how could you do that with a child attached to your body. Living in your womb.
How could you not care about what it would do.
How could you leave her crying on the table and you walking out the hospital room doors. With 100% of methathine inside her veins.
How could all you leave was a name and the sad pang of your heartbeat streaming through her ears.
How could you.  
Not even come back.
How could I still want to find you.
And ask a why?
How could you hurt me..... Im Damaged and Broken your heartbeat is still my favorite song.

And it hits you
like a cold hard slap
or a pang of guilt
like the memory of an old lover you discarded
and it echoes in the void of your chest.

You’ll feel the warmth spread
slowly outwards
and it will scald
and it will burn
consuming you inch by inch
until you find new life growing
like wildflowers
from the soot
and the ashes left behind.

And yet you still wish
upon the stars
hoping they’ll give you some absolution
but don’t you see they don’t exist
the only stars are the ones in your eyes.

And those knots in your heart
they are weighing you down
but that’s just ice
waiting to thaw.

So sit in the sun
and soak it all in
but before you do
I must tell you this
forget your heart
forget your skin
forget your love
forget every thing
forget your dreams
they will lead you astray
but sweet child do remember
if I come knocking
please let me in.

Today,
I fight irrelevance.
I wrestle with it
as one wrestles with
shadows or
the urge to *****.

I must admit,
it is an overdramatized,
drawn out tussle.
In my head,
it is as if the world is
collapsing,
memories reduced to
cinders,
my being
turned to ash.
But in reality
it is just another passing
of the day,
as one lends itself to the next,
the nights growing shorter,
all is well
it seems.

I cannot come to
agreeable terms
with fate.
I cannot accept that,
for certain people,
I have already lived
my moments of importance.

Each time I remember
the few fragments
of intimacy in my life,
I become less convinced
that I should suffer
in passivity.
There is a pang of desperation
reverberating in my heart
that moves me to action.

Somedays,
I wish no more to reminisce,
I say
silly things.
"I shall recreate my memories,
but this time with urgency,
vivaciously,
with life
and love,
and create from it
new memories that
I will struggle to believe
are mine."

I go out
and find no one waiting.
Had I not been here long enough
to have at least
one person
think of me?
Such are my thoughts,
as I look pensively at the moon
with memories of
a head resting against my shoulder
or conversations with
people whose names I have forgotten,
swirling in my head.

danse macabre
a silent dead
my wistful words
twirling on a thread

morbid bows
aching dips
a pang of music
from my own lips

pirouettes, no claps
stiffened formation
a stage near collapse

then—only silence
all from this cage
a sleeping ode
to my dying age

Silent screams and rages
verse dreams and sarcastic sages
The row believes in the youth of middle aged men
All belittle the your heart when hoping your pang fear
And spring into delirium, and bright gold
Bright light makes heat light asking for you to kneel
In red and leaves of gold, I ask for company
In dead cyka soldiers, the dead of the night
Brings out the company, where you might want a piano key
Loosened, and a guitar string, tuned and pulled

Silent svelte girls all are on the shore
As you she shifts she hasselblad fought him ****
Tea, as the ballad of the hounddog
Go the round midnight, call me after life
GO here, and come back by her fingers girls
In her life, is white, there is blyke
Everyone has a Jekkyl Hyyde
She doesnt know who he she means
After the shindig of time, singing life
Keep it in her, she rights the wall, and rides the fences
She rides the friendly horses, I know you before friends have ***
Feel my living, light my love with food of life
Make me right wrong is the rife
Kaddish sits on the wrong her
Reflection of lapas lazuli and Meer
Urst auf von bon, werst worde gert
Someone took the art killed it with joy
Someone lifted her with the ploy
**** and feet tastes summer and winter tastes like sum
Feets and passerby, touch my *** please master
grace my pallor with your heat, and gush in the blood of the great hand
Slow dots and polka dance that enrichen the glib gleam of Arriana
If friends were enemies and enemies were friends, and friends were summers
The winters would leave with the lush green forests that smell grape and touch my dots and follow my valley
On a figged donkey sorry masturbator
I want you to ride the wind, with gully
I want you rise with the wind, and touch my langstromme with lakes of stowaways
I want you to leave with the wind I feel the wish that touches your heart
I want yin and yang, not love
I want your balance, and not your senses

