"transitional" poems
Mahigit pitumpu't limang porsyento
Niyurak ng matinding alon
Walang awa ang haplos
Ang yapos na nakagigimbal
Kinitil hindi lamang ang buhay
Gayundin ang hanapbuhay.
Ni hindi masisid ang perlas
Na ngayong may takip sa ibabaw
Nabibilang ang lumalangoy
Kaawa-awang gambalain
At hablutin sa laot nang walang muang
Ngunit anong siyang magiging sapit?
Kung sila'y hahayaang hindi nakagapos?
At doon sa lambat ay patitiwarakin.
Tinaguriang "No Build Zone"
Ngunit naroon nakatirik ang bawat pundasyon
Walang opsyon, pagkat ang gobyerno
Kaytagal din nang pag-aksyon.
Mula sa libu-libong tirahan sa Tent City
Sila'y lilisan patungong Bunk House
Transitional Shelter kuno
Hanggang sa malipat
At magkaroon ng panibagong tirahan.
Doon sa Tacloban,
May dalawang daan at apatnapu't anim na tirahan
Bagkus ang nakalilim, apat na libong pamilya naman.
Salamat sa mga NGOs
Sa 9181 na Bunk House
Sa gobyernong dapat na kikilos
Kailan ba sisimulan ang pagbabago?
Walong libong pabahay raw ang ginagawa
167 bilyon ang budget,
Saan nga ba napunta?
Ito ba'y binulsa?
Comprehensive Rehabilitation Plan kung tinagurian
Kay bango ng ngalan
Bagkus umaalingasaw ang baho
Ang kasiraan, ang kawalan ng aksyon
Para sa bawat mamamayan.
Sa dakong Guian, Eastern Samar
Tatlong daang permanenteng pabahay raw
Ngunit ni isang pundasyon ng naturang pabahay
Tila naglaho pa rin ni Yolanda
At walang bakas na pasisimulan.
Sabi ni Pnoy, malinaw raw ang target
Pero hanggang target na mga lang ba?
Kailan ba sisimulan ang tuwid na daan?
Baka naman baku-bako na
Wala man lang pasabi sa kinauukulan.
Kung ang hustisya'y hindi matugunan
Sana ang kalamnan ng bawat biktima'y
Syang agapang mapunan
Kaawa-awa silang naghihikahos.
Ang laki ng tulong ng mga karatig-bansa
Ba't tila walang pakialam?
Kayong mga nasa trono,
Tayuan ang posisyon
At serbisyo'y gawin nang totoo.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.
Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.
The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.
Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.
Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.
Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.
Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.
And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.
Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Hard light bathed them-a whole nation of eyeless men,
Dark bipeds not aware how they were maimed. A long
Process, clearly, a slow curse,
Drained through centuries, left them thus.
At some transitional stage, then, a luckless few,
No doubt, must have had eyes after the up-to-date,
Normal type had achieved snug
Darkness, safe from the guns of heavn;
Whose blind mouths would abuse words that belonged to their
Great-grandsires, unabashed, talking of light in some
Eunuch'd, etiolated,
Fungoid sense, as a symbol of
Abstract thoughts. If a man, one that had eyes, a poor
Misfit, spoke of the grey dawn or the stars or green-
Sloped sea waves, or admired how
Warm tints change in a lady's cheek,
None complained he had used words from an alien tongue,
None question'd. It was worse. All would agree 'Of course,'
Came their answer. "We've all felt
Just like that." They were wrong. And he
Knew too much to be clear, could not explain. The words --
Sold, ***** flung to the dogs -- now could avail no more;
Hence silence. But the mouldwarps,
With glib confidence, easily
Showed how tricks of the phrase, sheer metaphors could set
Fools concocting a myth, taking the worlds for things.
Do you think this a far-fetched
Picture? Go then about among
Men now famous; attempt speech on the truths that once,
Opaque, carved in divine forms, irremovable,
Dear but dear as a mountain-
Mass, stood plain to the inward eye.
4.6k
Life gets tough when you aren't around.
Without none of the things you have to offer.
So much as the ease of a smile.
But what I love most about it.
I am not embarrassed or afraid to admit that it's the most powerful element.
At which point the sun shines it's brightest.
The highlight of my day.
We give our words with meaning that follows the philosophy our bodies react.
