloysterer
With a thredbare cope, as is a povre scolér,
But he was lyk a maister, or a pope;
Of double worstede was his semycope,
That rounded as a belle, out of the presse.
Somwhat he lipsed for his wantownesse,
To make his Englissh sweete upon his tonge;
And in his harpyng, whan that he hadde songe,
His eyen twynkled in his heed aryght
As doon the sterres in the frosty nyght.
This worthy lymytour was cleped Hubérd.

A Marchant was ther with a forked berd,
In motteleye, and hye on horse he sat;
Upon his heed a Flaundryssh bevere hat;
His bootes clasped faire and fetisly.
His resons he spak ful solémpnely,
Sownynge alway thencrees of his wynnyng.
He wolde the see were kept for any thing
Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.
Wel koude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle.
This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette;
Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,
So estatly was he of his gouvernaunce,
With his bargaynes and with his chevyssaunce.
For sothe he was a worthy man with-alle,
But, sooth to seyn, I noot how men hym calle.

A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also,
That unto logyk hadde longe y-go.
As leene was his hors as is a rake,
And he nas nat right fat, I undertake,
But looked holwe, and ther-to sobrely.
Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy;
For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,
Ne was so worldly for to have office;
For hym was lévere háve at his beddes heed
Twénty bookes, clad in blak or reed,
Of Aristotle and his philosophie,
Than robes riche, or fíthele, or gay sautrie.
But al be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
But al that he myghte of his freendes hente
On bookes and on lernynge he it spente,
And bisily gan for the soules preye
Of hem that yaf hym wher-with to scoleye.
Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede.
Noght o word spak he moore than was neede;
And that was seyd in forme and reverence,
And short and quyk and ful of hy senténce.
Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche;
And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche.

A Sergeant of the Lawe, war and wys,
That often hadde been at the Parvys,
Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.
Discreet he was, and of greet reverence—
He semed swich, his wordes weren so wise.
Justice he was ful often in assise,
By patente, and by pleyn commissioun.
For his science and for his heigh renoun,
Of fees and robes hadde he many oon.
So greet a purchasour was nowher noon:
Al was fee symple to hym in effect;
His purchasyng myghte nat been infect.
Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas,
And yet he semed bisier than he was.
In termes hadde he caas and doomes alle
That from the tyme of kyng William were falle.
Ther-to he koude endite and make a thyng,
Ther koude no wight pynche at his writyng;
And every statut koude he pleyn by rote.
He rood but hoomly in a medlee cote,
Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale;
Of his array telle I no lenger tale.

A Frankeleyn was in his compaignye.
Whit was his berd as is the dayesye;
Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.
Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn;
To lyven in delit was evere his wone,
For he was Epicurus owene sone,
That heeld opinioun that pleyn delit
Was verraily felicitee parfit.
An housholdere, and that a greet, was he;
Seint Julian he was in his contree.
His breed, his ale, was alweys after oon;
A bettre envyned man was nowher noon.
Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous,
Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous,
It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke,
Of alle deyntees that men koude thynke,
After the sondry sesons of the yeer;
So chaunged he his mete and his soper.
Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe,
And many a breem and many a luce in stuwe.
Wo was his cook but if his sauce were
Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his geere.
His table dormant in his halle alway
Stood redy covered al the longe day.
At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire;
Ful ofte tyme he was knyght of the shire.
An anlaas, and a gipser al of silk,
Heeng at his girdel, whit as morne milk.
A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour;
Was nowher such a worthy vavasour.

An Haberdasshere, and a Carpenter,
A Webbe, a Dyere, and a Tapycer,—
And they were clothed alle in o lyveree
Of a solémpne and a greet fraternitee.
Ful fressh and newe hir geere apiked was;
Hir knyves were chaped noght with bras,
But al with silver; wroght ful clene and weel
Hire girdles and hir pouches everydeel.
Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys
To sitten in a yeldehalle, on a deys.
Éverich, for the wisdom that he kan,
Was shaply for to been an alderman;
For catel hadde they ynogh and rente,
And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente,
And elles certeyn were they to blame.
It is ful fair to been y-cleped Madame,
And goon to vigilies al bifore,
And have a mantel roialliche y-bore.

A Cook they hadde with hem for the nones,
To boille the chiknes with the marybones,
And poudre-marchant ****, and galyngale.
Wel koude he knowe a draughte of Londoun ale.
He koude rooste, and sethe, and broille, and frye,
Máken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.
But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,
That on his shyne a mormal hadde he;
For blankmanger, that made he with the beste.

A Shipman was ther, wonynge fer by weste;
For aught I woot he was of Dertemouthe.
He rood upon a rouncy, as he kouthe,
In a gowne of faldyng to the knee.
A daggere hangynge on a laas hadde he
Aboute his nekke, under his arm adoun.
The hoote somer hadde maad his hewe al broun;
And certeinly he was a good felawe.
Ful many a draughte of wyn hadde he y-drawe
Fro Burdeux-ward, whil that the chapman sleep.
Of nyce conscience took he no keep.
If that he faught and hadde the hyer hond,
By water he sente hem hoom to every lond.
But of his craft to rekene wel his tydes,
His stremes, and his daungers hym bisides,
His herberwe and his moone, his lode-menage,
Ther nas noon swich from Hulle to Cartage.
Hardy he was and wys to undertake;
With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake.
He knew alle the havenes, as they were,
From Gootlond to the Cape of Fynystere,
And every cr
Part I

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

The bridegroom’s doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
Mayst hear the merry din.’

He holds him with his skinny hand,
“There was a ship,” quoth he.
‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’
Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

He holds him with his glittering eye—
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years’ child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

“The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon—”
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

“And now the storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o’ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And foward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God’s name.

It ate the food it ne’er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner’s hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine.”

‘God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends that plague thee thus!—
Why look’st thou so?’—”With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross.”

Part II

“The sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners’ hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work ’em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head,
The glorious sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
’Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down,
’Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The ****** sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.”

Part III

“There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye—
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I ****** the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the sun.

And straight the sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the sun,
Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that Woman’s mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
‘The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!’
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper o’er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip—
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The horned moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly,—
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my crossbow!”

Part IV

‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown.’—
“Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropped not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the ***** like pulses beat;
Forthe sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.

An orphan’s curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man’s eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

The moving moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside—

Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April ****-frost spread;
But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.”

Part V

“Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up blew;
The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me.”

‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’
“Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
’Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned—they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now ’twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel’s song,
That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe;
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.

The sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she ‘gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion—
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

‘Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.

The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.’

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’

Part VI

First Voice

But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing—
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?

Second Voice

Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast—

If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.

First Voice

But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?

Second Voice

The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner’s trance is abated.

“I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
’Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapped: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen—

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring—
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—
On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own country?

We drifted o’er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray—
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck—
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart—
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot’s cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot’s boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord i
Incipit Prohemium Secundi Libri.

Out of these blake wawes for to sayle,
O wind, O wind, the weder ginneth clere;
For in this see the boot hath swich travayle,
Of my conning, that unnethe I it stere:
This see clepe I the tempestous matere  
Of desespeyr that Troilus was inne:
But now of hope the calendes biginne.
O lady myn, that called art Cleo,
Thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse,
To ryme wel this book, til I have do;  
Me nedeth here noon other art to use.
For-why to every lovere I me excuse,
That of no sentement I this endyte,
But out of Latin in my tonge it wryte.

Wherfore I nil have neither thank ne blame  
Of al this werk, but prey yow mekely,
Disblameth me if any word be lame,
For as myn auctor seyde, so seye I.
Eek though I speke of love unfelingly,
No wondre is, for it no-thing of newe is;  
A blind man can nat Iuggen wel in hewis.

Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge
With-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes tho
That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge
Us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so,  
And spedde as wel in love as men now do;
Eek for to winne love in sondry ages,
In sondry londes, sondry ben usages.

And for-thy if it happe in any wyse,
That here be any lovere in this place  
That herkneth, as the storie wol devyse,
How Troilus com to his lady grace,
And thenketh, so nolde I nat love purchace,
Or wondreth on his speche or his doinge,
I noot; but it is me no wonderinge;  

For every wight which that to Rome went,
Halt nat o path, or alwey o manere;
Eek in som lond were al the gamen shent,
If that they ferde in love as men don here,
As thus, in open doing or in chere,  
In visitinge, in forme, or seyde hire sawes;
For-thy men seyn, ech contree hath his lawes.

Eek scarsly been ther in this place three
That han in love seid lyk and doon in al;
For to thy purpos this may lyken thee,  
And thee right nought, yet al is seyd or shal;
Eek som men grave in tree, som in stoon wal,
As it bitit; but sin I have begonne,
Myn auctor shal I folwen, if I conne.

Exclipit prohemium Secundi Libri.

Incipit Liber Secundus.

In May, that moder is of monthes glade,  
That fresshe floures, blewe, and whyte, and rede,
Ben quike agayn, that winter dede made,
And ful of bawme is fleting every mede;
Whan Phebus doth his brighte bemes sprede
Right in the whyte Bole, it so bitidde  
As I shal singe, on Mayes day the thridde,

That Pandarus, for al his wyse speche,
Felt eek his part of loves shottes kene,
That, coude he never so wel of loving preche,
It made his hewe a-day ful ofte grene;  
So shoop it, that hym fil that day a tene
In love, for which in wo to bedde he wente,
And made, er it was day, ful many a wente.

The swalwe Proigne, with a sorwful lay,
Whan morwe com, gan make hir waymentinge,  
Why she forshapen was; and ever lay
Pandare a-bedde, half in a slomeringe,
Til she so neigh him made hir chiteringe
How Tereus gan forth hir suster take,
That with the noyse of hir he gan a-wake;  

And gan to calle, and dresse him up to ryse,
Remembringe him his erand was to done
From Troilus, and eek his greet empryse;
And caste and knew in good plyt was the mone
To doon viage, and took his wey ful sone  
Un-to his neces paleys ther bi-syde;
Now Ianus, god of entree, thou him gyde!

Whan he was come un-to his neces place,
'Wher is my lady?' to hir folk seyde he;
And they him tolde; and he forth in gan pace,  
And fond, two othere ladyes sete and she,
With-inne a paved parlour; and they three
Herden a mayden reden hem the geste
Of the Sege of Thebes, whyl hem leste.

Quod Pandarus, 'Ma dame, god yow see,  
With al your book and al the companye!'
'Ey, uncle myn, welcome y-wis,' quod she,
And up she roos, and by the hond in hye
She took him faste, and seyde, 'This night thrye,
To goode mote it turne, of yow I mette!'  
And with that word she doun on bench him sette.

'Ye, nece, ye shal fare wel the bet,
If god wole, al this yeer,' quod Pandarus;
'But I am sory that I have yow let
To herknen of your book ye preysen thus;  
For goddes love, what seith it? tel it us.
Is it of love? O, som good ye me lere!'
'Uncle,' quod she, 'your maistresse is not here!'

With that they gonnen laughe, and tho she seyde,
'This romaunce is of Thebes, that we rede;  
And we han herd how that king Laius deyde
Thurgh Edippus his sone, and al that dede;
And here we stenten at these lettres rede,
How the bisshop, as the book can telle,
Amphiorax, fil thurgh the ground to helle.'  

Quod Pandarus, 'Al this knowe I my-selve,
And al the assege of Thebes and the care;
For her-of been ther maked bokes twelve: --
But lat be this, and tel me how ye fare;
Do wey your barbe, and shew your face bare;  
Do wey your book, rys up, and lat us daunce,
And lat us don to May som observaunce.'

'A! God forbede!' quod she. 'Be ye mad?
Is that a widewes lyf, so god you save?
By god, ye maken me right sore a-drad,  
Ye ben so wilde, it semeth as ye rave!
It sete me wel bet ay in a cave
To bidde, and rede on holy seyntes lyves;
Lat maydens gon to daunce, and yonge wyves.'

'As ever thryve I,' quod this Pandarus,  
'Yet coude I telle a thing to doon you pleye.'
'Now, uncle dere,' quod she, 'tel it us
For goddes love; is than the assege aweye?
I am of Grekes so ferd that I deye.'
'Nay, nay,' quod he, 'as ever mote I thryve!  
It is a thing wel bet than swiche fyve.'

'Ye, holy god,' quod she, 'what thing is that?
What! Bet than swiche fyve? Ey, nay, y-wis!
For al this world ne can I reden what
It sholde been; som Iape, I trowe, is this;  
And but your-selven telle us what it is,
My wit is for to arede it al to lene;
As help me god, I noot nat what ye meene.'

'And I your borow, ne never shal, for me,
This thing be told to yow, as mote I thryve!'  
'And why so, uncle myn? Why so?' quod she.
'By god,' quod he, 'that wole I telle as blyve;
For prouder womman were ther noon on-lyve,
And ye it wiste, in al the toun of Troye;
I iape nought, as ever have I Ioye!'  

Tho gan she wondren more than biforn
A thousand fold, and doun hir eyen caste;
For never, sith the tyme that she was born,
To knowe thing desired she so faste;
And with a syk she seyde him at the laste,  
'Now, uncle myn, I nil yow nought displese,
Nor axen more, that may do yow disese.'

So after this, with many wordes glade,
And freendly tales, and with mery chere,
Of this and that they pleyde, and gunnen wade  
In many an unkouth glad and deep matere,
As freendes doon, whan they ben met y-fere;
Til she gan axen him how Ector ferde,
That was the tounes wal and Grekes yerde.

'Ful wel, I thanke it god,' quod Pandarus,  
'Save in his arm he hath a litel wounde;
And eek his fresshe brother Troilus,
The wyse worthy Ector the secounde,
In whom that ever vertu list abounde,
As alle trouthe and alle gentillesse,  
Wysdom, honour, fredom, and worthinesse.'

'In good feith, eem,' quod she, 'that lyketh me;
They faren wel, god save hem bothe two!
For trewely I holde it greet deyntee
A kinges sone in armes wel to do,  
And been of good condiciouns ther-to;
For greet power and moral vertu here
Is selde y-seye in o persone y-fere.'

'In good feith, that is sooth,' quod Pandarus;
'But, by my trouthe, the king hath sones tweye,  
That is to mene, Ector and Troilus,
That certainly, though that I sholde deye,
They been as voyde of vyces, dar I seye,
As any men that liveth under the sonne,
Hir might is wyde y-knowe, and what they conne.  

'Of Ector nedeth it nought for to telle:
In al this world ther nis a bettre knight
Than he, that is of worthinesse welle;
And he wel more vertu hath than might.
This knoweth many a wys and worthy wight.  
The same prys of Troilus I seye,
God help me so, I knowe not swiche tweye.'

'By god,' quod she, 'of Ector that is sooth;
Of Troilus the same thing trowe I;
For, dredelees, men tellen that he dooth  
In armes day by day so worthily,
And bereth him here at hoom so gentilly
To every wight, that al the prys hath he
Of hem that me were levest preysed be.'

'Ye sey right sooth, y-wis,' quod Pandarus;  
'For yesterday, who-so hadde with him been,
He might have wondred up-on Troilus;
For never yet so thikke a swarm of been
Ne fleigh, as Grekes fro him gonne fleen;
And thorugh the feld, in everi wightes ere,  
Ther nas no cry but "Troilus is there!"