The end is the beginning when the fire comes out of the blessed wind
The end is near, the tin can man fires the black and blue
The middleman has her hips in the red roses and the masks, and so Im here to **** you
In my whips and my black college wants your education
Education is near, and you are far and tresses of your hair
Egregious error, was to frame you and keep you in my heart
When I couldn't see the picture
Innocence is a true picture
I want you, I want you love me
I want gush virgins and rush astral stars that hearts cant keep
I want the rushed visions that allotropes the love keeps me lively
Me and Ann lively

It's crazy. How everything can change and you barely notice it. Until you stop and think back at a time when things were different. You feel a pang in your chest as you realize those thoughts are nothing more than nostalgic memories now.
Thinking about the person I was, I realized I had digressed significantly. Sure, physically and superficially I’m doing as good as I ever have. I’m doing exactly what I had always wanted. But mentally, I had lost the kind hearted spirit I was. The patient and understanding person I was. It was like second nature. It was easy. I was nice, I was kind. Now I am finding I have to think twice and I still struggle just to be kind.
Some days I can barely remember her. That girl. I don’t know her anymore. It's as if I had induced a new girl, one that was hardly me to use as a decoy defence mechanism. I’m not sure when the decoy girl started to fuse with myself. I don’t know when, but it's almost like she has taken over, like an evil twin in utero, engulfing her very own blood for no other reason but to survive. Survival of the fittest? Was the old me not fit to survive in this world?  Apart of me believes so, and that part of me mourns deeply. I know she is not gone though, I know there are bits of her floating around.
I always hated her, I had wished so badly that she would stop being so emotional, so kind, so naïve. I had wished her dead and ironically, now I am frantically trying to find the slightest remnants of her to piece together to make some knock off version. I miss her. How long has it been? A year? Perhaps two? Had she been slowly dissolving away for longer and I had never noticed because I was too busy looking for ways to stop the pain? She was always so kind to everyone. Everyone but me. It seems she did not find me worthy of her grace and soulful advice.  I wish she had told me, this would be more painful. Losing her. Losing myself.

The walk from bed
to office is littered
with impatient dogs,
tongues floating
above the brick walk.

Spice trees front the embassy
and lean into the morning's shape.
Each step farther from you
is a ballet of snow
upon the brain.

This poem has moved beneath me.  
No melancholy pang can withstand
a white sail smile.

A gossamer trace on the smooth brow of youth
Marks you down as mortal
When barely at full strength.
That first bittersweet pang – it’s just the start!
As time’s spider reels you in
Binding ever tighter, age upon age.

Now deep fissures on my face
Show to all the very trace
Of times now past, a life once lived.
Ten thousand days and more
Have etched ever deeper those slight lines
And ploughed my brow with furrows
That now are deep as canyons
Eroded by ten thousand suns.

Found a wife, found my life,
Raised two children, gone in a trice.
Greyed my hair and grizzled beard
Turtled eyes look back in tears
Of self-pity? If so, why?
Give thanks I'm old before I die.

Another pang of loneliness as i make one cup of tea.
Another uncomfortable smile from someone who isnt you.
Another rain song at my window pain.
Another blanket of melancholy to hold me under.
More tears fall on my drive to work.
Another 24 hours of fill the void with shapes that dont fit.

Another beautiful dream, one more hug. I watch you smile at someone else and I know.

Ill never stop falling in love with you.

February 2024 (Lunar New Year)

Red envelopes, a digital glow.
Her apartment, a small diaspora.
Dragon dances on a screen,
fireworks muted by time zones.
He sends a photo, plum blossoms,
a scroll with a calligraphic wish.
"Xīnnián kuàilè" she types, fingers flying,
a pang of home, a new year’s echo.

March (International Women's Day)

She speaks of her grandmother,
bound feet, unbound spirit.
He listens, a quiet respect,
a history he seeks to understand.
Emails filled with stories,
feminine strength, ancient wisdom.
He sends her a poem, Li Qingzhao,
translated with care, a delicate offering.

April (Qingming Festival/Easter)

Ancestral graves, a digital visit.
He lights incense, virtual smoke,
a gesture of shared remembrance.
Easter eggs, pastel and bright,
a Western symbol, a gentle contrast.
They discuss life, death, rebirth,
the cycles of nature, the soul’s journey.