Naturally.
We enrich this belief.
Sharing our hopes.
Our dreams.
An intellect that requires what we find precious.
Time loses ego.
We relate without rush.
A fear we occupy our time with selfishness.
The things we use to compensate and further hide ourselves.
Being able to admit the things we otherwise keep hidden.
To travel the recesses of mind we lay bare.
The baritone which not only grasps attention but intent.
In full intimacy.
The way we came into the world.
Not beginning to know or further define the things we hide.
We cry not for attention but understanding.
We tend to go through transitional periods not out of hurt.
But to appreciate that we never take this simplicity for granted.
Without you, I admit.
Life gets tougher.
But it's these exact moments I hope to earn.
The sensuous moment time loses ego.
Not in war but in ultimate expression of the time it takes to love you.
It's gonna take years
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
Fertile earth’s seductive sorcery
Like ephemeral effulgence’s effluent effusion
Can lead you to believe that it’s not a travesty
Like life’s visceral intuitive eternal is not lost in subtle evasive confusion
Life’s virile translucence reflects this glow
Like an aorist ensemble of interludes transposition
Can lead you to believe that you’re in the know
Like omnipresence presages omniscience’s ubiquity is existential exigency’s peroration’s exposition
Corporeally preternatural metaphysical mystique
Like a mirador bartizan tableau panorama
Can inspire us to rise above its critique
Like spatiotemporal’s telemetry incarnate is creation’s vivid intrepid cyclorama
Spectral verve’s liaison’s consortium
Like eclectic synectic’s conclave’s fatidic
Can leave you lost in germane compendium
Like terminus thrall’s apriori inclination is transcendental accession’s endemic mnemonic
Monad’s transitional majestic splendor
Like residual harmonic vibration’s resilience
Can autonomously evoke and vicariously render
Like rubato’s actuator’s prospectus revealed is orchestration rendition’s intriguing brilliance
Eidetic preterit’s aesthetic amendments
Like protractive analyses’ dimensional delineation
Can lead to cogent salacious enticements
Like phantasmagoria’s fantasia fantastication’s magniloquence is sultry solace’s ostentatious ideation
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
We’re going through a transitional period
trying to be good friends to one another
yet overwhelmingly self absorbed.
We got no time to think about legacy’s.
Our future takes cover from
the worry of the present
kicking the shins of our courage.
We smoke to forget
Drink to muster the drive to begin
Eat out of pots washed in
gas station sinks.
We collapse each moment into a screen
capturing scenery with black boxes
documenting life behind pixels and glass.
We thrive on uncertainty
Middle fingers up
to the system
that gives us shelter
that we exploit to find freedom
overturning the stones of a complex world
looking for definitions and characters
to call culture.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
Sometime after mid night, it had rained
Putting out summer’s sultry heat
The sky had its face washed clean
And wiped the grime off Earth’s soiled feet
The dawn is quietly breaking
Night lights still glimmer here and there
The blue firmament remains cloudless
And cool is the mild blowing air
The sleeping town is slowly waking up
And at this transitional point
I look out into the street
To see a sight that shall never disappoint
Along the road moves one, ragged and withered
His discolored white hair left unkempt
With hunch back and drooping shoulders
The marks Time has left of the hard years spent
Though age has drained his life sap away
He has a firm resolve never to beg
His frail body supported on a stick
Serves as a veritable third leg
With his staff, he perseveringly stirs
Every heap of abandoned *******
Indiscriminately piled on either side of the road
Hunting for trinkets lying hidden in the trash
A rag picker with a sack on his back
Picking up today’s treasure
From yesterday’s discarded trash
Things, for him ‘priceless’ beyond measure
With complaints none
He faces life and its trials
Never losing the glitter in his eyes
Though a loner in life’s dark isles
I ask myself, why every day
I routinely look for this man who limps along
And I get a quick answer
‘He helps you turn your sobs into a song’
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
Remember when you were a child
And you answered back with "I don't care"
Well, it's high time you did
This is the time to care
With the corona virus attacking everyone in sight,
You have to care
IT DOESN'T CARE if you are Chinese, Spanish, American, Canadian, British, Australian, Korean.