'Now here, now there, he hunted hem so faste,
Ther nas but Grekes blood; and Troilus,
Now hem he hurte, and hem alle doun he caste;
Ay where he wente, it was arayed thus:  
He was hir deeth, and sheld and lyf for us;
That as that day ther dorste noon with-stonde,
Whyl that he held his blody swerd in honde.

'Therto he is the freendlieste man
Of grete estat, that ever I saw my lyve;  
And wher him list, best felawshipe can
To suche as him thinketh able for to thryve.'
And with that word tho Pandarus, as blyve,
He took his leve, and seyde, 'I wol go henne.'
'Nay, blame have I, myn uncle,' quod she thenne.  

'What eyleth yow to be thus wery sone,
And namelich of wommen? Wol ye so?
Nay, sitteth down; by god, I have to done
With yow, to speke of wisdom er ye go.'
And every wight that was a-boute hem tho,  
That herde that, gan fer a-wey to stonde,
Whyl they two hadde al that hem liste in honde.

Whan that hir tale al brought was to an ende,
Of hire estat and of hir governaunce,
Quod Pandarus, 'Now is it tyme I wende;  
But yet, I seye, aryseth, lat us daunce,
And cast your widwes habit to mischaunce:
What list yow thus your-self to disfigure,
Sith yow is tid thus fair an aventure?'

'A! Wel bithought! For love of god,' quod she,  
'Shal I not witen what ye mene of this?'
'No, this thing axeth layser,' tho quod he,
'And eek me wolde muche greve, y-wis,
If I it tolde, and ye it **** amis.
Yet were it bet my tonge for to stille  
Than seye a sooth that were ayeins your wille.

'For, nece, by the goddesse Minerve,
And Iuppiter, that maketh the thonder ringe,
And by the blisful Venus that I serve,
Ye been the womman in this world livinge,  
With-oute paramours, to my wittinge,
That I best love, and lothest am to greve,
And that ye witen wel your-self, I leve.'

'Y-wis, myn uncle,' quod she, 'grant mercy;
Your freendship have I founden ever yit;  
I am to no man holden trewely,
So muche as yow, and have so litel quit;
And, with the grace of god, emforth my wit,
As in my gilt I shal you never offende;
And if I have er this, I wol amende.  

'But, for the love of god, I yow beseche,
As ye ben he that I love most and triste,
Lat be to me your fremde manere speche,
And sey to me, your nece, what yow liste:'
And with that word hir uncle anoon hir kiste,  
And seyde, 'Gladly, leve nece dere,
Tak it for good that I shal seye yow here.'

With that she gan hir eiyen doun to caste,
And Pandarus to coghe gan a lyte,
And seyde, 'Nece, alwey, lo! To the laste,  
How-so it be that som men hem delyte
With subtil art hir tales for to endyte,
Yet for al that, in hir entencioun
Hir tale is al for som conclusioun.

'And sithen thende is every tales strengthe,  
And this matere is so bihovely,
What sholde I peynte or drawen it on lengthe
To yow, that been my freend so feithfully?'
And with that word he gan right inwardly
Biholden hir, and loken on hir face,  
And seyde, 'On suche a mirour goode grace!'

Than thoughte he thus: 'If I my tale endyte
Ought hard, or make a proces any whyle,
She shal no savour han ther-in but lyte,
And trowe I wolde hir in my wil bigyle.  
For tendre wittes wenen al be wyle
Ther-as they can nat pleynly understonde;
For-thy hir wit to serven wol I fonde --'

And loked on hir in a besy wyse,
And she was war that he byheld hir so,  
And seyde, 'Lord! So faste ye me avyse!
Sey ye me never er now? What sey ye, no?'
'Yes, yes,' quod he, 'and bet wole er I go;
But, by my trouthe, I thoughte now if ye
Be fortunat, for now men shal it see.  

'For to every wight som goodly aventure
Som tyme is shape, if he it can receyven;
And if that he wol take of it no cure,
Whan that it commeth, but wilfully it weyven,
Lo, neither cas nor fortune him deceyven,  
But right his verray slouthe and wrecchednesse;
And swich a wight is for to blame, I gesse.

'Good aventure, O bele nece, have ye
Ful lightly founden, and ye conne it take;
And, for the love of god, and eek of me,  
Cacche it anoon, lest aventure slake.
What sholde I lenger proces of it make?
Yif me your hond, for in this world is noon,
If that yow list, a wight so wel begoon.

'And sith I speke of good entencioun,  
As I to yow have told wel here-biforn,
And love as wel your honour and renoun
As creature in al this world y-born;
By alle the othes that I have yow sworn,
And ye be wrooth therfore, or wene I lye,  
Ne shal I never seen yow eft with ye.

'Beth nought agast, ne quaketh nat; wher-to?
Ne chaungeth nat for fere so your hewe;
For hardely the werste of this is do;
And though my tale as now be to yow newe,  
Yet trist alwey, ye shal me finde trewe;
And were it thing that me thoughte unsittinge,
To yow nolde I no swiche tales bringe.'

'Now, my good eem, for goddes love, I preye,'
Quod she, 'com of, and tel me what it is;  
For bothe I am agast what ye wol seye,
And eek me longeth it to wite, y-wis.
For whether it be wel or be amis,
Say on, lat me not in this fere dwelle:'
'So wol I doon; now herkneth, I shal telle:  

'Now, nece myn, the kinges dere sone,
The goode, wyse, worthy, fresshe, and free,
Which alwey for to do wel is his wone,
The noble Troilus, so loveth thee,
That, bot ye helpe, it wol his bane be.  
Lo, here is al, what sholde I more seye?
Doth what yow list, to make him live or deye.

'But if ye lete him deye, I wol sterve;
Have her my trouthe, nece, I nil not lyen;
Al sholde I with this knyf my throte kerve --'  
With that the teres braste out of his yen,
And seyde, 'If that ye doon us bothe dyen,
Thus giltelees, than have ye fisshed faire;
What mende ye, though that we bothe apeyre?

'Allas! He which that is my lord so dere,  
That trewe man, that noble gentil knight,
That nought desireth but your freendly chere,
I see him deye, ther he goth up-right,
And hasteth him, with al his fulle might,
For to be slayn, if fortune wol assente;  
Allas! That god yow swich a beautee sente!

'If it be so that ye so cruel be,
That of his deeth yow liste nought to recche,
That is so trewe and worthy, as ye see,
No more than of a Iapere or a wrecche,  
If ye be swich, your beautee may not strecche
To make amendes of so cruel a dede;
Avysement is good bifore the nede.

'Wo worth the faire gemme vertulees!
Wo worth that herbe also that dooth no bote!  
Wo worth that beautee that is routhelees!
Wo worth that wight that tret ech under fote!
And ye, that been of beautee crop and rote,
If therwith-al in you ther be no routhe,
Than is it harm ye liven, by my trouthe!  

'And also thenk wel that this is no gaude;
For me were lever, thou and I and he
Were hanged, than I sholde been his baude,
As heyghe, as men mighte on us alle y-see:
I am thyn eem, the shame were to me,  
As wel as thee, if that I sholde assente,
Thorugh myn abet, that he thyn honour shente.

'Now understond, for I yow nought requere,
To binde yow to him thorugh no beheste,
But only that ye make him bettre chere  
Than ye han doon er this, and more feste,
So that his lyf be saved, at the leste;
This al and som, and playnly our entente;
God help me so, I never other mente.

'Lo, this request is not but skile, y-wis,  
Ne doute of reson, pardee, is ther noon.
I sette the worste that ye dredden this,
Men wolden wondren seen him come or goon:
Ther-ayeins answere I thus a-noon,
That every wight, but he be fool of kinde,  
Wol deme it love of freendship in his minde.

'What? Who wol deme, though he see a man
To temple go, that he the images eteth?
Thenk eek how wel and wy
George Andres Mar 2018
Isang-libo, siyam na raan, siyamnapu't-siyam
Nang una nilang marinig ang pagtangis

Dalawang libo't labing-walo
Napakarami kong gustong bigkasin
Pero nauutal ako't lumalabas pagiging utak alipin
Para sa'yo sana, gusto ko pa ring sabihin,
Na, patawad Felipe, kung kay hirap **** mahalin

Wala ako nang tumangis ka kay Macoy
Huli kong nalaman ang tungkol kay Luisita
Masyado pa ba 'kong musmos upang ibigin ka?

Lubha lamang daw akong bata
Nagpupuyos ang damdamin
Walang pang kaalaman magdesisyon ng tama
Mapusok at madaling matangay
Manatili na lamang daw ako sa klase,
at kinabukasan ko'y sa mataas na marka ibase

Kaya't pinilit kong hindi pakinggan ang pagdaing mo
Ano bang alam ko upang magalit, maghimagsik?

Batid ko man ang kasaysayan mo sa mga prayle, kano't hapon, labis ko pa ngang inidolo si Luna't Bonifacio noon

Hindi ba't namatay rin sila sa kasibulan nang dahil sa'yo?
Natatakot ako, na balang araw iyon rin ang sapitin ko sa piling mo
Mainit ang puso ko, pero malamig ang paa't kamay
Hindi ko kayang palayain ka
Tipid ang boses ko upang ipagsigawan ka
Nagtagpo tayo sa panahong akala ko malaya ka na

Hindi ka pa pwedeng umiyak
Hangga't hindi pa tapos ang lahat
Ano bang alam mo upang magalit, maghimagsik?

Ngunit hindi ko kayang lumingon pabalik
Hindi ko kayang matulog muli nang wala ang 'yong halik
Hindi ko kayang mahimbing nang wala ang mga gunita

Dekada Sitenta.
Bungkos ng namumuong nana
Nilalapnos ng kumukulong tubig
Dumaranak ang dugo sa sarili **** balat
Tumatalilis at tinatanggalan ng bayag

Paiikutin ang roleta't ipuputok sa sintido
Ihihiga ang katawan sa bloke ng yelo
Papasuin ng upos ng sigarilyo
Ibabalanse ang katawan hangga't may lakas pa ang kabayo
Hindi ito mga metaporang naririnig ko lang sa mga kwento

Hindi na ako magtataka kung may diyos pa ba
A kung kahit isang beses nilingon ka man lang niya



Kung ang nakikita ng mata ay dumudurog ng puso
At ang mga salita ay pumapainlalang

Silang 'di nakaririnig ay dapat kalampagin
Hampasin ang higanteng pintuan at sipain
Ang pader na marmol na walang bintana
Galit na sumusunog ng patay na tala
Hindi kumakalma, pilit nagbabaga, nagtatangka

Ano bang alam ko upang magalit, maghimagsik?
Maaari ko bang palitan ng paglilingkod ang iyong biyaya?
Mas madali naman siguro magsalita
Kung 'di mo batid ang paghangos ng maralita


Mainit ang puso ko, pero malamig ang paa't kamay
Hindi ko kayang palayain ka
Tipid ang boses ko upang ipagsigawan ka
Nagtagpo tayo sa panahong akala ko malaya ka na

Nang masulyapan ka nang unang mabuksan ang aking paningin
Gusto ka lang naman palaging kita ng mata
Wala pa man natatakot na akong makitang umiiyak ka
Mas mapalad ba ang mga bulag o tulad kong piring ang mata?
Hinayaan mo akong maging alipin
Itinatatwa ko ang araw na namulat ako
Ang hirap naman kasing maka-usad mula sa'yo
Matapos mabura ang mga kasinungalingang sa'yo'y ibinabato
Kumbaga, ikaw 'yung maraming sakit na pinagdaanan, dadagdag pa ba 'ko?
Patawad
Oh, Felipe, kay hirap **** mahalin

Habang binabasa ko ang kasaysayan ****
Nagaganap pa rin hangang sa ngayon
Parang itinutulak ang aking sikmura
At ang balat ko'y nagsisiklabo
Hindi tumitigil ang mga luha

Ilang taon matapos maghalal ng bagong pangulo
Pinaulanan ng bala ang mga humihingi ng reporma


Dalawang-libo't apat
Matapos ang tatlong dekada
Mga batas na pabor lang sa mayama't may kaya

Gusto lang naman namin mabuhay
Nang hindi inaagaw ang aming kabuhayan
Nagtatanim ng bala't hindi binhi
Umaani ng bangkay hindi punla

Lupa mo'y hinulma ng dugo
Parang imbes na pataba ay pulbura ang inaabono
Para bang ang buhay ko sa'yo'y Walang katapusang pakikibaka
Para bang ang inaani ko'y dusa sa Buong buhay na pagsasaka


Dalawanlibo't-siyam
Matapos ang apat na taon

Kinikitil nila isa-isa ang mamamahayag
Nilibing ng traktora't patong-patong ang buto't balat
Pinagkanulo mo at hayagang pumayag
Mga berdugong hinayaan mo lang lumayag

Dalawang libo't labing-lima
Nangingisay sa walang habas na pangraratrat
Hanggang huling hininga'y maubos, mawala sa ulirat
Apatnapu't-apat **** mandirigma
Lumusong sa mapanganib na kagubatan na walang dalang sandata o pananggalang man lang
Malupit ka, hanggang saan ipagtatanggol ang laya mo?
Hindi pa ba sapat ang lahat ng luha?
Nagsasakripisyo para sa hindi siguradong pagkakakilanlan bilang Pilipino


Ikalawang Milenya.
Ngayon naririnig ko na ang pagpapatahimik laban sa karapatan **** magpahayag
Nagsasakripisyo ng dugo ng mga tupa
Para sa huwad na pag-unlad
Pinapatay ng bala ang uhay
Habang matapos tapakan ang upos ng sigarilyo,
Pagtatalunan ang dilaw at pula
Kung sino ba ang mas dakila
Aastang **** na tagapagligtas
Na siyang hawak ang lahat ng lunas
Napakarami nang diyos sa kasaysayan
Pawang dinikta, ibinigkis ang kalayaan

Ninais kong mahiga na lamang at hintayin ang bukang liwayway
Na pinangarap din noon ng mga ilustrado't rebolusyunaryong mararangal
Wala nang lunas ang sumpa ng edukasyon
Magpalaya ng isipang noo'y nakakahon

Wala sa akin noon ang lakas ng bagyo
Hanggang sa nabatid kong malulunod na rin ako
Wala akong nagawa kundi tumangis

Felipe, lumuluha ka rin ba? nasasaktan ka pa ba o manhid ka na?

Gayunpaman, tahan na, Felipe, tahan na.
112718

PoemsForE
Sophia Granada Dec 2012
In the farthest days of old,
When the sky was blank and black and cold,
When the stars were huddled inside,
And suddenly they realigned,
Then I loved you, then I loved you,
Then I loved you all the same.
When the great rocks flitted in space,
And tried on every face,
When the Earth was a flaming ball,
Devoid of any and all,
Then I loved you, then I loved you,
Then I loved you all the same.

And I love you in the morning,
When we have yet to wake.
And I love you in the hot, sweet noon,
And as the night begins to break.
I love you every working day,
And every Christmas Eve.
I loved you before I was ever born,
And I'll love you after I leave.