May (Mother's Day)

He sends a package, silk scarves,
a teacup painted with peonies.
She calls her mother, a long conversation,
then calls him, a voice soft with gratitude.
He speaks of his own mother,
her simple kindness, her enduring love.
They find common ground, mothers remembered,
a bridge built of shared sentiment.

June (Dragon Boat Festival/Father's Day)

Zongzi, sticky rice, sweet dates,
she makes them from a recipe,
a taste of childhood, a memory shared.
He sends a photo, a dragon boat race,
a vibrant spectacle, a shared experience.
Father's Day, a quiet reflection,
his own father, a man of few words,
but deep, enduring actions.

July (Mid-Year/Independence Day)

Summer heat, a digital escape.
He sends photos of his garden,
lush greenery, a peaceful haven.
She sends photos of her city,
concrete canyons, vibrant energy.
Fireworks across the divide,
a shared moment of light, a distant celebration.

August (Qixi Festival)

The Weaver Girl and the Cowherd,
a celestial love story, told and retold.
He sends a handmade card,
a constellation drawn in silver ink.
She writes a short story,
their own tale, a modern myth.
Longing, distance, a love that persists,
a thread connecting two distant stars.

September (Mid-Autumn Festival)

Mooncakes, round and golden,
shared through a screen, a virtual feast.
He sends a recording, a moonlit poem,
a melody of ancient words.
She sends a painting, a rabbit on the moon,
a whimsical image, a shared smile.
The moon, a silent witness,
a shared sphere, a common sky.

October (Double Ninth Festival/Halloween)

Chrysanthemums, symbols of longevity,
he sends a dried bouquet, a lasting gift.
She sends a photo, her costume,
a playful spirit, a moment of lightness.
Halloween, a night of masks and stories,
a shared fascination with the unseen.
They discuss aging, wisdom, the passage of time,
a conversation deep and meaningful.

November (Thanksgiving)

He cooks a traditional meal,
a table set for two, a place for her in spirit.
She makes Shànghǎi làjiàng miàn,
a fusion feast, a celebration of her heritage.
They express gratitude, for each other,
for the unexpected connection, for the love that blooms.
A shared warmth, a quiet contentment,
a thankfulness that transcends distance.

December (Winter Solstice/Christmas)

Dumplings, a winter tradition,
she makes them with friends, a shared warmth.
He lights candles, a quiet ritual,
a celebration of light in the darkness.
Christmas carols, a familiar melody,
a shared appreciation for the season.
He sends a small, carved wooden box,
an intricate design, a symbol of hope.

January 2025 (New Year's Day)

A new year, a fresh start,
a promise of change, a hope for reunion.
They make plans, tentative and exciting,
a journey across oceans, a meeting of hearts.
He sends a poem, a promise of spring,
a vision of shared days, a future unfolding.

February 2025 (Lunar New Year)

Another dragon dances, brighter this time.
She plans a trip, tickets purchased,
a promise of presence, a physical connection.
He prepares his home, a space for her,
a welcoming embrace, a shared future.
Hope, respect, love, a foundation,
a new year, a new beginning, together.

March 2025 (International Women's Day)

They walk, hand in hand,
through a garden bursting with spring.
Stories shared, faces seen,
the distance collapsed, the journey begun.
A new year, a new chapter,
love, finally, tangible and real.

Future 2025

He proposes on the ninth day of the ninth lunar month, a double nine, symbolizing longevity and eternity.  Nine days of introductions to family and friends, a whirlwind of new faces and shared meals, laughter bridging cultures. Nine months of courtship, exploring their adopted city together, discovering hidden corners and shared passions.  A wedding, a blend of East and West, traditions intertwined, vows spoken in two languages.  Nine days of honeymoon, a secluded beach, the ocean a constant rhythm, their love a new melody, echoing into a future filled with promise.

Steel walls crumbling
Remnants reverberating among
Mounds of emotion, eroded in the pang of
Grief
A morphine line of adoration
Loving longer than life
And still
As we sit here and cry
Remembering not what we lost
But of a life behind

Bakit ngayon pa?

Bakit ngayon kung kailan, nahuhuli na?

Bakit ngayon dumadating itong mga salitang dapat inaalay ko sayo noon pa man.