IT DOESN'T CARE what color your skin is
Whether you are white, black, brown, yellow or blue
IT DOESN'T CARE if you are straight, gay, bisexual, trisexual, gender transitional
IT DOESN'T CARE if you like horses, or dogs, or cats, or fish or lemmings for that matter
IT DOESN'T CARE if you are a doctor, nurse, stay at home mom, teacher, warehouse worker, priest, homeless, bricklayer, hockey player, nun, librarian, store clerk
IT DOESN'T CARE if you are a celebrity, sports figure, local politician, have one friend or a thousand
IT DOESN'T CARE if you eat vegan, meat, have celiac disease, smoke, vape, eat through a tube
IT DOESN'T CARE if you believe in God, Buddha, are Jewish, Baptist, Agnostic, Atheist, Wiccan, or talk to the trees
GOT IT? IT DOESN'T CARE.
YOU SHOULD CARE.
You told your parents "I don't care". Well, you better start.
CARE about your family, friends, and yourself
CARE about your neighbors, their family, friends, and relatives
CARE about your work mates, their families, friends, and relatives
CARE about the front line workers, theirs families, friends and relatives
CARE about the world.
LISTEN AND LEARN. LISTEN AND DO. LISTEN AND CARE
Don't listen to blowhards who call it a hoax. IT DOESN'T CARE...it's waiting for you if you do
Don't follow the stupid internet suggestions like add bleach to your water. IT'S DOESN'T CARE...it's waiting for you too.
Don't plan on being in Church for Easter. IT DOESN'T CARE...It's waiting for you as well.
GET IT? FOLLOW THE WORDS OF THE MEDICAL EXPERTS, NOT THE POLITICIANS.
IT DOESN'T CARE who you listen to, but, It's waiting.
START CARING...NOW!!!
LISTEN, LEARN, DO AND CARE. STAY SAFE.
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
Robin Hood's Ball
there is a stretch of land
built by ancient calloused hand
4000 years before the year of the Lord
just north of Stonehenge in that accord
and nearly one thousand years before
on Salisbury Plain and right next door
a part of Wiltshire England town
and shares a name of the renown
folklored bandit who helped the poor
though no real connection of that they're sure
it's purpose of use not really very clear
a neolithic causewayed enclosure here
a circuit of ditches encasing each on the sides
meeting in the center for a gathering of tribes
built in the transitional period before the pyramids
from hunter gatherers to permanent settle with kids
Gomer LePoet ....
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 9:08 PM UTC
*Autumn adorns the universe,
Into a transitional seasonal display,
Preparing for a whimsical change,
Upon evergreen trees, in rouge and ember shades.
Lavishly, shedding slowly,
Into a fusion of tones, leaving embellishing grounds,
Bearing naked branches,
As they casually toss down.
Stroking their leaves, and sending colorful hues,
Like a genuine piece of tapestry,
Beautifully interlacing,
And harvesting, 'neath the suns abundance of energy.*
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Smelling on the wind, firewood.
the heat travels a warm bath around me.
when I set out in the morning/
the wind smells/
cool earth warming, slightly dried.
sometimes salt, I love to drink this.
Nothing to be
but observer/
bathing morning light
is playing now
laying low on banana leaves
got not shame
holds no lust
is pure
transitional beauty /
trust.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
*Sacramental Elixir & Illuminated Blues,
Experimental Flauntings Of Her Midsummer Hues,
Radioactive Eyes & Her Fairytale Lies,
Seductive Abuses Across The New Divide,
Vivid Intersections In Her Phenomenal Rage,
Shatterproof Reflections Splattered Upstage,
Midnight Passions Of Her Perplexed Lust,
Starlight Rains Glittering Hybrid Dusts,
Transitional Paradigms & Engineered Moans,
Theatrical Concoctions In Her Symphonic Tones,
Flirtatious Illuminations Under The Darkest Light,
Stained Animations Igniting Kryptonite,
Palisades Of Her Collated Reflections,
Cascades Emitting Her Sedated Projections,
Contraband Infatuation Resonating Magnetic Love,
Raving Constellations Provocating Atomic Dove,
Divine Catharsis Of Her Cupid Amour Eternity,
Valentine Bliss Mystifying Her Restrained Insanity,
Charismatic Futility & ****** Binge,
Cinematic Tranquility Emanating From Her Bulletproof Sins,
Neon Subways & Fragile Foreplays,
Sensual Arrays Of Her Red-Light Decays.