When the moon was handed down
To the primordial flaming ground,
When the silver light then shone,
And peace was finally known,
Then I loved you, then I loved you,
Then I loved you all the same.
When the waters finally came,
And filled with fish of every name,
And when the grass began to grow,
In soft green bountiful rows,
Then I loved you, then I loved you,
Then I loved you all the same.

And I love you in the morning,
When we have yet to wake.
And I love you in the hot, sweet noon,
And as the night begins to break.
I love you every working day,
And every Christmas Eve.
I loved you before I was ever born,
And I'll love you after I leave.

When the monkeys climbed from the trees,
And stood on trembling knees,
And when speech was finally known,
And their love was finally shown,
I had loved you, I had loved you,
I had loved you all the same.
When the wars sprang over the world,
And the human cries were heard,
And when the grasses withered and died,
And the animals all alongside,
I had loved you, I had loved you,
I had loved you all the same.

And I love you in the morning,
When we have yet to wake.
And I love you in the hot, sweet noon,
And as the night begins to break.
I love you every working day,
And every Christmas Eve.
I loved you before I was ever born,
And I'll love you after I leave.

When I was finally born,
In the bright and early morn,
And when I felt the labour pains,
And you joined me on the mortal plane,
First I loved you, then I loved you,
Now I love you all the same.
And when you throw my ashes wide,
With our relatives by our sides,
When we feel your dying pain,
And you leave the mortal plane,
I'll have loved you, always loved you,
I will love you all the same.

And I love you in the morning,
When we have yet to wake.
And I love you in the hot, sweet noon,
And as the night begins to break.
I love you every working day,
And every Christmas Eve.
I loved you before I was ever born,
And I'll love you after I leave.

When the wars have killed us all,
And we no longer stand so tall,
And when the frigid Earth is bare,
And none of the animals are there,
I will love you, I will love you,
I will love you all the same.
When on other planets, too,
Of living things there's very few,
And in the whole of the Universe,
Not a word is to be heard,
I will love you, I will love you,
I will love you all the same.

And I love you in the morning,
When we have yet to wake.
And I love you in the hot, sweet noon,
And as the night begins to break.
I love you every working day,
And every Christmas Eve.
I loved you before I was ever born,
And I'll love you after I leave.

And when water ceases to flow,
In any form that we know,
And when it has come to pass
That there will never again be grass,
I will love you, I will love you,
I will love you all the same.
And when the moons pull their silver lights back,
And all that is left is the black,
And when those dull rocks crash to the ground,
And the planets have each and all drowned,
I will live you, I will love you,
I will love you all the same.

And I love you in the morning,
When we have yet to wake.
And I love you in the hot, sweet noon,
And as the night begins to break.
I love you every working day,
And every Christmas Eve.
I loved you before I was ever born,
And I'll love you after I leave.

And when each Sun withers and bursts,
And the red sky utters a curse,
And the swollen fabric of time,
Is ripped in two like a crime,
Then I will, did, do, have, been, when,
I have loved you all the same
And when the stars are misaligned,
And then begin to huddle inside,
And the sky grow blank and black and cold,
As in the farthest days of old,
I will love you, I will love you,
I will love you all the same.

And I love you in the morning,
When we have yet to wake.
And I love you in the hot, sweet noon,
And as the night begins to break.
I love you every working day,
And every Christmas Eve.
I loved you before I was ever born,
And I'll love you after I leave.

And when the last of every man
Has loved the last that he can,
And when Love no longer exists,
No matter how much I insist,
When the rising tide and the crashing wave
No longer manufacture the passion that I crave,
When there's never any longer such a thing as a heart,
That's when it all restarts.

And I have loved you, eternally loved you,
Recurrently loved you all the same.
'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee
And worshipped, while the husbandmen withdrew
From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man
Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,
Or rested in the shadow of the palm.

  I, too, amid the overflow of day,
Behold the power which wields and cherishes
The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock
That overlooks the Hudson's western marge,
I gaze upon the long array of groves,
The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in
The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;
Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays
Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst,
The swelling river, into his green gulfs,
Unshadowed save by passing sails above,
Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys
The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,
That would not open in the early light,
Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet's pool,
That darkly quivered all the morning long
In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun;
And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again,
The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within
Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.

  A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,
Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within
His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,
Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog
Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.
Now the grey marmot, with uplifted paws,
No more sits listening by his den, but steals
Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,
And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while
A ceaseless murmur from the populous town
Swells o'er these solitudes: a mingled sound
Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash
Upon the stony ways, and hammer-clang,
And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,
And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,
Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.
Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings
No pause to toil and care. With early day
Began the tumult, and shall only cease
When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds
Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.

  Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain
And luxury possess the hearts of men,
Thus is it with the noon of human life.
We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength
Of reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care,
Plan, toil, and strife, and pause not to refresh
Our spirits with the calm and beautiful
Of God's harmonious universe, that won
Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire
Why we are here; and what the reverence
Man owes to man, and what the mystery
That links us to the greater world, beside
Whose borders we but hover for a space.
Folah Liz May 2015
Pangako yan at totoo. Hindi ko alam kung magiging gaano kahaba o kung kasya ba sa isang piyesa,
ilang pahina, ilang minuto ang ihahaba, itatagal nito at posibleng hindi ko agad makabisado pero pangako yan,
ito na ang huling tula na isusulat ko para sayo.

Itaga mo to sa bato, abutin man ako ng umaga dito hindi ko ipipikit ang mga matang ito..
uubusin ko ang lahat ng salita na posibleng tugma ng pangalan mo o anumang tawag ko sayo,
mahal, sinta, irog, pangga, babe, bbq, bae, beb, asawa ko, mhine, kulet, kapal, kupal, hayop, pa, p*ng ina ka ano pa ba..wala akong pakialam kung abutin man ako ng ilang talata dito,
pero hindi ko na pwedeng patirahin lang dito sa loob ko ang mga salitang ito kaya pangako,
ito na ang huling tula na isusulat ko para sayo.

Magsisimula ako sa umpisa, sa kung paanong nginitian mo ako at tinanong kung san ako nakatira.
hindi mo nga pinansin ang mga agiw sa dingding, hindi ka nga natinag sa ipis na biglang dumating sa iyong pagbisita..
pero hindi mo rin man lang din tinignan ang mga libro na nasa tabi ng kama kong natutulog din, at tangi ko noong kapiling.

Magsisimula ako sa umpisa, sa kung paanong niyakap mo ako nung sabihin ko sayong "mahal kita.."
sa kung paanong hinalikan mo ako sa noo sabay sabi na "mahalaga ka.."
at ako naman tong si tanga, tuwang tuwa na hindi pa nalinaw nga na
ayaw ko na maging mahalaga, ayaw ko na maging halaga..

Hindi ako antigong salamin na matagal mo nang pag aari
na tinitignan mo lang para ipaalala sa sarili mo na maganda ka, ayaw ko na maging mahalaga..
hindi ako telepono **** dudukutin lang sa bulsa kapag kelangan mo ng solusyon sa kawalan mo ng koneksyon sa mundo **** masyado ng malawak para bigyang atensyon ka pa, ayaw ko na maging mahalaga..
hindi ako kuwintas na isusuot mo lang sa piling-piling mga okasyon
kapag meroong mga sitwasyon na pakiramdam mo ay kulang ka pa
Hindi ako para ibalik sa loob ng isang kahon kapag matutulog ka na sa gabi sa takot na masakal ka sa yakap ko kapag mahimbing ka na,
o ibalik sa loob ng isang kahon at itabi sa sulok ng isang aparador
sa takot na manakaw ako ng iba, ayaw ko na maging mahalaga..

Ang gusto ko ay mahalin, ang kelangan ko ay mahalin..
kelangan ko na mahalin mo ako gaya ng kape mo sa umaga
tanggap ang tamis at pait, kelangan para sa init
pero hindi isinasantabi dahil lang nanlamig na..
kelangan ko na mahalin mo ako gaya ng sarili **** opisina
kabisado kung para saan ang ano, kabisado kung saan nakatago ang alin
kabisado ang mga tinatago kong patalim, silbi, dumi, lihim..patalim, silbi, dumi lihim...
kelangan ko na mahalin mo ako gaya ng unan mo sa gabi, niyayakap sa ginaw, sinasandalan kahit na mainit, binubulungan ng mga pinakatatago **** panaginip
ayaw ko na maging mahalaga, ang gusto ko ay mahalin, ang kelangan ko ay mahalin..

at nagsulat ako noon para lang mahalin mo ako, kaya patawad pero magsusulat ako
hanggang sa maubos ko ang lahat ng salita na posibleng tugma ng pangalan mo
patawad pero magsusulat ako para patawarin mo ako..
dahil minsan may nakapagsabi saken na ang taong hindi raw marunong magpatawad ay hindi makapagsusulat
kaya mahal sa pagkakataong ito
sa huling pagkakataon na magsusulat ako ng tula para sayo
gumawa tayo ng kasunduan, patatawarin kita pero patatawarin mo rin ako.

Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagtahan at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagluha
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pananahimik at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagsasalita
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pag alis at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pananatili
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko sayo paglimot at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo saken pagpili mahal
gumawa tayo ng kasunduan patatawarin kita pero patatawarin mo rin ako.

Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagbitiw at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagkapit
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko paglayo at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo paglapit
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagsuko at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagsugal
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagkamuhi sayo at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo saken pagmamahal, mahal
gumawa tayo ng kasunduan patatawarin kita pero patatawarin mo rin ako
para sa wakas ay matapos ko na itong tula na masyado ng matagal na nakatira dito
at patawad kung magiging masyadong mahaba at marami masyadong bulanas
pero pangako huli na to, huli na to, huli na to...

Magsisimula ako uli sa umpisa, sa kung paanong nginitian mo ako at tinanong kung san ako nakatira.
Magsisimula ako uli sa umpisa, sa kung paanong nginitian mo ako
Magsisimula ako uli sa umpisa,
Magsisimula ako uli...
Magsisimula ako....

Ito na ang huling tula na isusulat ko para sayo, mali...
Ito na ang huling tula na isinulat ko tungkol sayo

Iniibig kita, at ubos na ubos na ako...."
Thanks for the inspiration to this poem, isa kang makata Sir Juan Miguel Severo.
min Oct 2016
Labing apat na taon ang nakaraan
Pagmulat ng mga mata, may nakitang mga taong 'di ko kilala
Sino sila? Sila ba'y aking pamilya?
Dahilan bakit ako narito sa mundong aking kinalakihan?

Mama, Papa, tawag sa mga magulang
Mga taong dapat raw bigyang respeto at galang
Mama, isang tunay na grasya galing sa langit
Papa, o aking ama, anong nangyari't puso ko'y puno ng pait?

Kami ay masaya sa isang tahanan
Ngunit nagbago ang lahat, ano ang dahilan?
Naglaho pawang bula ang punumpunong ligaya
Na para bang naputulan ng paa ang isang silya

Ako'y anim na taong gulang
Ako'y inosente lamang, walang isip, pakiramdam
Naghiwalay na pala ang aking mga magulang
At narito ako, wala man lang kaalam-alam

Ako ay sampung taong gulang
Napansin ko tila ba may kulang
Sa paligid ko, mga bata kasama ang kanilang ama
Pero ang pangungulila, ba't di ko madama?

Kahit ganoon ako pari'y kontento
Ina at mga kapatid, palagi silang narito
Isang 'di buo pero masayang pamilya
Ay sapat na para puso ko'y lumigaya

Ang ilaw ng tahanan siya na ring haligi
Sumusuporta, andyan siya palagi
O aking ina, paano ba kita masusuklian
O aking ina, puso may tunay na kagandahan

Sila ang nagbibigay saya sa aking buhay
'Pag sila'y kasama, tila nawawala ang lumbay
Kahit may mga kahirapang dumadaan
Kapag sila'y kasama, lahat ng ito'y malalampasan

Ngunit hindi pa rin mawala sa 'king isip
Pagiging wala ang ama, pumapasok nalang sa isang ihip
Hindi ko makalimutan, 'di maibaon sa hukay
Ganito na lamang ba habang buhay?

Ako ay nadala at napadpad sa mundong ito
Binigyan ng pamilya na palaging narito
Kaya laking pasasalamat sa Panginoon
Kahit iba na ang takbo ng buhay noon at ngayon.
GulRukh Aug 2018
Do you ever feel the noon breeze?
hot yet relaxing brings you to an ease
it unfold the memories inside my brain's deepest crease
mesmerizing breeze i am standing under a tree
Moringa Oleifra the mighty
on which sits a sparrow chirping in mystique
and another strange little bird with long black beak
chirping tooo-weeee-t
on the other branches two squerrals playing hide and seek
and there sits a crow alone on one peak
i am in whirl of memories of past year 2016
didn't i mention it's about a boy in his thirties
he talked ocean deep
but treated me like i am a feast
like he is a ringmaster and i am his beast
i can still feel the pain of that time when all the good is out of my reach
Why do i think of him now when i am in peace?
would he think of me like i did?
nah or may be
nostalgic or i might weep
my orange colored dress doesn't irritate me in this scorching noon
but thoughts of you did
i have to head back from this muzz
i am going back to my people who loves me
where i am allowed to refuse
where there is no abuse
i am returning to peace
goodbye noon breeze
When brain unfolds some harsh memories of the past
Allan Pangilinan Dec 2015
Disoras na naman ng gabi,
At ‘di ko alam kung saan ako aabutin ng kahangalang ito.
Andaming sabi-sabi sa mga tabi-tabi,
At naisipan kong isulat ang ilan sa mga ‘to.

Kung mabasa ito ng iba kong kakilala,
Siguradong pagti-tripan ako ng mga tangina.
Pero ayos lang, ano pa bang mawawala?
Sanay na ako’t sobrang kapal na ng aking mukha.

Nais ko lamang ibahagi ang isang kwento,
At marining kung ito’y naranasan na din ba ng iba.
Pagkat sa ikot ng ating mundo,
Ang kwentong magkapareho’y anong ginhawa.

Hayskul ako noon nang una kong masabi na, “Shet, gusto kita.”
Ano pang mga ka-kornihan ang ginawa ko’t sumulat ng tula.
Napainom pa ako ng energy drink para lang masabi,
Na sa tuwing nakikita kita’y abot langit naang aking ngiti.

Ngunit ayun lamang at ako’y ‘di pinalad.
Sa mga rasong tila dapat ay batid ko naman.
Paano nga ba ang sarili’y mailalakad,
Kung sa mga simpleng salop ako’y walang mailaman.

Naging mabuti naman pagkat ika’y minahal ng isang tunay na kaibigan,
‘Wag niyo na lamang akong imbitahan sa inyong kasal.
Sa ngayo’y ang alaala na ito’y dumaraan na lamang,
Tuwing napag-iisa’t ubod ng pagal.

Limang taon ang nalipas at muli kong sinubukan,
Sa ibang babae naman binuksan ang kalooban.
Akala ko ay pwede na,
Ngunit, puta, ‘di rin pala.

Ang hirap mo maging kaibigan,
Lahat ng tao sa paligid mo’y ako’y sinisiraan.
Batid kong may pagkakaiba ang ikot ng ating kaisipan,
Ngunit inakala kong posible ang pagkakasunduan.