Bakit kailangan pang masira tayo pareho para mabuo lahat nang ito?

Bakit?

I felt you
In the waves
I felt your love
On the pyre
This pang of separation
I want to be free
To bleed out my pain
Hold on tight
To the overdose
The relentless searing
Of ardor

I feel as if
We use the words
"heart-broken"
Too easily
So callously
So nonchalant
But no one knows
How it feels
What it truly means to
Have your heart shattered
broken in a million pieces
As your fingers bleed
When you try to pick them up
Try to mend your broken heart
No one knows this pain
The reality of a broken heart
The pang
The sting
The hole left inside of you
For months on end
Nobody understands
The true actual pain
Of a broken
Shattered
Heart

THE TRAVELLER OF THE TRANSCENDENT
(Bijoylakshmi Das, Maha Shivaratri,21st February 2020)
With the blue of the Vast and the green of the Mind,
I sate for the insatiable Quest of the rarest kind –
With hunger for the summitless summit and passion for the passionless Ineffable,
I sail my life’s little boat in the solitude’s journey unassailable.

I seek after the inexpressible ecstasy hidden behind the heavenly height,
I crave for the crown of the Kingdom of Bliss in my highest soaring flight,
I now unlock the Joy of Paradise upon the turmoil of the earthly toil,
I meet my Supreme Beloved behind the mask of man as Godhead.

The touch of the Intangible in all things ephemeral and transient,
The Voice of the Unknown heralds the Dawn of the immortal golden moment,
The bound of the birth that baffles man since time immemorial,
The shadow of Death which casts the direst dread abysmal.
All is so swiftly vanishing behind the New Wisdom’s hem,
I do stand alone in my Soul’s uninvadable Supreme Ken.

The alluring glance of the Invisible and His enticing lips,
The unreached Rhapsody’s deep-hidden distant enrapturing kiss;
Enlivens my journey towards the Goal of the timeless Infinity,
I reveal the unwritten chapter of the Unseen’s sovereign secrecy.

My shivering strokes of the brush on the Creation’s Canvas of Art,
With blissful pang and the endless agony of my Being’s ever-grieving heart;
My inmost desire to draw a few legible lines of Love on the Olympian Blue,
On the mortal tenement ever aspiring to rise above and reach the deathless hue.

The fugitive madness to rise from the fall in the abyss,
The courage indomitable to cradle the emerald empire of Elysian Delight,
All feelings insentient: the camouflage of the desireless Absolute Alone,
Seek the sunlit glamour and the moonlit mirth far away in the in the uninvadable kingdom.

Unimaginably large is the Ocean, endless its expanseless shore,
My sail in the tumultuous tempest, half-broken my mast and its oar;
Still the touch of the Transcendent in each leap of the ascent vast,
I’m spell-bound by the supreme splendour’s seraphic Art.

Just a bundle of quantums are Time’s tenebrous moments,
The Divine Algorithm rules the highest in the unique Supernal descent,
I seek after the Certitude unshakable with the passion of passionless blithe within me,
I journey towards the One timeless Time that bounds the timeless treasures in limits of Infinity.
………………………………………………………………………………………….

Counterattack whilst the pang of defeat is greatest* ...

An innocent miss steak kin...
once former main lion den cha hoard servant,
resident iz cow herd vegetarian boar
hoof faux whatever reason iz explore

ring bing foo fighting beastie boy, who doth
newt practice, what he preaches your
truly battens down chicken
coop hatches so... call me galore
re: us hypocritic,
this honest to dog omnivore – more

accurate said buzzfeeding primate -
**** sapiens, he whelk hams
adieu after quick bonjour
hears ear splitting eeyore
deaf finning chore
tills unable to ignore

admits transgression,
now wonder wherefore
whether art thou still
game to reed my adore
hub bull poetry
understandable if ye deplore

such atrocious, egregious, opprobrious...,
violating ethical core
**** regarding straying
against dietary herbivore
rudimentary eel lamb ants
(chocolate covered my dear Watson)

boot fault in the starfish...por
favor mice elf can
oxe plain twittering like plover
with reasonable rhyme for sure
don't get doggy dimples in bunch
cause to skewer me but... but before...

sending killing squad to slaughter -
this puppy, aye kindly honour
my wish and don
me noggin with pompadour
as fetching drag queen
torpedo sized *****

squirting parti-color
milk as self defense mechanism
averting casus belli thus
amidst melee I abhor
find self on horns of dilemma
life story of this poor

cooked goose flambé
caught between rock and trapdoor
special cannibal delight
where madding crowd
chants "send him back"
accursed unconscionable roar

ring anger, but lurch for eats,
an impulsive reflex courtesy extempore
rain nee yes unforgivable poor
craven impulse to up peas hunger
uncontrollably craving regarding carnivore

pang additionally not further injure
ring innocent animal plus more
to this fishy tail than
meats the Wawa birdseye.

The sound of glass smashing is a pang to the ears, but I’ve learned real beauty comes from broken things.

Drip
I hear water in the gutter
One upside of a broken heart is that I can write, lose guys so I can write about them.
Slip.
Here they fall through my hands just like sand from beaches.
Might sacrifice one night, wake up with red bloodshot eyes, but this poem would be beautifully written.

Most never liked me, RIP.
I had my eyes on them, but they never looked at me.
Most I’ve never talked to, RIP.
He was my realest, but he turned out to be just another poem.

Drip
I hear rain on the windowsill
I guess the good thing is I had fun with him
Crack
I’m broken again
I’m smashed along the edges of my first shattering and that’s along the edges of extreme masochism
that I let my heart break to write this poem.
Drip
Water’s dripping off my face, I’m in the shower.

The view of glass breaking is painful for the eye to see, but now I know that real beauty comes from broken things.

Will this be my best year, best year?
I’m at the frontier of golf courses, where the sun is up and blinding and the hills are green.
Will the next one stay here, stay here?
Will he call me beautiful?
Will he not succumb to the spell of fairytales snapping in the soul?
If I find him I think I might stop being a poet, a poet.
Cause happiness didn’t bring me to my notepad.
If he wants, I’ll write him a poem,
but it would be pretty bad.
Cause I’m only good when I’m lonely, lonely.
I never said I love you to a man.
I never had a man say I love you to me, only that I was hot and he wanted to **** me.
But if I do I’ll find beauty in being with somebody else, but for now I think
that beauty comes from broken things, broken things.

When empty, I was ravenous
and with hunger came drive
frenzy of a starving creature
unquenched, thus alive

Now, hollow with phantom pain
deepest ache, darkest grey
I, a shifting spectre
quite liable to drift away

Sharp pang of need
Serve my deliverance
Slash through the fog
Shatter this reticence

Oh, famine, lust, longing -
to be famished for living!
to be removed from this apathy,
relieved of this malady

Replace hollow with empty
Restore pain, grant clarity

an indistinct pang of guilt
when i hear birds chirping in the sun
and they sound nothing like the ones back home
and yet everything about them reminds me
of home

unbeknownst to these birds,
their chatter carries me across a continent
and across a sea
to a home where there are pocket sized versions of my family and i
where my grandmother is busying herself in the kitchen
and my uncle fiddles with the tiny TV facing the living room
filled with a cast of colorful characters
much brighter than anything this TV could give us

unbeknownst to these birds,
they carry me to a sand filled tent
where a single ray of sunlight enters from a gap in the entrance
and illuminates the book in my hands
and outside, their chatter creates a beautiful symphony
punctuated by the crash of waves on the shore
unbeknownst to these birds,
they warm my heart far more than any sun could

i hate these birds
the ones in my plastic backyard, outside my plastic house
guilting me into remembering;
this is not a home,
this is not my home.

muling iikot ang mundo sa araw,
may darating na panibagong
bagyo at kapanatagan
na nagpapaalalang
ang iyong pananatili ay hindi para lang sa kawalan,
sapagkat
kung paanong kumikinang
ang mga bituin sa kalawakan
ay gayunding
masisilayang muli ang bukang-liwayway;
at sa iyong pagtingala
ay may langit na nag-aabang
sa dadalhin  mo pang hiwaga.

magliwanag ka.

**mahalaga ka.

While scrolling over outdated docs
(i.e. namely OpenOffice documents)
derrière seated upon hard backed chair,
yours truly came upon following poem
to share with anonymous readers,
whereby slight modifications
got made to original file.

Until fairly recently,
(no less than a few years ago -
roughly about hundred fortnights ago),
each day lapsed with nothing
(absolute zero) outcome to show
for effort to find an amenable abode
wrought nothing boot
futility, hostility, irritability...
and increased internal disequilibrium
essentially psyche feeling wretchedly awry
me thought for long stretch encompassing
the search perhaps,

hoop fully there would arise salvation
exhibiting courtesy elation
entertaining, leavening, and sprinkling
with gush of happiness
otherwise ill luck inducing me to cry
for I thought for sure,
homeless shelter 'twould be  
our next place housing me
(and missus) against the darkened sky
said cursed fate would moost likely occur
before this generic garden variety
middle aged baby boomer would die.

Methought... only after demise (mine),
would soul alight upon cotton candy cloud
whit will *** churned out
by hum mad ginned mechanism of Eli
ja, an angelic ethereal invisible
masterful quintessential uber lyft app
par rush hen little chicken
shape shifting near transparent
savior donned in transparent radiant alb by
kept watch to ensure sands of time
didst last just long enough
to cease our plaintive lowing sound,
which bellow hide decry.

Akin to a lonesome
cooing, mourning dove
(trying to hawk – prey tell)
immeasurable justice sought well nigh
accessing divine providence,
kickstarting heavenly location
and scouting out twittering
worthy appropriate bird nest sanctuary,
where this long haired pencil neck geek guy
and his missus could breathe easy whereat hie
hoed hue man pang propinquity

for peace of body, mind and spirit to lie
in close quarters, thus my
brief zeptosecond hiatus from posting
prose and poetry today, cuz we did ply
along the one directional infrastructure
to exhale a deep sigh
upon being amazingly gracefully blessed
by fickle finger of fate, after many a try
analogous to seeking employment
or striving to beget offspring,
and I wonder why
such aggravation ensues.

After attaining applicable objective,
one bedroom apartment
(listed on Montgomery County
Pennsylvania low cost housing roster),
a sudden influx of subsequent
kumbaya praiseworthy similar opportunities
materialized, as though
cruel resistant hand of destiny
didst thrive ohm my dog
to send courtesy Volt Tim Mort
current amping thru me.

Just when we thought
oh no, not another rejection,
I could (would) not cope
methought the river of Jordan
ran bone dry with hope
thee manifest destiny
spurred yours truly
going pronto to Vatican to see Pope,
when at the end of our figurative rope,
(ready to gibbet, - viz hitting gallows
a chance – despite noose
sense, nor sensibility)
ah…at long last... lo and behold,
our streak of ill success,
we acquired an  affordable place

rooted, nestled, and huddled
along rolling pastoral intercepting *****
thru effort of applying
to many subsidized housing facilities,
a cessation never more to mope
(unless unfortunately, we get evicted)
this former one class room
per grade school house
long since repurposed
into Highland Manor
nestled in the bucolic greensward
of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.

Postal Zone Improve Plan re: ZIP code 19473
came about just in the nick of time
when an unexpectedly pleasant call conveyed
via cheerful voice office manager,
(honest to dogness),
I  consider as a divine goddess,
whose positive source prime
news that my application –

set in the mail about a year ago –
(after date original reasonable rhyme written)
inched to the top tier after
a one bedroom apartment became available –
which reasonable cost hoop fully
doth not necessitate spending me last dime,
a prayer that longevity cane outlast
the previous senior citizen,
said former tenant opted
to reside at a nursing home.
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
Perhaps because of malfunctioning
duodenum and cerebellum
(just a hunch)
whatever does spur one
to analyze lyrics
Skidamarink a ****, a ****
Skidamarink a doo
I love you...
though to be perfectly tongue in cheek,
aye haint gotta handy dandy clue,
what lines after asterisk mean,
yet nevertheless suspect only *****
like me find themselves in arrears –
and nary a blue
blazing snowball chance in…hell low,
aye pray to dog
while rusty nine inch nails I eschew
that no ***** crisis of this body electric
deters me going to the loo

*** else yours truly *******
sir/ma'am…stumbling along
the boulevard of broken dreams,
maybe joining a motley crue,
or a posse sub bull contra band of thieves
to stay alive as haggardness grew
force to panhandle just enough loose change
to utter a wimpy yahoo
but…if in charitable and philanthropic mood….
well I hate to beg for you
to toss a coin so this rattletrap
can escape Bing caged in the human zoo.