- 03:53AM -*
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
So..
I am part of something
A middle class youthful bohemian playground
Where support is subtle, where communication is flourishing
Where everyone's expression and hard work is at our fingertips
And where losing your inhibitions takes a drink and a smile
For me.. it is a transitional period of the existential
Questions and day dreams clatter through the sieve of this moment now
Insecurity and the cons of being human slowing my feet
But not stopping them
By learning who I am, why I did what I did when I hated myself
Why I did what I did when I surprised myself
Why I did what I did when I adored myself
I can do more
I don't know what I will be to others
Anything more than an employee, customer, passenger, demographic to the wider society
Anything more than a statistic to those with too much money to know life like I do
Anything more than a short worrying quiet guy lost in thought to those local communities I fall into
Or anything more than a friend to those I have to admit more desire for
I do know though... that in 60 years I may be a bit dead
Whether my soul evaporates into the infinite colour and connection of the universe as a whole
Burns in a torturous eternal injustice because of what a book says on who I should ****
Or simply dissipates its abstract non-existence along with other gooey and chunky bits of me
I've only really got this perception, this body and this life now for definite
So...
While I'm not sure what the overall goal is yet
While I'm not sure who'll wake up next to me
While I'm not sure about a lot of things
I do know one thing
I've got one shot at this, so I better get on with it.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
not rooted,
not foundational,
but transitional,
I mean - tabernacle.
Following cloud and flame,
and restless for Jordan.
not stilted
not intellectual
but relational,
more than routine ritual.
Led by spirit, filled by flame
and restless for Jordan.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 12:32 PM UTC
Silver tried to pilfer a podium of palladium's
"I don't want you next to me," said 4d8 to 4d9
"For the 8th time, for the 9th,
I don't want you next to me," said 4d8 to 4d9
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
Its been a journey, Wonderland.
We have made it through this transitional time in which my tears lingered in my tear ducts, tentatively prepared for a turbulent tragedy. Often I did cry. For a long time I cried. But I don't cry as much anymore. I smile more, laugh more, love more. And I would have it no other way.
All my old Wonderland characters are gone. I have truly changed scenery, gone to a place I have never known before, where my old friends can rarely follow. Except the white rabbit, of course, but I always knew, behind the fears, that I'd never lose him.
Now I am with my new friends, stronger friends, older friends, all led in a march by the one I never expected, who holds my heart more than any person ever has before.
I am content, Wonderland. I am content with you, with my life, even very content with this simple room I now sit in, typing away. Its all very pleasant. Imperfect, but pleasant.
For the first time in a long time, I believe I have found my place. I have found home, as I expressed awhile ago, I have found a place to be bare and true and me with my words and my letters and my nonsensicals.
This life is a Wonderland, and I live every day in affectionate wonder.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
The calm after the storm is a transitional heads up for another storm
* * *
You're a year-long torrential downpour
that I managed to survived
And now I'm hoarding my goods
because the next one is about to arrive
Who knows when,
who knows how long
But one thing is for sure,
you'll just be a drizzle in comparison
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Ocular examination
You've established your authority before the fire even leaves your lungs
I'm fed up with this loneliness
This falsified romance
I'm not your transition
Your experimental love
I'm constructed from the same fabric
But you still insist on shredding threads
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
the prophets and all the grownups were right
when they said that 17 was a beautiful age.
it is the age of falling in love,
when we are still young enough to hang onto a thread
but old enough to know better.
17 is being on the verge of entering
into the dreaded age of responsibility,
but wanting something more
than what this youth permits.
17 is a transitional time,
when the heart may know not its place
but what it beats for.