‘Di ako ng tipo ng madalas magkagusto,
Lalo na din siguro sa mga pangyayaring nasulat rito.
Tingin man ng iba’y dapat maataas ang aking tiwala sa sarili,
Mga taong ‘may kaya niyan’ ay sadiyang pili.

Sa totoo lang, marami akong ayaw sa sarili ko,
Kaya’t malalim na takot ang nararamdaman ko.
Kahit na sabihin ng iba noon na gusto nila ako,
Dagli kong iisiping, “Sino niloloko mo?”

Nanay ko lang tumawag sa aking gwapo,
At sa mga manininda at drayber ko lang narinig ang, “Uy, pogi!”
Ngunit sa katotohanan pala’y iba-iba talaga ang pagtingin ng tao,
At minsa’y may mga tunay sa magkakagusto sa’yong mga ngiti.

May mga lumapit na rin,
Babae at lalaki, nagparamdam ng pagtingin.
Ngunit ayaw ko ring lokohin sila at ang aking sarili,
Kung ‘di naman tunay ang magiging pagpili.

Kaya siguro ako tumatandang ganito,
Malakas ang loob at mukhang masungit,
Dahil sa loob ng 20 taon ay kinaya ko ang sarili ko,
Mag-isa akong bumabangon at pumipikit.

Kinaya kong mamuhay ng mag-isa,
Kaya mahirap hanapan ng lugar ang para pa sa iba.
Ngunit ‘di tayo nawawalan ng pag-asa,
Na merong ‘siya’ na darating nga.

Andami nating hinarap na mga problema,
Iniyakan ‘to, uminom dahil dun at kung anu-ano pa.
Ngunit kung iisipin, masa madali **** malalampasan yan,
Kung may isang taong tunay kang pakikinggan.

Sa lahat ng ‘di buong nabiktima ni kupido,
Na sa’yo lamang lumipad ang palaso,
‘Wag kang bibitiw kapatid ko,
Ang araw ng iyong kasiyahan at ligaya’y pinapangako ko.

Patuloy na managarap at managinip,
Tadhana’y nariyan at unti-unting sisilip.
Malay mo bukas paggising mo,
Kayakap mo na ang taong pinapangarap mo.
Nasa banyo ako nang maisip ko ang ilang mga taludtod para sa likhang 'to.
Sy Lilang Jun 2014
Tumibok ang puso ko
Hindi dahil sa may hinihinga pa
Ngunit bunsod sa kaba.

Tumayo ako't humakbang
Narating ko ang entablado;
Hindi ko lubos maisip
Na ito na ang pangalawang beses
Na tutuntong ako't haharap sa madla.

Isang pribilehiyo
Salamat sa grasya ng Panginoon.

Panimula ko'y winaksi na sa isipan
Bagkus ang bibig ay kusang niluluwalhati Siya
Maging ang pangwakas ay nakatuon lamang sa Kanya.

Ang buhay ko'y minsang naging sakal
Akala ko noon, kaya kong walang sinasandalan
Ngunit ako'y minsang naupo sa silya-elektrika
At tinawag na nasasakdal.

Isarado natin sa siyam na taon
Ako'y nasa rehas pa ng kadiliman
Na tanging sariling latay ang nasasaksihan
Kilala ko Siya na may lalang sa akin
Ang tingin nga lang ay ambulansya Siya:
Na 'pag kailanga'y, panay hikbi't nanlilimos ng grasya
Ngunit 'pag ayos ang lahat,
Iniiwan ang sarili't umiindayog sa dilim.

Sa siyam na taon
Ako'y binahiran ng itim na blusa
Akala ko'y hindi ko na matatakasan ang rehas;
Ang sekswal na kasalanang bumalot sa pagkatao
At naging mitsa nang paghinto ng nararapat na pagpapala.

Ngunit ang lahat pala'y kayang limutin ng Ama
At ang maling relasyo'y kinitil sa tamang panahon
Na ang pag-ibig ay magkaroon ng katuturan
At doon nalaman na 'pag para sa kapwa'y
Sunod lamang sa mas rurok
Ng saktong timpla ng pagmamahal.

Umaagos ang luha ko nang walang nakakakita
Ang puso'y hinihele ng Kanyang mga anghel
At ang Kanyang sakripisyo'y tagos sa kamoogan.

Hindi ko lubos na maintindihan noon ang pag-ibig Niya
Na kayang akayin ang buo kong pagkatao
At buburahin ang kamalian ng nakaraan
At maging ng ngayon at ng bukas.

Hindi ko alam kung saan paparoon
Kaya't pilit kong sinuot ang maling maskara noon
Ang puso'y mali rin ang naging direksyon
Maling galaw at mali ang naging layon.

Ibinaling ko ang lahat sa sariling persona
Nag-aral nang mabuti't hindi nalulong sa anumang droga
Maraming organisasyon ang kinabilangan
Sa pag-aakalang matatakpan ang bawat butas
At masisilayan lamang ang magandang antas ng sarili.

Sa madaling salita, binuo ko ang sarili kong pagkatao
At nalimot at nakaligtaan na may nag-iisa lamang na Manghuhulma
Ngunit salamat at naarok ko ang tamang landas
Na ang minsang batong sinantabi't itinapon
Ang siyang tutuwid sa baku-bako kong daan.

Hindi pala ako magiging masaya
Kung ang sentro ko'y ang aking sarili
At nang ako'y palayain Niya,
Masasabi kong ganap na ang aking pagkatao
Na nakilala ko ang sarili --
Kung sino ako't kung para kanino.

Wala na akong mahihiling pa
Mahirap man sa sansinukob na ito'y
Patuloy pa ring maghihitay sa Kanyang pagbabalik.

Hindi ko kinalilimutan ang mundo
Ang labindalawang disipolo na Kanyang regalo sa akin
Ang kanilang mga buhay na tangan ko hanggang sa huli
At hindi sapat na sumuko lamang
Hindi ko kaya, ngunit kaya Niya.

Ang pag-ibig ko sa pamilya ko'y hindi maaawat
May mga tanong sa isipan ngunit hindi ko ito ginising
Hindi ko abot ang Kanyang kaalaman
Kaya't inilapag at inihain na lamang sa Kanyang paanan.

Muli, hindi ko kayang mag-isa --
Mag-isang nag-aarok ng pansamantalang tagumpay
Ngunit ang paniniwalang may pag-asa pa
Ay patuloy ang pag-usbong gaya ng mga malalagong dahon;
Ang bawat kaluskos ay maririnig ng Ama
At ang pugad na kinatitirikan ko ngayo'y
Haplos ng Kanyang banal na mga kamay.

(6/28/14 @xirlleelang)
HYA Dec 2017
Tayo'y pinagtagpo lang pala
At hindi itinadhana para sa isa't-isa
Tayong dalawa ay patuloy na umaasa
Ngunit ngayon, kailangan ko ng lumayo. Pasensya.

Sabi mo, gusto mo ako
Aking puso't isip ay nagtatalo
Kung maniniwala ba sa sinabi mo
Dahil baka ikaw lamang ay nalilito

Nalilito sapagkat ako lang naman ang kasama mo sa lungkot
Nagbabalewala sa utot **** kay bantot
Nagpapasaya sayo kapag hindi mo kayang tumawa
Sumasagip sayo kapag ika'y naaaberya

Yung totoo, gusto mo ba talaga ako?
Tandaan, ang gusto at kailangan ay hindi magkapareho
Huwag **** pilitin kung hindi naman kaya
Tanggap ko na noon pa,  huwag kang mag-alala

Kaya mahal, ako na ang lalayo
Subalit bago iyan, iiwanan kita ng isang payo
Minsan,  kailangan mo ring sundin ang iyong puso
Dahil kapag utak lang lahat, ito'y maglalaho

Sana maging masaya ka sa kanya
Alam mo kung sino tinutukoy ko,  bwesit ka
Simula't sapul, diba siya naman talaga?
Brad,  matalino ako, hindi tanga

Sige na. Pinapalaya na kita
Kahit anuman ang mangyari, may tagasalba ka
Huwag ka ngang duwag,  ano ba?
Huwag kasing ipagpilitan sakin ang sarili kung gusto mo pa siya.

Lalayo na ako ha?
Lalayo na ako bago kita malayo sa kanya
Paalam, aking sinisinta
Heeey awis
Ashlie Forth Dec 2014
I see more art in my sights at midnight, than at noon.
I feel more emotions running through my veins at midnight, than at noon.
I hear more music in your voice and more music outside at midnight, than at noon.
I taste more stale air and silent breaths at midnight, than noon.
I don't smell anything more at midnight, than noon.
I am more alive at midnight, than noon because I'm accepting of the fact that I'm alone in a cold cruel world that will never do me justice. I can control the feelings I have when I'm most delirious, I know who's awake and ignoring me, than who's awake and avoiding me. I am more at midnight, than noon because I'm in control of everything crazy once it rests for the night, I don't ever rest. There is no rest for the wicked.
mikhachuuu Apr 2017
Minsan naiisip ko
Pano mo nga ba nabihag ang puso ko
Oo ako nga iyon
Ang nilalaman ng puso mo ngayon

Ewan ko kung bakit
Ewan ko kung bakit tayo'y pilit na pinaglalapit
Tas eto ako ngayon nahulog na
Nahulog na sa taong halos lahat ng ay humahanga

Oo ikaw nga yon,Minsan naiisip ko
Pano mo nga ba nabihag ang puso ko
Oo ako nga iyon
Ang nilalaman ng puso mo ngayon

Ewan ko kung bakit
Ewan ko kung bakit tayo'y pilit na pinaglalapit
Tas eto ako ngayon nahulog na
Nahulog na sa taong halos lahat ng ay humahanga

Oo ikaw nga yon,
Ikaw na ikaw, heartthrob ngayon
Mga babae sayo ay nagaabang
Pero kahit wala akong gusto sayo, ako parin ang lumamang

Noon, nirereto kita sa iba
Sa kanya, para kayo ay magkakilala
Naalala ko ang fc ko non
Pero angyare ngayon?

Oo unexpected talaga
Bat nga ba tayo ang itinadhana
Sana eto na nga ang huli,
ayoko na ng susunod pa muli

Noon, pagkakakilala ko sayo ay pafall, paasa
Pero nung lubusan kitang nakilala, hindi pala
Sadyang mapaglaro talaga ang tadhana
Di natin inaasahan tayo din pala

Bago palang, dami ng nangyari
Nakagawa ng mga pangyayaring tama at mali
Ayoko na maulit ang mga nangyari noon
Mga nangyari noon na gusto ko ng itapon

Ang swerte ko kasi ako napili mo
Kahit nung simula, wala akong gusto sayo
Pero ngayon nahulog na ko
Hays, nahulog sa taong madaming nagkakagusto

Ikaw, ikaw na kaya?
Ikaw na kaya ang "Right One" ko?
Ako, ako na kaya?
Ako na kaya ang "Lucky Girl" sa buong mundo?
Swerte ko sayooo huhu <3
Mia Barrat May 2015
Noon.* We are closest at Noon, when
the sun is cruel and when I teach you
how to tell when a girl wants a kiss. I've
built a wall between us; now be a dear

and lean against it. As the sun hammers
onto our heads, I reflect upon how difficult
the word Noon must be to pronounce in
your precious French mouth. You feel self-

conscious about your accent well guess what
so do I and I've been encumbering this
freedom-infested continent since 2001. You

try to dig out a groove in the wall - but you
see, when I built it I made sure it was so
sturdy we'd die against it. This is *Noon.
This is Sonnet at Noon, the sequel to Sonnet at Dawn. Next up is Sonnet at... I don't know yet haha
Ayin Medina Sep 2015
Nahihirapan akong magsulat
Aking mata ay hirap idilat
Pagod na masilayan ang bukas
Takot na baka ako ay madulas

Saya, galak, lungkot, iyak, galit
Mata'y habang buhay ipipikit
Alaala'y isabay sa libing
Maging masaya sa kaniyang pilig

Ikaw ay aking palalayain
Kahit ika'y hindi naging akin
Pag-ibig; naghahatid ng takot
Takot ay magdudulot ng lungkot

Sa pagpunta mo sa dako roon
Tandaang kasama ako noon
Sarili'y ingatang 'wag maligaw
Mangyari man, ako'y nakatanaw

Itong tula ay hirap putulin
Katulad lang ng aking pagtingin
Kamay ay mistulang nakagapos
Boses na walang tinig ay paos

Puso't isip hirap pasunurin
Sarili ay hirap palayain
Sugat sa puso ay kumakapal
Dulot ng alaala mo, **mahal
Bo Burnham Apr 2015
I want to kiss you all day.
I want to start at dawn.
I want our mouths to dry out by breakfast.
I want our jaws to start cramping by noon.
I want us to question our decision to kiss all day by hour five.
I want to have *** really quickly then seriously stop all this kissing ******* because you need your personal space, apparently.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!

With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!

It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?

You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!

Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
AKIKO Apr 2017
Ako'y mailap
Pag si Ina'y kapiling
Kung ako'y umasta parang
Hindi sya nakikita
Parabang sa isip ko'y ako lang
Mag-isa

Anong mali?
Tanong ko sa  sarili
Anong mali at ganito ako
Umasta,
Sa harap ni Inay na nagbigay
Buhay sa kagaya kong walang
Kwenta

Pero bakit ba?
Gusto ko ba na isilang nya ang
Kagaya kong basura na ay wala pang kwenta?

Sukdulan na siguro
Ang hinanakit ni Ina sa akin
Kayat luha nya'y hindi na napigil
Ako'y sinumbatan
Lahat ng kamalian ko'y
Sinambit
Sa unang pagkakataon
Si Ina ay nagalit

Ako'y nagtaka
Sa aking nadarama
Ang puso ko'y bakit tila sasabog na
Sa nakitang luha
Na umagus pababa

Isang gaya ko
Ang nagpaluha sa Kanya
O, anung hirap at
Sakit pala
Ang makitang lumuha
Ang Ginang na nagpalaki't umaruga
Sa gaya kong walang kwenta

Ngayu'y alam kuna
Ang damdamin ni Ina
Ako ay nangakong
Magbabago na, upang damdami'y ni Ina hindi na masaktan pa
At brilyante  nyang mata'y hindi na tumangis pa

Ang mahal kong Ina nasa malayo na
Paano na ang pramis ko
Tila naging abo na

Masakit isiping
Pagmamahal ay di naipadama
Sa nag-iisa kong Reyna
Na nagpahalaga sa kagayakong basura na'y wala pang kwenta

Sumilip ang Araw
Sa mata kong nakapikit
Kahit natakluban na ng luha ang mata
Batid kong si Ina'y nasa tagiliran ko pala
Nakatayo at nakangiti,may alay na pagmamahal ang brilyante nyang mga mata

Hinagkan ko si Nanay
Tudo bigay ang dabest kong yakap
Sabay dampi ng matamis kong halik sakanyang pisngi
Batid ko si Nanay ay nagtaka
Tila nagulat pa nga sa bago kung pag-asta

Labis akong nasaktan
Sa panaginip na handa ng may kapal
Tiyak ako'y kanyang sinubok
Upang malaman ko na ang halaga ni  Nanay ay di lamang sintaas ng bundok
Kundi sinlawak din pala dagat

Ang mahagkan pala si Nanay
Ay Walang kasing sarap
Sa haba nang panahon sanay
Noon kupa nadanas
Ang mayakap si Nanay kahit gaano pa katagal
Ay hindi ako magsasawa
Ohh,kay saya maranasan ang ganito
Ang makapiling si Nanay
Buo na ang araw ko

Ang pramis ko Nay ay isa lang
Mamahalin kita higit pa sa buhay kong taglay
basta ba dito kalang at hindi lilisan
Hindi lahat ng sandali'y kapiling
Ka Nanay
Siya? Crush na crush ko dati.
Ako? Hindi ako marunong lumandi.
Kaya lagi lang ako nasa isang tabi pinagmamasdan siya,
Na tumitingin habang nakangiti siya sa crush niya.
Parang boto nga pamilya niya sakin, pero di pwede maging kami kasi siya nga mismo sa iba nakatingin.
Hindi ako crush ng crush ko dati.
Hindi rin ako malungkot kasi hindi rin siya crush ng crush niya.
Patas lang diba?
Pero ngayon....
Iba na kasi ang sitwasyon.
Malungkot na ako.
Crush ko siya noon,
Mahal ko na ngayon....
Bunny ko! Isa ka sa mga inspirasyon ko kaya ako nagdidiet. Mahal kita kahit di mo ako mahal. Darating ang araw na makakalimutan rin kita.
poetnamasakit Oct 2015
Simula sa unang pagupo ng puwet ko sa tagayan
Nakita ko sa mga mata mo ang saya ng isang misteryosong lalaki
Mga mata **** nakatitig sakin
Habang sinasabi mo sakin na “baka may magalit na iba?”
Ang sabi ko’y “wala”
Tinuloy mo ang usapan sa salitang “okay ka lang ba?”
Ang sabi ko’y “oo, basta kasama kita.”

Natataranta ako tuwing ika’y mananahimik pagkatapos **** magsalita
Nangangamba ako na baka may nasabi akong kakaiba na hindi ko natantsa
Nagpaliwanag kang “hindi ganto lang talaga ko”
Naisip ko na baka kasi lasing ka na
Ang sabi mo nama’y “hindi, kaya ko pa.”

Ako din.. Kaya ko pa.
Kaya ko pa….
Alam mo ang hindi ko kaya?
Yang mga mata **** nakatitig sa mga mata ko
Na parang ayaw mo kong mawala sa tabi mo
Yung mga kamay mo na naglalaro sa balikat ko
Yung mga haplos mo na tila sinasabing “ikaw ang gusto ko”

Hanggang sa ikinagulat ko na nagmula mismo sa bibig  mo
“Gusto kita.”
Hindi ko alam ang magiging reaksyon ko
Napatingin nalang ako sa malayo habang sinasabi sa isip kong
“Tangina! Tangina! Tangina!”
Napamura nalang ako kasi ngayon ko nalang ulit naramdaman 'to
Natutuwa ako pero natatakot ako na baka kasi ngayon lang 'to
Na baka lasing ka lang kaya yan ang nasasabi mo
Natatakot akong masaktan muli kaya kasunod non ay pagpigil nalang sa hininga ko at sinabi ko sayong “okay ka lang ba?”
Ang sabi mo’y “oo, kaya ko pa.”

Ayoko nang ituloy ang kuwento ko tungkol sayo
Wala din nga akong balak sanang sabihin to sa mga kaibigan ko
Kaya nga eto, sinusulat ko nalang ang mga pangyayari gamit ang mga piling letra para lang sayo
Sa dulo ng kuwentong ito, ipapahayag ko na iniwan mo nalang ako
Hindi sa paraang ikakasama mo..
Kundi sa paraang ikinalulungkot ko kasi hindi na nasundan ang pagkikita nating dal'wa
Ayoko  ng umasa..
Pagod na kong umasa..
Napagod nalang akong umasa..

Nasaktan na ko noon kaya inaalalayan ko lang ang sarili ko
Ayokong magpadalos dalos kasi alam kong nasasaktan padin ang nobya mo noon sa paghihiwalay niyo
At ako eto ngayon.. Sa sarili kong bersyon, ako yung nobya, na tila parehas ang nararamdaman namin ng nobya mo
Parehas kaming nanghihingi ng atensyon sa mga mahal namin

Ayokong agawin ka sakanya, kasi sabi mo nga sakin mahal ka pa niya
Hindi kita kukunin sakanya
Dahil alam ko ang pakiramdam ng kinukuha nalang basta-basta

Para matapos lang tong salaysay ko
Magiiwan ako ng mga salita na para sayo
Mga salitang sana maintindihan mo at wag **** tignan bilang mababaw
Gusto ko lang malaman mo 'to
Dahil pagod na kong itago lahat ng to dito sa puso ko

“Siguro masyadong mabilis ang mga pangyayari
Dumating ka nalang bigla na tila binagyo mo ang isip ko
Mga salitang binitawan mo na hindi maalis sa isipan ko
Para kong tanga na mabilis masawi
Nakakahiya..
Pero totoo to
“Gusto rin kita”
Hindi dahil sa alak o lakas lang ng loob
Hindi dahil malungkot ka at gusto kitang pasayahin

Yung mga titig mo
Yung mga titig mo

Yung mga mata **** nakatitig sa mata ko
Yung mga haplos **** namimiss ko
Yung mga salitang lumabas sa bibig mo

Yung ikaw

Yung ako

Pero…
Yung akala kong may “tayo”

Bigla ka nalang naglaho..
Bakit?
Anong problema?

Kulang pa ba yung alak na laman ng tiyan mo para sabihin mo saking…… “ikaw talaga ang gusto ko.””
Charm Yap Oct 2011
Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Kung noon malambing ka pero ngayon matamlay na?
Madalas magselos kahit wala pang ginagawa?
Pero nag-iba ihip ng hangin, bakit biglang nag-iba?

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Kung ang mga bagay at gawain na ayaw mo noon
Ang siyang nais mo at pinag-uukulan ngayon ng panahon?

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Ang mga personal **** bagay noon ay nakakalat lang
Ngayon naman, pinipilit itago kahit sa anong parte ng katawan.

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Noon nagpapaalam pa kung sasama umalis ang barkada
Ngayon, nagsabi nga pero kung kailan wala ka ng magawa kasi paalis na.

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Na ni minsan di mo ako pinakilala bilang karelasyon
Basta sinabi ang pangalan, tapos yun na yun.

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Na ayaw **** ipaalam sa iba  na mayroon ka na
Tinanggal ang mga litrato, para di makita ng iba.

Dapat ba akong maghinala?
Na sa lahat ng nangyari, ikaw ang tama
Sasabihin lang na Mahala kita ..
Maririnig mo lang .. pag nalaman niyang... aalis ka na.
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
I only took the moon veiled in my cube
I took her innate water off but not for good.
Now the sun can’t take its eyes
off the blindfolded black moon!
Off this night the sunup is yet to unleash
the dawn, let alone the tucked away noon!
ConnectHook Feb 2016
by John Greenleaf Whittier  (1807 – 1892)

“As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine Light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood fire: and as the celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same.”

        COR. AGRIPPA,
           Occult Philosophy, Book I. chap. v.


Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow; and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.


                                       EMERSON

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, —
Brought in the wood from out of doors,
Littered the stalls, and from the mows
Raked down the herd’s-grass for the cows;
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While, peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold’s pole of birch,
The **** his crested helmet bent
And down his querulous challenge sent.

Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag, wavering to and fro,
Crossed and recrossed the wingàd snow:
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines
Of Nature’s geometric signs,
And, when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below, —
A universe of sky and snow!
The old familiar sights of ours
Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,
Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant spendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa’s leaning miracle.

A prompt, decisive man, no breath
Our father wasted: “Boys, a path!”
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy
Count such a summons less than joy?)
Our buskins on our feet we drew;
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low,
To guard our necks and ears from snow,
We cut the solid whiteness through.
And, where the drift was deepest, made
A tunnel walled and overlaid
With dazzling crystal: we had read
Of rare Aladdin’s wondrous cave,
And to our own his name we gave,
With many a wish the luck were ours
To test his lamp’s supernal powers.
We reached the barn with merry din,
And roused the prisoned brutes within.
The old horse ****** his long head out,
And grave with wonder gazed about;
The **** his ***** greeting said,
And forth his speckled harem led;
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked,
And mild reproach of hunger looked;
The hornëd patriarch of the sheep,
Like Egypt’s Amun roused from sleep,
Shook his sage head with gesture mute,
And emphasized with stamp of foot.

All day the gusty north-wind bore
The loosening drift its breath before;
Low circling round its southern zone,
The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone.
No church-bell lent its Christian tone
To the savage air, no social smoke
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak.
A solitude made more intense
By dreary-voicëd elements,
The shrieking of the mindless wind,
The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind,
And on the glass the unmeaning beat
Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet.
Beyond the circle of our hearth
No welcome sound of toil or mirth
Unbound the spell, and testified
Of human life and thought outside.
We minded that the sharpest ear
The buried brooklet could not hear,
The music of whose liquid lip
Had been to us companionship,
And, in our lonely life, had grown
To have an almost human tone.

As night drew on, and, from the crest
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
From sight beneath the smothering bank,
We piled, with care, our nightly stack
Of wood against the chimney-back, —
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
And on its top the stout back-stick;
The knotty forestick laid apart,
And filled between with curious art

The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
The crane and pendent trammels showed,
The Turks’ heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,
Whispered the old rhyme: “Under the tree,
When fire outdoors burns merrily,
There the witches are making tea.”

The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.
For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where’er it fell
To make the coldness visible.

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed;
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat’s dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger’s seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons’ straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October’s wood.

What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire’s ruddy glow.
O Time and Change! — with hair as gray
As was my sire’s that winter day,
How strange it seems, with so much gone
Of life and love, to still live on!
Ah, brother! only I and thou
Are left of all that circle now, —
The dear home faces whereupon
That fitful firelight paled and shone.
Henceforward, listen as we will,
The voices of that hearth are still;
Look where we may, the wide earth o’er,
Those lighted faces smile no more.

We tread the paths their feet have worn,
We sit beneath their orchard trees,
We hear, like them, the hum of bees
And rustle of the bladed corn;
We turn the pages that they read,
Their written words we linger o’er,
But in the sun they cast no shade,
No voice is heard, no sign is made,
No step is on the conscious floor!
Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust,
(Since He who knows our need is just,)
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress-trees!
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,
The truth to flesh and sense unknown,
That Life is ever lord of Death,
And Love can never lose its own!

We sped the time with stories old,
Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told,
Or stammered from our school-book lore
“The Chief of Gambia’s golden shore.”
How often since, when all the land
Was clay in Slavery’s shaping hand,
As if a far-blown trumpet stirred
Dame Mercy Warren’s rousing word:
“Does not the voice of reason cry,
Claim the first right which Nature gave,
From the red scourge of ******* to fly,
Nor deign to live a burdened slave!”
Our father rode again his ride
On Memphremagog’s wooded side;
Sat down again to moose and samp
In trapper’s hut and Indian camp;
Lived o’er the old idyllic ease
Beneath St. François’ hemlock-trees;
Again for him the moonlight shone
On Norman cap and bodiced zone;
Again he heard the violin play
Which led the village dance away.
And mingled in its merry whirl
The grandam and the laughing girl.
Or, nearer home, our steps he led
Where Salisbury’s level marshes spread
Mile-wide as flies the laden bee;
Where merry mowers, hale and strong,
Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along
The low green prairies of the sea.
We shared the fishing off Boar’s Head,
And round the rocky Isles of Shoals
The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals;
The chowder on the sand-beach made,
Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot,
With spoons of clam-shell from the ***.
We heard the tales of witchcraft old,
And dream and sign and marvel told
To sleepy listeners as they lay
Stretched idly on the salted hay,
Adrift along the winding shores,
When favoring breezes deigned to blow
The square sail of the gundelow
And idle lay the useless oars.

Our mother, while she turned her wheel
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel,
Told how the Indian hordes came down
At midnight on Concheco town,
And how her own great-uncle bore
His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore.
Recalling, in her fitting phrase,
So rich and picturesque and free
(The common unrhymed poetry
Of simple life and country ways,)
The story of her early days, —
She made us welcome to her home;
Old hearths grew wide to give us room;
We stole with her a frightened look
At the gray wizard’s conjuring-book,
The fame whereof went far and wide
Through all the simple country side;
We heard the hawks at twilight play,
The boat-horn on Piscataqua,
The loon’s weird laughter far away;
We fished her little trout-brook, knew
What flowers in wood and meadow grew,
What sunny hillsides autumn-brown
She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down,
Saw where in sheltered cove and bay,
The ducks’ black squadron anchored lay,
And heard the wild-geese calling loud
Beneath the gray November cloud.
Then, haply, with a look more grave,
And soberer tone, some tale she gave
From painful Sewel’s ancient tome,
Beloved in every Quaker home,
Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom,
Or Chalkley’s Journal, old and quaint, —
Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint! —
Who, when the dreary calms prevailed,
And water-**** and bread-cask failed,
And cruel, hungry eyes pursued
His portly presence mad for food,
With dark hints muttered under breath
Of casting lots for life or death,

Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies,
To be himself the sacrifice.
Then, suddenly, as if to save
The good man from his living grave,
A ripple on the water grew,
A school of porpoise flashed in view.
“Take, eat,” he said, “and be content;
These fishes in my stead are sent
By Him who gave the tangled ram
To spare the child of Abraham.”
Our uncle, innocent of books,
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks,
The ancient teachers never dumb
Of Nature’s unhoused lyceum.
In moons and tides and weather wise,
He read the clouds as prophecies,
And foul or fair could well divine,
By many an occult hint and sign,
Holding the cunning-warded keys
To all the woodcraft mysteries;
Himself to Nature’s heart so near
v That all her voices in his ear
Of beast or bird had meanings clear,
Like Apollonius of old,
Who knew the tales the sparrows told,
Or Hermes, who interpreted
What the sage cranes of Nilus said;
A simple, guileless, childlike man,
Content to live where life began;
Strong only on his native grounds,
The little world of sights and sounds
Whose girdle was the parish bounds,
Whereof his fondly partial pride
The common features magnified,
As Surrey hills to mountains grew
In White of Selborne’s loving view, —
He told how teal and loon he shot,
And how the eagle’s eggs he got,
The feats on pond and river done,
The prodigies of rod and gun;
Till, warming with the tales he told,
Forgotten was the outside cold,
The bitter wind unheeded blew,
From ripening corn the pigeons flew,
The partridge drummed i’ the wood, the mink
Went fishing down the river-brink.
In fields with bean or clover gay,
The woodchuck, like a hermit gray,
Peered from the doorway of his cell;
The muskrat plied the mason’s trade,
And tier by tier his mud-walls laid;
And from the shagbark overhead
The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell.

Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer
And voice in dreams I see and hear, —
The sweetest woman ever Fate
Perverse denied a household mate,
Who, lonely, homeless, not the less
Found peace in love’s unselfishness,
And welcome wheresoe’er she went,
A calm and gracious element,
Whose presence seemed the sweet income
And womanly atmosphere of home, —
Called up her girlhood memories,
The huskings and the apple-bees,
The sleigh-rides and the summer sails,
Weaving through all the poor details
And homespun warp of circumstance
A golden woof-thread of romance.
For well she kept her genial mood
And simple faith of maidenhood;
Before her still a cloud-land lay,
The mirage loomed across her way;
The morning dew, that dries so soon
With others, glistened at her noon;
Through years of toil and soil and care,
From glossy tress to thin gray hair,
All unprofaned she held apart
The ****** fancies of the heart.
Be shame to him of woman born
Who hath for such but thought of scorn.
There, too, our elder sister plied
Her evening task the stand beside;
A full, rich nature, free to trust,
Truthful and almost sternly just,
Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act,
And make her generous thought a fact,
Keeping with many a light disguise
The secret of self-sacrifice.

O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best
That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest,
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things!
How many a poor one’s blessing went
With thee beneath the low green tent
Whose curtain never outward swings!

As one who held herself a part
Of all she saw, and let her heart
Against the household ***** lean,
Upon the motley-braided mat
Our youngest and our dearest sat,
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes,
Now bathed in the unfading green
And holy peace of Paradise.
Oh, looking from some heavenly hill,
Or from the shade of saintly palms,
Or silver reach of river calms,
Do those large eyes behold me still?
With me one little year ago: —
The chill weight of the winter snow
For months upon her grave has lain;
And now, when summer south-winds blow
And brier and harebell bloom again,
I tread the pleasant paths we trod,
I see the violet-sprinkled sod
Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak
The hillside flowers she loved to seek,
Yet following me where’er I went
With dark eyes full of love’s content.
The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills
The air with sweetness; all the hills
Stretch green to June’s unclouded sky;
But still I wait with ear and eye
For something gone which should be nigh,
A loss in all familiar things,
In flower that blooms, and bird that sings.
And yet, dear heart! remembering thee,
Am I not richer than of old?
Safe in thy immortality,
What change can reach the wealth I hold?
What chance can mar the pearl and gold
Thy love hath left in trust with me?
And while in life’s late afternoon,
Where cool and long the shadows grow,
I walk to meet the night that soon
Shall shape and shadow overflow,
I cannot feel that thou art far,
Since near at need the angels are;
And when the sunset gates unbar,
Shall I not see thee waiting stand,
And, white against the evening star,
The welcome of thy beckoning hand?

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule,
The master of the district school
Held at the fire his favored place,
Its warm glow lit a laughing face
Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared
The uncertain prophecy of beard.
He teased the mitten-blinded cat,
Played cross-pins on my uncle’s hat,
Sang songs, and told us what befalls
In classic Dartmouth’s college halls.
Born the wild Northern hills among,
From whence his yeoman father wrung
By patient toil subsistence scant,
Not competence and yet not want,
He early gained the power to pay
His cheerful, self-reliant way;
Could doff at ease his scholar’s gown
To peddle wares from town to town;
Or through the long vacation’s reach
In lonely lowland districts teach,
Where all the droll experience found
At stranger hearths in boarding round,
The moonlit skater’s keen delight,
The sleigh-drive through the frosty night,
The rustic party, with its rough
Accompaniment of blind-man’s-buff,
And whirling-plate, and forfeits paid,
His winter task a pastime made.
Happy the snow-locked homes wherein
He tuned his merry violin,

Or played the athlete in the barn,
Or held the good dame’s winding-yarn,
Or mirth-provoking versions told
Of classic legends rare and old,
Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome
Had all the commonplace of home,
And little seemed at best the odds
‘Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods;
Where Pindus-born Arachthus took
The guise of any grist-mill brook,
And dread Olympus at his will
Became a huckleberry hill.

A careless boy that night he seemed;
But at his desk he had the look
And air of one who wisely schemed,
And hostage from the future took
In trainëd thought and lore of book.
Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he
Shall Freedom’s young apostles be,
Who, following in War’s ****** trail,
Shall every lingering wrong assail;
All chains from limb and spirit strike,
Uplift the black and white alike;
Scatter before their swift advance
The darkness and the ignorance,
The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth,
Which nurtured Treason’s monstrous growth,
Made ****** pastime, and the hell
Of prison-torture possible;
The cruel lie of caste refute,
Old forms remould, and substitute
For Slavery’s lash the freeman’s will,
For blind routine, wise-handed skill;
A school-house plant on every hill,
Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence
The quick wires of intelligence;
Till North and South together brought
Shall own the same electric thought,
In peace a common flag salute,
And, side by side in labor’s free
And unresentful rivalry,
Harvest the fields wherein they fought.

Another guest that winter night
Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light.
Unmarked by time, and yet not young,
The honeyed music of her tongue
And words of meekness scarcely told
A nature passionate and bold,

Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide,
Its milder features dwarfed beside
Her unbent will’s majestic pride.
She sat among us, at the best,
A not unfeared, half-welcome guest,
Rebuking with her cultured phrase
Our homeliness of words and ways.
A certain pard-like, treacherous grace
Swayed the lithe limbs and drooped the lash,
Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash;
And under low brows, black with night,
Rayed out at times a dangerous light;
The sharp heat-lightnings of her face
Presaging ill to him whom Fate
Condemned to share her love or hate.
A woman tropical, intense
In thought and act, in soul and sense,
She blended in a like degree
The ***** and the devotee,
Revealing with each freak or feint
The temper of Petruchio’s Kate,
The raptures of Siena’s saint.
Her tapering hand and rounded wrist
Had facile power to form a fist;
The warm, dark languish of her eyes
Was never safe from wrath’s surprise.
Brows saintly calm and lips devout
Knew every change of scowl and pout;
And the sweet voice had notes more high
And shrill for social battle-cry.

Since then what old cathedral town
Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown,
What convent-gate has held its lock
Against the challenge of her knock!
Through Smyrna’s plague-hushed thoroughfares,
Up sea-set Malta’s rocky stairs,
Gray olive slopes of hills that hem
Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem,
Or startling on her desert throne
The crazy Queen of Lebanon
With claims fantastic as her own,
Her tireless feet have held their way;
And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray,
She watches under Eastern skies,
With hope each day renewed and fresh,
The Lord’s quick coming in the flesh,
Whereof she dreams and prophesies!
Where’er her troubled path may be,
The Lord’s sweet pity with her go!
The outward wayward life we see,
The hidden springs we may not know.
Nor is it given us to discern
What threads the fatal sisters spun,
Through what ancestral years has run
The sorrow with the woman born,
What forged her cruel chain of moods,
What set her feet in solitudes,
And held the love within her mute,
What mingled madness in the blood,
A life-long discord and annoy,
Water of tears with oil of joy,
And hid within the folded bud
Perversities of flower and fruit.
It is not ours to separate
The tangled skein of will and fate,
To show what metes and bounds should stand
Upon the soul’s debatable land,
And between choice and Providence
Divide the circle of events;
But He who knows our frame is just,
Merciful and compassionate,
And full of sweet assurances
And hope for all the language is,
That He remembereth we are dust!

At last the great logs, crumbling low,
Sent out a dull and duller glow,
The bull’s-eye watch that hung in view,
Ticking its weary circuit through,
Pointed with mutely warning sign
Its black hand to the hour of nine.
That sign the pleasant circle broke:
My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke,
Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray,
And laid it tenderly away;
Then roused himself to safely cover
The dull red brands with ashes over.
And while, with care, our mother laid
The work aside, her steps she stayed
One moment, seeking to express
Her grateful sense of happiness
For food and shelter, warmth and health,
And love’s contentment more than wealth,
With simple wishes (not the weak,
Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek,
But such as warm the generous heart,
O’er-prompt to do with Heaven its part)
That none might lack, that bitter night,
For bread and clothing, warmth and light.

Within our beds awhile we heard
The wind that round the gables roared,
With now and then a ruder shock,
Which made our very bedsteads rock.
We heard the loosened clapboards tost,
The board-nails snapping in the frost;
And on us, through the unplastered wall,
Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.
But sleep stole on, as sleep will do
When hearts are light and life is new;
Faint and more faint the murmurs grew,
Till in the summer-land of dreams
They softened to the sound of streams,
Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars,
And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Of merry voices high and clear;
And saw the teamsters drawing near
To break the drifted highways out.
Down the long hillside treading slow
We saw the half-buried oxen go,
Shaking the snow from heads uptost,
Their straining nostrils white with frost.
Before our door the straggling train
Drew up, an added team to gain.
The elders threshed their hands a-cold,
Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes
From lip to lip; the younger folks
Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled,
Then toiled again the cavalcade
O’er windy hill, through clogged ravine,
And woodland paths that wound between
Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed.
From every barn a team afoot,
At every house a new recruit,
Where, drawn by Nature’s subtlest law,
Haply the watchful young men saw
Sweet doorway pictures of the curls
And curious eyes of merry girls,
Lifting their hands in mock defence
Against the snow-ball’s compliments,
And reading in each missive tost
The charm with Eden never lost.
We heard once more the sleigh-bells’ sound;
And, following where the teamsters led,
The wise old Doctor went his round,
Just pausing at our door to say,
In the brief autocratic way
Of one who, prompt at Duty’s call,
Was free to urge her claim on all,
That some poor neighbor sick abed
At night our mother’s aid would need.
For, one in generous thought and deed,
What mattered in the sufferer’s sight
The Quaker matron’s inward light,
The Doctor’s mail of Calvin’s creed?
All hearts confess the saints elect
Who, twain in faith, in love agree,
And melt not in an acid sect
The Christian pearl of charity!

So days went on: a week had passed
Since the great world was heard from last.
The Almanac we studied o’er,
Read and reread our little store
Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score;
One harmless novel, mostly hid
From younger eyes, a book forbid,
And poetry, (or good or bad,
A single book was all we had,)
Where Ellwood’s meek, drab-skirted Muse,
A stranger to the heathen Nine,
Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine,
The wars of David and the Jews.
At last the floundering carrier bore
The village paper to our door.
Lo! broadening outward as we read,
To warmer zones the horizon spread
In panoramic length unrolled
We saw the marvels that it told.
Before us passed the painted Creeks,
A   nd daft McGregor on his raids
In Costa Rica’s everglades.
And up Taygetos winding slow
Rode Ypsilanti’s Mainote Greeks,
A Turk’s head at each saddle-bow!
Welcome to us its week-old news,
Its corner for the rustic Muse,
Its monthly gauge of snow and rain,
Its record, mingling in a breath
The wedding bell and dirge of death:
Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale,
The latest culprit sent to jail;
Its hue and cry of stolen and lost,
Its vendue sales and goods at cost,
And traffic calling loud for gain.
We felt the stir of hall and street,
The pulse of life that round us beat;
The chill embargo of the snow
Was melted in the genial glow;
Wide swung again our ice-locked door,
And all the world was ours once more!

Clasp, Angel of the backword look
And folded wings of ashen gray
And voice of echoes far away,
The brazen covers of thy book;
The weird palimpsest old and vast,
Wherein thou hid’st the spectral past;
Where, closely mingling, pale and glow
The characters of joy and woe;
The monographs of outlived years,
Or smile-illumed or dim with tears,
Green hills of life that ***** to death,
And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees
Shade off to mournful cypresses
With the white amaranths underneath.
Even while I look, I can but heed
The restless sands’ incessant fall,
Importunate hours that hours succeed,
Each clamorous with its own sharp need,
And duty keeping pace with all.
Shut down and clasp with heavy lids;
I hear again the voice that bids
The dreamer leave his dream midway
For larger hopes and graver fears:
Life greatens in these later years,
The century’s aloe flowers to-day!

Yet, haply, in some lull of life,
Some Truce of God which breaks its strife,
The worldling’s eyes shall gather dew,
Dreaming in throngful city ways
Of winter joys his boyhood knew;
And dear and early friends — the few
Who yet remain — shall pause to view
These Flemish pictures of old days;
Sit with me by the homestead hearth,
And stretch the hands of memory forth
To warm them at the wood-fire’s blaze!
And thanks untraced to lips unknown
Shall greet me like the odors blown
From unseen meadows newly mown,
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond;
The traveller owns the grateful sense
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence,
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare
The benediction of the air.

Written in  1865
In its day, 'twas a best-seller and earned significant income for Whittier

https://youtu.be/vVOQ54YQ73A
Bryan Lunsford Aug 2018
It is within an unusually warm and early spring night,
Here, where I begin to feel something ever so unusual while looking deeply into this goddess' eyes,

With her eyes like a pair of diamonds sparkling in the sky,
It's at this moment–in this part of the night–
Love simply didn't need a reply,

With candles lit,
As it's surely to her delight,
And with rose petals all over the bed–
That, surely, was to her surprise,

Though, right now,
Can you really blame me for having this nervous butterfly-feeling whirling around inside?

For this will be the first-ever night that I'll get to hold this beauty tight,

And for such a divine beauty,
Surely I'd make any sacrifice to make sure her every whim and need is perfectly sufficed,

Yes, with our feelings for each other that couldn't be more pure or refined,
I already know, without hesitance, our love would satisfy any god's most delicate appetite inside,

And although, this world may never know how I truly feel inside,
I, myself, know with certainty that I love this woman more than anything I've ever loved in my whole life,

Yet, with nothing more than the sound of crickets chirping within the night,
I proceed to lay this beauty down–
Here, pulling her close to my side (where I tell her)
"I love you, angel, good night",

And even though our love never did need a reply,
She said
"I love you too, sweet dreams baby, don't forget to hold me ever so tight",

And thus with this crazy, whirling, butterfly-feeling, again, that I begin to feel take over inside,
She rolls over unexpectedly and surprises me with a kiss to seal any other reply–
To only roll back over and close her eyes,

Oh, and in the midst of her every action–every move leaving me mesmerized,
She decides to move an inch closer to me,
(Where I wrap my arm around her thighs)
As it's also nearly simultaneously that I hear the clock's stride finally hit midnight,

With a chime that struck once–
Then struck twice,
I begin to hear a set of chimes strike–and strike until they chime twelve times,  
(As these chimes come from this evilly wicked, horrid and heinous clock of mine)

Yes!–with this clock being a clock that through time I have come to slowly hate and despise!

Though, this tower of a clock reminds me of its presence with not the tics nor the tocs–
No, only when the minute hand climbs and the hour's hand meets another notch,

As only then, within that second of the minute, does my mind's thoughts get crossed and rocked–
With my thoughts that become locked within a box
(As it'll be for the next sixty minutes)
I'll just lie there and remain distraught,

Oh, and you ask why?–
Simply because of this chiming noise that won't stop!

With these reoccurring chimes that take my sleep and make most nights a loss–
I can assure you that if I don't go to bed by one or two o'clock,
Any sleep for me will become more and more implausible by every tic of the clock,

Yes, nearly impossible–
For it'll be with the next four or five hours, I'll just lie there, roll, and toss,

Though this is a different night!–
As I'm reminded with our legs crossed and with our fingers interlocked,

Yet, here as I begin to feel the warmth of her body block and fend off any kind or sorts of lingering winter's frost,
I also sense that numerous candles are still glowing bright,
(With the sight of their ambient light flickering off of the bedside's wall from abroad)

And, within this room filled with sentiment as I hear not a sound at all,
I smell the candle's aromatic scents,
With the atmosphere within the air being ever so calm,

Until that is, I hear another chime of a ****–
With it sounding like a melody that's gone ever so wrong–
It's with this tower of a clock, right here, that has just let me know it's now the hour of one o'clock–
And one o'clock, right on the dot,

With only one lone chime that I heard–as everything then simply paused and stopped,

Though, within my mind and with these thoughts that refuse to stop,
I reassure myself–
Knowing that the time is only one o'clock,

For I know I still have an aplenty of time to close my eyes and make these endless lines of thoughts stop,

So to this brilliant mind of mine,
You know that it's clearly time to let these thoughts wander off,

Just close your eyes and let your mind stop–

Though, didn't I just say enough with your thoughts?

Oh, and I can see you might think a lot,
But clearly and obviously you're not thinking about squat!

So just stop or I swear to god,
If you don't stop with these god awful thoughts,
I'll have no other option than to smash and squash your head against these bricks outside of this wall and then leave you there to rot–

For if you don't stop this exact instant then I am almost certain your beautiful woman will become a loss,

And I'm sure you don't want that to happen again, now do you?

So just stop with these thoughts–
Quit fooling around and whatever you do–
Oh, and whatever you do,
Don't let this beauty see that crazed loony side inside of you,

Just fall asleep now and you both can wake up tomorrow around noon,

Yes, just close your eyes and count these sheep jumping over the moon,
And count them jumping one by one–then two by two,

Yet, between one and two,
Surely I knew I was bound to come unglued,
(With the loony that came right out of me as I hear a tune)

With a chime that struck once and then twice,
It left my mind to know not what to do,

Though, that doesn't mean I am confused,
With the duo of chimes that struck–
Only letting me know it's now into the minutes of the night that come directly after two,

And though,
As I begin feeling as if a disaster was nearing in soon,
Still, I knew not what to do–

Because I know nothing as I'm thinking of nothing and just fading away within the scents of her perfume,

(Where I begin fading away within this serenity and hearing not a tune)
I feel the weight of my eyelids begin to feel like a caving-in roof weighing at least a ton or two,

And with just one of a few wondrous thoughts still wandering on through,
I wonder
"Could this be sleep that is nearing in soon?”,

With this feeling of a wonderful tranquil sensation subduing and leaving my whole body consumed,
(As I'm weary and with clearly not a thought left in this room)
I take one last deep breath
(With my lungs swelling like a balloon)

And within a dream is where I have just entered into–:
UNTIL ABRUPTLY I HEAR A SNOOZING OF A TUNE!

Yes!–As I'm awakened and with the insanity within in me being let loose to roam throughout this room,
My mind, then, begins to shift back and forth (like something caught drifting between a typhoon and a monsoon)

Where realizing as I view that I've opened my eyes too soon–
With it being this beauty here of mine that is the one who is creating this horrendous little tune,

And feeling, as I hear–
With every single breath that she breathes rattling the room–the walls–and even the shingles upon the roof,
I feel my mind, here, completely coming all the way unglued–
For all I want to do is make everything within this room mute!

Yes, that's all I want to do!–

For I’m sure I wouldn't even be in such a foul mood if I wasn’t sleep deprived,
And if this beauty here of mine and her snoring roar weren’t the main culprits of keeping me, my mind, and this night alive,

Though, hearing with her roaring of a snore that is beginning to drive me crazy inside–
Yes, as she snores, there!–just an inch or two away from my side–
I hear with her snore only growing more and more–

As I, then, within this second, try to ignore a chord of chimes striking once, and then striking twice,
(With this clock striking three times to remind me once again of the time)

–With this night now being at least 3:03, 3:04, and could possibly even be 3:05,
I know this night is at the most three or four hours away from seeing the sun shine bright through my window blinds,

Oh, and surely I already know I probably would just close my eyes–
Yes, that's probably what I would do!
But this little beauty here of mine is worse than any set of chimes,

And surely indecisive,
(As I move the pillow over my ears while I'm consumed by an irritating form of fright)
I move my body a little to the left and then a few inches to the right,
Where I hear her demon's rumbling from inside,
And screaming as if they're trying to come out and fight–

(Which is where I begin thinking)
“Is waking her up really that much of a crime?”

For if she knew she was snoring at such a high decibel level,
Then I'm sure she wouldn't even mind,

And thus with my decisions that couldn't agree more with my mind,
I decide to slightly lift her head and wiggle her,
(As I nearly tickle her left side)

Whispering to her as I say,
"Baby, wake up, I just had the worst dream of my life!
Oh, baby, wake up, I just need to see those sweet little angel eyes!",

Though motionless–
There, as I try to keep my insane and crazy side inside,
My whisper begins to intensify to a scream
(As she refuses to open her eyes or give me a reply)

I continued to scream–SCREAMED!

"Oh, why, oh, why won't you open your eyes!",

And with her snore being the only reply that she could give me,
It literally drove me crazy inside–
Thus driving me as it drove me to climb on top of her body,
(Where I grab her nose and squeeze)

As it's within the silence and in this exact instant,
Instantly and unbelievably, I see I've hit a stride that I couldn't believe,

Yes, mesmerized!
And content beyond belief–
With her snoring, here, that has finally ceased–

–Casually, I proceed to climb off of her body
(Wherein realization I finally can go back to sleep)

And in the silence, again, as I hear not a peep,
I roll over, close my eyes, and before I could even count one jumping sheep,
I hear a roar once more coming from this treacherous little beast,

And surely with not a second more could I go without sleep,
(As this pillow, right here, has just become my best friend, and the most plausible way to get any sleep)
I decide to move this pillow over her face–with my exertion at first lacking any tenacity,

But what I'd end up hearing would be like a growl or a roar of a wicked beast,

With this sinister snore of hers only increasing more and more with every tic of my heart's beat,
I begin to feel my thoughts shift toward the sentiment of either insane or crazy,

(As my hands push with more and more of an intensity)
I begin sweating–feeling the smothering warmth of her body's heat,

Though, simultaneously as I hear her heart throb and knock an unstoppable and irregular beat,
I begin putting even more weight upon this pillowcase
(With a galore of my sweat dripping upon these sheets)

And surely I have to know,
(For it should be as obvious as could be)
That if I put any more weight upon this pillowcase,
I'd likely break through the toughest of the most unbreakable concretes,

And thus coming to the realization–
With this crazy side of me that has taken over and been unleashed surely not being me,

It's here, against the greatest of restraints
(As I'm barely able to climb off of her body)
I climb off and begin waiting within the silence–

Waiting and hearing not a peep,
Where seemingly prompting myself to say,
Here, as I speak!
"Good night baby–sweet dreams",

Though, I'd hear not a reply–
As a reply was something our love never did need,

Yet, as I roll over to climb under these sheets and close my eyes
(Where simultaneously it all has seemed)
I have fallen fast asleep within a dream while holding my sleeping beauty tight–

Holding her as I squeeze–
Holding her!–
With her heart that holds not a beat–.
54

If I should die,
And you should live—
And time should gurgle on—
And morn should beam—
And noon should burn—
As it has usual done—
If Birds should build as early
And Bees as bustling go—
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with Daisies lie—
That Commerce will continue—
And Trades as briskly fly—
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene—
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!
Eugene Aug 2017
"Hoy! Bata! Magpapakamatay ka ba?"

"Magpapakamatay ka nga e. Buhay nga naman o!"

"Sigurado ka na ba sa gagawin mo, bata? May maghahahanap ba sa iyo kapag nawala ka? May magluluksa ba sa bangkay mo kapag namatay ka?"

"Bata ka pa. Alam kong marami ka pang pangarap sa buhay mo. Kung may magulang ka pa at mga kapatid, sana naiisip mo rin sila. Sana mararamdaman mo rin ang mararamdaman nila kapag nalaman nilang magtatangka kang magpakamatay. Isipin mo bata."

"Kung desidido ka na at sa isip mo ay wala ng nagmamahal sa iyo, sige.. ituloy mo ang pagpapakamatay mo. Basta iyong pakatandaan na sa bawat yugto ng ating buhay, minsan lang tayo binigyan ng pagkakataong itama ang kung ano mang pagkakamaling nagawa natin. Wala tayong karapatang wakasan ang buhay na ipinagkaloob sa atin ng Maykapal. Sige, bata. Mauna na ako. Advance rest in peace."

Dinig na dinig ko pa ang paghampas ng malalakas na alon sa baybayin nang mga sandaling iyon. Naalala ko pang nababasa na rin ang aking mukha sa bawat tubig-alat na dumadampi sa akin noong mga panahong tinangka kong magpakamatay.

Gusto kong wakasan ang aking buhay.
Gusto kong malunod.
Gusto kong tangayin ng mga alon ang aking katawan.
Gusto kong mapuno ng tubig-alat ang aking ilong at bunganga hanggang sa mawalan na ako ng hininga at unti-unting bumulusok pailalim sa kailaliman ng dagat.

Ngunit... ang salitang binitiwan ng isang taong iyon ang nagsilbing leksiyon sa akin na pahalagahan pa ang aking buhay at ang mga taong nagmahal sa akin.

"Kung desidido ka na at sa isip mo ay walang nagmamahal sa iyo, sige, ituloy mo ang pagpapakamatay mo. Basta iyong pakatandaan na sa bawat yugto ng ating buhay, minsan lang tayo binigyan ng pagkakataong itama ang kung ano mang pagkakamaling nagawa natin. Wala tayong karapatang wakasan ang buhay na ipinagkaloob sa atin ng Maykapal."

Noon, akala ko ang pagpapakamatay ang solusyon upang takasan ko ang dagok sa aking buhay. Nawalan ako ng tunay na ina. Namatayan ako ng ama. Pinagmalupitan ako ng aking madrasta. Hindi ako minahal ng mga kapatid ko sa ama. Kaya naglayas ako at napadpad sa baybaying dagat at doon ay naisipan ko na lamang na magpatiwakal.

Nawalan man ako ng magulang pero alam kung may nagmamahal pa rin sa akin. Hindi ko sila kadugo pero lagi silang nariyan para palakasin ang loob ko. Sila ang mga tinatawag kong mga kaibigan.
Pagkatapos ng nangyari noong pagtatangka ko ay ipinagpatuloy ko ang aking buhay. Sa tulong ng aking mga kaibigan ay nagtagumpay akong maging masaya.

Hindi ako nag-iisa. Tinulungan din nila akong magbalik-loob sa Diyos. Ang mga nagawa nila ay isang napakalaking biyaya sa akin.

"Kung sa tingin mo ay hindi mo na kaya, magsabi ka lang. Kaming bahala sa iyo," naalala kong sabi ni Jem.

"Kaibigan mo kami. Huwag kang mahiyang magkuwento sa amin. Promise, makikinig kami," pag-aalo sa akin noon ni Jinky.

"Hindi lang ikaw ang may pinakamabigat na suliranin sa mundo, Igan. May mas mabigat pa sa pinagdaraanan mo. Tiwala lang na makakayanan mo ang lahat," kumpiyansa namang wika ni Kuya Ryan.

"Kalimutan mo ang mga bagay na nagpapadagdag lang ng kalungkutan diyan sa puso mo. Tandaan mo, ang Diyos ay laging nakaakbay sa iyo. Nandito ako. Narito kaming mga kaibigan mo. Tutulungan ka naming bumangon," nakangiting saad ni Charm.

"Huwag ka na ulit magtangkang magpakalunod sa dagat ha? Kapag ginawa mo ulit iyon, kami na ang lulunod sa iyo. Ha-ha. Biro lang. Lakasan mo ang loob mo. Hindi ka nag-iisa," ang loko-lokong wika ni Otep.

Sa tuwing maalala ko ang mga kataga at salitang galing sa mga tunay kong kaibigan, panatag palagi ang loob ko na hindi ko na uulitin ang nangyaring iyon sa buhay ko. Papahalagahan ko ang hiram na buhay na ipinagkaloob sa akin ng Maykapal. Gagawin ko ang lahat upang maging masaya.

Narito ako ngayon sa Manila Bay at naglalakad-lakad. Gusto ko lang sariwain ang mga alaalang naging tulay noon upang pahalagahan ang buhay ko ngayon. Hindi man lamang ako nakapagpasalamat sa taong sumaway sa akin noon. Kung may pagkakataong makita ko man siya ay taos-puso akong magpapasalamat sa kaniya.

Pinagmasdan ko ang karagatan. Wala pang isang minuto akong naroon ay may nahagip ng mga mata ako ang isang babae na dumaan sa harapan ko. Patungo siya sa mabatong bahagi. Tila wala siya sa kaniyang sarili.

Nilingon ko ang paligid. Wala man lamang nakapansin sa kaniya. At wala ngang masyadong tao na naroon nang mga oras na iyon.

Mukhang magpapakamatay yata siya. Alam ko ang eksenang ito. Kung dati ako ang nasa posisyon niya, ngayon naman ay ang babaeng ito. At dahil ayokong may mangyaring masama sa kaniya, ako naman ngayon ang gagawa ng paraan para matulungan siya.

"Miss, magpapakamatay ka ba?" hindi niya ako nilingon.

"Magpapakamatay ka nga. Sigurado ka na ba sa gagawin mo?" lumingon siya sa akin at kitang-kita ko ang luhaan niyang mukha.

"Alam ba ng pamilya mo ang gagawin mo? Alam mo ba ang mararamdaman ng ina at ama mo kapag nawala ka? Sa tingin mo ba ay tama ang gagawin mo?" nakita kong napabuntong-hininga siya na tila nag-iisip sa mga ibinabatong tanong ko.

"Napagdaanan ko na rin iyan at diyan din mismo sa mga batong iyan ako dapat na magpapakamatay. Pero... hindi ko itinuloy. Alam mo ba kung bakit?" tumingin siya sa gawi ko at nagtama ang aming paningin. Parehong nangungusap.

"Ba-bakit?" nauutal niyang tanong sa akin.

"Bakit? Dahil wala tayong karapatang wakasan ang buhay na ipinagkaloob sa atin ng Maykapal. Ang buhay natin ay mahalaga. Sana maisip mo iyon. Hindi pa huli ang lahat para itama ang mga bagay na sa tingin mo ay mali o nagawa mo. Hiram lamang ang buhay natin. Magtiwala ka, Miss. Mahal tayo ng Panginoon. Mahal niya ang buhay natin. At alam kong mahal mo rin ang buhay mo," iyon ang mga huling katagang binitiwan ko saka ako tumalikod sa kaniya.

Hindi pa man ako nakakahakbang ay narinig kong tinawag niya ako. At nang lumingon ako ay bigla na lamang niya akong niyakap.

**

Ang pangalan niya ay Yssa at siya lang naman ang babaeng tinulungan ko tatlong buwan na ang nakararaan. Siya lang naman ngayon ang kasintahan ko. Pareho kaming nagtangkang wakasan ang aming buhay, ngunit pareho din naming napagtantong hiram lamang ito at dapat na mahalin namin. Sinong mag-aakala na kami ang magkakatuluyan sa huli?
Kae Dee May 2015
I
Isang araw, muntik na naman akong nagpakatanga
Isang araw, naisip na naman kita
Isang araw **** ginulo ang isipan ko
Isang araw, binalik-balikan ang masasakit na alaala mo
dahil
Isang araw, biglang iniwan mo ako

Iniwan mo ako... at mula noon
Ilang araw akong wala sa sarili
Ilang araw iniisip ang mga dahilan kung bakit ka lumisan
at kung bakit ako'y hindi mo pinili
Ilang araw na nagbabakasakali
na ako'y iyong babalikan
Ilang araw na patuloy na umaasa
sa mga pangako **** napako sa kawalan

Isang tanong na gumugulo sa aking isipan
Isang tanong na hindi masagot nino man
Isang tanong na hindi ko makalimutan
Isang tanong na wala naman talagang kasagutan
Isang tanong, "Mahal, bakit mo ako iniwan?"

Hindi lang iniwan kundi iyo naring kinalimutan
Kinalimutan agad na parang walang pinagsamahan
Hindi pinapansin kapag nasisilayan
Ang trato'y parang estranghero lang sa daan

Bakit parang ako lang ang nasasaktan?
Bakit parang ako lang ang nahihirapan?
Bakit parang ako lang nagmamahal?
Bakit ako lang? Bakit?

Nang iwan mo ako, nawala ang tayo
Nang iwan mo ako, ang natira na lang ay ako
Mali pala, kasi pati ako ay nawala noong nawala ka
Nawala ang dating ako  na kayang mabuhay noong mga panahong wala ka pa

Pagod na pagod na ako sa lahat ng sakit
Pucha, hindi mawala-wala kahit anong pilit
Ilang bote ng alak ang natumba at
Ilang stick ng yosi na ang naupos
Pero ang pagmamahal ko para sa'yo
Mahal
Hindi pa rin nauubos
Patrick Keane Nov 2011
A cackle of coughs produce sickening echo.
I stand in a line for my morning's scapegoat.
But my relevant thoughts are still absent on trial-
so i think I might just sit here awhile.

I am told to get out is rare in itself,
let alone cleared as a new harmless self.
But my relevant thoughts are still absent on trial-
so I think I might just sit here awhile.

Oh my children, my children, so wonderful and great.
It sure was nice of them to send me away,
but now I believe they expect me home soon.
They need washing up before dinner at noon.

I try to open my hotel room door
but the nurse says "Sit down! You can't leave this floor!"
"But Nurse!" I scream, "My kids need me soon!
They need washing up before dinner at noon!"

The nurse sighs, "Oh Patrick, you murdered your sons.
You're delirious, befuddled, in a hospital for nuts."
So I sit down...I need to...at least for awhile.
I must recollect my memory's past trials

I remember their screams and the blood on my hands,
the knife on the ground and their souls newly cleansed.
I remember so vividly now the truth to my trials
so i think it best to just sit here awhile.

But it won't be long now before dinner at noon.
And I know that my children will expect me home soon.
593

I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl—
I read that Foreign Lady—
The Dark—felt beautiful—

And whether it was noon at night—
Or only Heaven—at Noon—
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell—

The Bees—became as Butterflies—
The Butterflies—as Swans—
Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass—
And just the meanest Tunes

That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer—
I took for Giants—practising
Titanic Opera—

The Days—to Mighty Metres stept—
The Homeliest—adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
’Twere suddenly confirmed—

I could not have defined the change—
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul—
Is witnessed—not explained—

’Twas a Divine Insanity—
The Danger to be Sane
Should I again experience—
’Tis Antidote to turn—

To Tomes of solid Witchcraft—
Magicians be asleep—
But Magic—hath an Element
Like Deity—to keep—
Vanessa Escopin Feb 2016
Isang taon na umaasa ako na ako ang uunahin mo kahit hindi mo pa nakuha ang matamis kung "Oo".
Pero sana mapatawad mo ako sa pangbabalewala ko noon.
Mahal kita pero hindi mo malalaman 'to.
To my almost. There were never be an us. Sad Story.
Many a green isle needs must be
In the deep wide sea of Misery,
Or the mariner, worn and wan,
Never thus could voyage on—
Day and night, and night and day,
Drifting on his dreary way,
With the solid darkness black
Closing round his vessel’s track:
Whilst above the sunless sky,
Big with clouds, hangs heavily,
And behind the tempest fleet
Hurries on with lightning feet,

He is ever drifted on
O’er the unreposing wave
To the haven of the grave.
What, if there no friends will greet;
What, if there no heart will meet
His with love’s impatient beat;
Wander wheresoe’er he may,
Can he dream before that day
To find refuge from distress
In friendship’s smile, in love’s caress?
Then ’twill wreak him little woe
Whether such there be or no:
Senseless is the breast, and cold,
Which relenting love would fold;
Bloodless are the veins and chill
Which the pulse of pain did fill;
Every little living nerve
That from bitter words did swerve
Round the tortured lips and brow,
Are like sapless leaflets now
Frozen upon December’s bough.

On the beach of a northern sea
Which tempests shake eternally,
As once the wretch there lay to sleep,
Lies a solitary heap,
One white skull and seven dry bones,
On the margin of the stones,
Where a few grey rushes stand,
Boundaries of the sea and land:
Nor is heard one voice of wail
But the sea-mews, as they sail
O’er the billows of the gale;
Or the whirlwind up and down
Howling, like a slaughtered town,
When a king in glory rides
Through the pomp and fratricides:
Those unburied bones around
There is many a mournful sound;
There is no lament for him,
Like a sunless vapour, dim,
Who once clothed with life and thought
What now moves nor murmurs not.

Ay, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony:
To such a one this morn was led,
My bark by soft winds piloted:
’Mid the mountains Euganean
I stood listening to the paean
With which the legioned rooks did hail
The sun’s uprise majestical;
Gathering round with wings all ****,
Through the dewy mist they soar
Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven
Bursts, and then, as clouds of even,
Flecked with fire and azure, lie
In the unfathomable sky,
So their plumes of purple grain,
Starred with drops of golden rain,
Gleam above the sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning’s fitful gale
Through the broken mist they sail,
And the vapours cloven and gleaming
Follow, down the dark steep streaming,
Till all is bright, and clear, and still,
Round the solitary hill.

Beneath is spread like a green sea
The waveless plain of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air,
Islanded by cities fair;
Underneath Day’s azure eyes
Ocean’s nursling, Venice, lies,
A peopled labyrinth of walls,
Amphitrite’s destined halls,
Which her hoary sire now paves
With his blue and beaming waves.
Lo! the sun upsprings behind,
Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined
On the level quivering line
Of the waters crystalline;
And before that chasm of light,
As within a furnace bright,
Column, tower, and dome, and spire,
Shine like obelisks of fire,
Pointing with inconstant motion
From the altar of dark ocean
To the sapphire-tinted skies;
As the flames of sacrifice
From the marble shrines did rise,
As to pierce the dome of gold
Where Apollo spoke of old.

Sea-girt City, thou hast been
Ocean’s child, and then his queen;
Now is come a darker day,
And thou soon must be his prey,
If the power that raised thee here
Hallow so thy watery bier.
A less drear ruin then than now,
With thy conquest-branded brow
Stooping to the slave of slaves
From thy throne, among the waves
Wilt thou be, when the sea-mew
Flies, as once before it flew,
O’er thine isles depopulate,
And all is in its ancient state,
Save where many a palace gate
With green sea-flowers overgrown
Like a rock of Ocean’s own,
Topples o’er the abandoned sea
As the tides change sullenly.
The fisher on his watery way,
Wandering at the close of day,
Will spread his sail and seize his oar
Till he pass the gloomy shore,
Lest thy dead should, from their sleep
Bursting o’er the starlight deep,
Lead a rapid masque of death
O’er the waters of his path.

Those who alone thy towers behold
Quivering through aereal gold,
As I now behold them here,
Would imagine not they were
Sepulchres, where human forms,
Like pollution-nourished worms,
To the corpse of greatness cling,
Murdered, and now mouldering:
But if Freedom should awake
In her omnipotence and shake
From the Celtic Anarch’s hold
All the keys of dungeons cold,
Where a hundred cities lie
Chained like thee, ingloriously,
Thou and all thy sister band
Might adorn this sunny land,
Twining memories of old time
With new virtues more sublime;
If not, perish thou ldering:
But if Freedom should awake
In her omnipotence and shake
From the Celtic Anarch’s hold
All the keys of dungeons cold,
Where a hundred cities lie
Chained like thee, ingloriously,
Thou and all thy sister band
Might adorn this sunny land,
Twining memories of old time
With new virtues more sublime;
If not, perish thou and they!—
Clouds which stain truth’s rising day
By her sun consumed away—
Earth can spare ye; while like flowers,
In the waste of years and hours,
From your dust new nations spring
With more kindly blossoming.

Perish—let there only be
Floating o’er thy heartless sea
As the garment of thy sky
Clothes the world immortally,
One remembrance, more sublime
Than the tattered pall of time,
Which scarce hides thy visage wan;—
That a tempest-cleaving Swan
Of the sons of Albion,
Driven from his ancestral streams
By the might of evil dreams,
Found a nest in thee; and Ocean
Welcomed him with such emotion
That its joy grew his, and sprung
From his lips like music flung
O’er a mighty thunder-fit,
Chastening terror:—what though yet
Poesy’s unfailing River,
Which through Albion winds forever
Lashing with melodious wave
Many a sacred Poet’s grave,
Mourn its latest nursling fled?
What though thou with all thy dead
Scarce can for this fame repay
Aught thine own? oh, rather say
Though thy sins and slaveries foul
Overcloud a sunlike soul?
As the ghost of Homer clings
Round Scamander’s wasting springs;
As divinest Shakespeare’s might
Fills Avon and the world with light
Like omniscient power which he
Imaged ’mid mortality;
As the love from Petrarch’s urn,
Yet amid yon hills doth burn,
A quenchless lamp by which the heart
Sees things unearthly;—so thou art,
Mighty spirit—so shall be
The City that did refuge thee.

Lo, the sun floats up the sky
Like thought-winged Liberty,
Till the universal light
Seems to level plain and height;
From the sea a mist has spread,
And the beams of morn lie dead
On the towers of Venice now,
Like its glory long ago.
By the skirts of that gray cloud
Many-domed Padua proud
Stands, a peopled solitude,
’Mid the harvest-shining plain,
Where the peasant heaps his grain
In the garner of his foe,
And the milk-white oxen slow
With the purple vintage strain,
Heaped upon the creaking wain,
That the brutal Celt may swill
Drunken sleep with savage will;
And the sickle to the sword
Lies unchanged, though many a lord,
Like a **** whose shade is poison,
Overgrows this region’s foison,
Sheaves of whom are ripe to come
To destruction’s harvest-home:
Men must reap the things they sow,
Force from force must ever flow,
Or worse; but ’tis a bitter woe
That love or reason cannot change
The despot’s rage, the slave’s revenge.

Padua, thou within whose walls
Those mute guests at festivals,
Son and Mother, Death and Sin,
Played at dice for Ezzelin,
Till Death cried, “I win, I win!”
And Sin cursed to lose the wager,
But Death promised, to assuage her,
That he would petition for
Her to be made Vice-Emperor,
When the destined years were o’er,
Over all between the Po
And the eastern Alpine snow,
Under the mighty Austrian.
She smiled so as Sin only can,
And since that time, ay, long before,
Both have ruled from shore to shore,—
That incestuous pair, who follow
Tyrants as the sun the swallow,
As Repentance follows Crime,
And as changes follow Time.

In thine halls the lamp of learning,
Padua, now no more is burning;
Like a meteor, whose wild way
Is lost over the grave of day,
It gleams betrayed and to betray:
Once remotest nations came
To adore that sacred flame,
When it lit not many a hearth
On this cold and gloomy earth:
Now new fires from antique light
Spring beneath the wide world’s might;
But their spark lies dead in thee,
Trampled out by Tyranny.
As the Norway woodman quells,
In the depth of piny dells,
One light flame among the brakes,
While the boundless forest shakes,
And its mighty trunks are torn
By the fire thus lowly born:
The spark beneath his feet is dead,
He starts to see the flames it fed
Howling through the darkened sky
With a myriad tongues victoriously,
And sinks down in fear: so thou,
O Tyranny, beholdest now
Light around thee, and thou hearest
The loud flames ascend, and fearest:
Grovel on the earth; ay, hide
In the dust thy purple pride!

Noon descends around me now:
’Tis the noon of autumn’s glow,
When a soft and purple mist
Like a vapourous amethyst,
Or an air-dissolved star
Mingling light and fragrance, far
From the curved horizon’s bound
To the point of Heaven’s profound,
Fills the overflowing sky;
And the plains that silent lie
Underneath the leaves unsodden
Where the infant Frost has trodden
With his morning-winged feet,
Whose bright print is gleaming yet;
And the red and golden vines,
Piercing with their trellised lines
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness;
The dun and bladed grass no less,
Pointing from this hoary tower
In the windless air; the flower
Glimmering at my feet; the line
Of the olive-sandalled Apennine
In the south dimly islanded;
And the Alps, whose snows are spread
High between the clouds and sun;
And of living things each one;
And my spirit which so long
Darkened this swift stream of song,—
Interpenetrated lie
By the glory of the sky:
Be it love, light, harmony,
Odour, or the soul of all
Which from Heaven like dew doth fall,
Or the mind which feeds this verse
Peopling the lone universe.

Noon descends, and after noon
Autumn’s evening meets me soon,
Leading the infantine moon,
And that one star, which to her
Almost seems to minister
Half the crimson light she brings
From the sunset’s radiant springs:
And the soft dreams of the morn
(Which like winged winds had borne
To that silent isle, which lies
Mid remembered agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being)
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing,
And its ancient pilot, Pain,
Sits beside the helm again.

Other flowering isles must be
In the sea of Life and Agony:
Other spirits float and flee
O’er that gulf: even now, perhaps,
On some rock the wild wave wraps,
With folded wings they waiting sit
For my bark, to pilot it
To some calm and blooming cove,
Where for me, and those I love,
May a windless bower be built,
Far from passion, pain, and guilt,
In a dell mid lawny hills,
Which the wild sea-murmur fills,
And soft sunshine, and the sound
Of old forests echoing round,
And the light and smell divine
Of all flowers that breathe and shine:
We may live so happy there,
That the Spirits of the Air,
Envying us, may even entice
To our healing Paradise
The polluting multitude;
But their rage would be subdued
By that clime divine and calm,
And the winds whose wings rain balm
On the uplifted soul, and leaves
Under which the bright sea heaves;
While each breathless interval
In their whisperings musical
The inspired soul supplies
With its own deep melodies;
And the love which heals all strife
Circling, like the breath of life,
All things in that sweet abode
With its own mild brotherhood:
They, not it, would change; and soon
Every sprite beneath the moon
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again.

— The End —