17 is a strange time
of learning and growing and being,
and i suppose we will all always be
who we were at seventeen.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
Fertile earth’s seductive sorcery
Like ephemeral effulgence’s effluent effusion
Can lead you to believe that it’s not a travesty
Like life’s visceral intuitive eternal is not lost in subtle evasive confusion
Life’s virile translucence reflects this glow
Like an aorist ensemble of interludes transposition
Can lead you to believe that you’re in the know
Like omnipresence presages omniscience’s ubiquity is existential exigency’s peroration’s exposition
Corporeally preternatural's metaphysical mystique
Like a mirador bartizan tableau panorama
Can inspire us to rise above its critique
Like spatiotemporal’s telemetry incarnate is creation’s vivid intrepid cyclorama
Spectral verve’s liaison’s consortium
Like eclectic synectic’s conclave’s fatidic
Can leave you lost in germane compendium
Like terminus thrall’s apriori inclination is transcendental accession’s endemic mnemonic
Monad’s transitional majestic splendor
Like residual harmonic vibration’s resilience
Can autonomously evoke and vicariously render
Like rubato’s actuator’s prospectus revealed is orchestration rendition’s intriguing brilliance
Eidetic preterit’s aesthetic amendments
Like protractive analyses’ dimensional delineations
Can lead to cogent salacious enticements
Like phantasmagoria’s fantasia fantastication’s magniloquence is sultry solace’s ostentatious ideation
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
#*The mind a deep reservoir
Challenged or otherwise
Challenges it meets
Bridging the gaps
Bracing and braving
The gaping holes
Instinctively and intuitively designed
It knows what it needs
And learns to believe
The dotted line*#
Oct 15, 2023
Oct 15, 2023 at 11:45 AM UTC
Daily practice was my Catholic Regimen
On those strings
Blooded fingertips
Evolving into
Callused hammers
D 5th augmented, 7th
A transitional dilly
Will be
The end
Of me
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 6:50 PM UTC
Dedicated to the Hard Hats, ..for holding it all together.
**** frost on the green grass
There's a cold moon in the sky
The estuary waters black and calm
Where golden ripples lie.
Dawn's horizon lightens up
Bright stars begin to dim
Hard Hats all arrive for work
And with frozen breath...log in.
Work boots crunching on the stone
The men disperse to trucks,
The diesel motors roar to life
Their departures forming rucks.
Swarming in the morning light
Each to his own job's task,
Bridge building work underway
As dawn's first sunbeams bask.
Amazing the complexity
That building bridges has,
Amazing how voraciously
It eats up time and gas.
The planning and design work
The funding of supply,
Those organizational matters
And the labour standing bye.
Digging, lifting, shoving, shifting
Moving this to there,
A logistical nightmare
For the novice, unaware.
Steel and timber by the ton
Concrete pours en mass,
Gravel, sand and aggregate
And reservoirs of gas.
Procurement of supply ensures
A smooth transitional flow
Of successive small procedures
To make the project mesh and grow.
Day after day the massive trucks
Carting tons of sand
Are authorized by gate men
To unload on to land
Where motorway construction
Is steadfastly taking place
And progressing at
A gradual and steady building pace.
From concept to completion
A million multitasks,
Which involves a caste of thousands
And a schedule which asks,
That the finished installation
Be completed by the time
Of the Rugby World Cup kickoff,
Our global status on the line.
Like ants the Hard Hats swarm about
Each does his little bit
And gradually, over time,
The bridge emerges from the pit.
It emergeth like a phoenix
In a drab and sombre gown
But on completion, shines like fire
To be the nation's most re known.
The Manukau Harbour Crossing
A project for the Gods,
Of massive lengths of concrete
And miles of reinforcing rods.
Of an eternity of effort
From everyone involved
And an asset for New Zealand
And a beauty to behold.
Marshalg
@theGate
MHX
Mangere Bridge
14th March 2009
Please view the following link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzQZ-M90Zig
Nov 14, 2009
Nov 14, 2009 at 1:07 PM UTC
She was leaving a certain life
That she had felt separated from
Her eyes opened in the dark
I was going though a progressive,
Introspective, and very transitional
Period in my own life
She was a great counterpart to it
It was easy to get along
I was very much going mad,
She was open to that type of wildness
Interested in the "unknown",
I was mysterious to her
My relentless need to feel alive
Drew in her curiosity
I was a mad man, I cursed
I was violent towards my fellow man,
I was a wounded bear
Yet, she keep me straight and near
On many of long days and nights together,
We always moved forward -
Always climbed each mountain
Always crossed each river
I drove our train 'round the bend
And she had trusted in our direction
We must've kept one another alive!
The *** was passionate, the nights were
Brimming with life, as the whiskey flowed
I fed off her as she fed off us
We were always, hunting & attaining as one
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC