"tres" poems
And in the end, the love you take is the love you make.
-The Beatles
Isa ito sa mga argumentong dapat lamang pagtalunan.
Dahil hindi lahat ng pag-ibig na binibigay mo ay nasusuklian.
Masarap lamang itong pakinggan.
Noong inibig mo ako,
Hindi. Mas tamang sabihin na
noong naisip **** iniibig mo na ako,
Ay mas pinili **** huwag magbigay ng buo.
Hindi ko alam sa'yo pero ikaw na ang pinaka-duwag na taong nakilala ko.
Naaalala ko noon ang mga sugat at pilat na naiwan niyang nakatatak at nakakabit sa mga braso mo.
Nakikita ko ang mga bakas ng mga hampas nya sa mga balikat mo.
Bawat kagat at kalmot at gasgas na ibinigay n'ya sa'yo,
Sa mga pagkakataon na akala mo wala lang,
Naramdaman ko.
Pinaramdam mo silang lahat sa akin.
Anghirap palang pilitin na bumuo nang puso na ayaw magpabuo sa'yo.
Hindi ko din kasi alam dati na kailangan, ang kagustuhang maghilom,
Manggaling sa kanya mismo.
Pinilit kong pagtagpi-tagpiin ang mga piraso **** nakakalat sa sahig mula nang binitiwan ka n'ya.
Sinubukan kong gamutin ang lahat ng sakit na nagpapanatili sa iyong gising sa alas-tres ng umaga.
Pinili kong mahulog sa iyo kahit alam kong mas malabo pa sa tubig ng Ilog Pasig ang pag-asa
Na maisip **** sa iyo lang ako.
Iyong-iyo lang ako.
May mga pagkakataon na nakikita ng ibang tao ang mga pagbabago na akala nila ay ako ang dahilan pero ang hindi nila alam,
Sa dami at haba ng mga sakit na iyong naramdaman,
Natuto ka lamang na itago silang lahat sa loob mo.
Na sa kahit na anong oras, pwede silang lahat lumabas at lamunin na lang ako ng buo.
Oo.
Ako.
Dahil mas pinili kong lumapit sa'yo.
Iyong-iyo lang ako.
May mga pagkakataon na gusto kong isipin
Na ang bagong taginting ng mga tawa mo ay dahil sa akin.
Na ang mga panaginip mo kapag ikaw ay mahimbing, ako ang laman.
Na ang mga pangarap mo sa hinaharap ay ako ang hiling.
At ang bawat pulso mo ay para sa akin lamang.
Dahil sa iyo lang ako.
Iyong-iyo lang ako.
Pero hindi.
Dahil andami mo nang natutunang paraan para magtago.
Napakadami na ng mga pagkakataon na sinayang mo.
Ang akala mo, lahat ng pagkabigo mo sa pag-ibig dati
Ay natulungan kang maging mas malakas, mas matatag, mas matalino.
Pero hindi.
Dahil papasok sa isang bagong pag-ibig ay tinangay mo lahat ng galit.
Iniwan mo ang mga aral na natutunan mo maliban sa "Ang pag-ibig ay hindi dapat pagkatiwalaan."
Ang tanging bagay na hinahabol mo, na pinipilit **** makuha,
Na pinipilit mo dating kapitan kahit na wala na,
Ang bagay na akala mo ay lubos sa iyong magpapasaya,
Tinitignan mo na may pagdududa ang iyong mga mata.
At unti-unti kang nabulag.
At hindi mo nakita ang pagibig na nasa harap mo na.
Lumipad at nawala.
Hindi bulag ang pag-ibig.
Bulag ang mga taong pinipilit tumingin sa araw dahil gusto nilang makakita ng liwanag ngunit ayaw alisin ang kanilang mga de-kolor na antipara.
Wala kang natutunan sa nakaraan.
Hindi ka nga nasasaktan.
Hindi mo naman mahagilap ang tunay **** kaligayahan.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
Original French
Dictes moy ou, n'en quel pays,
Est Flora la belle Rommaine,
Archipiades ne Thaïs,
Qui fut sa cousine germaine,
Echo parlant quant bruyt on maine
Dessus riviere ou sus estan,
Qui beaulté ot trop plus q'humaine.
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
Ou est la tres sage Helloïs,
Pour qui chastré fut et puis moyne
Pierre Esbaillart a Saint Denis?
Pour son amour ot ceste essoyne.
Semblablement, ou est la royne
Qui commanda que Buridan
Fust geté en ung sac en Saine?
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
La royne Blanche comme lis
Qui chantoit a voix de seraine,
Berte au grand pié, Beatris, Alis,
Haremburgis qui tint le Maine,
Et Jehanne la bonne Lorraine
Qu'Englois brulerent a Rouan;
Ou sont ilz, ou, Vierge souvraine?
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
Prince, n'enquerez de sepmaine
Ou elles sont, ne de cest an,
Qu'a ce reffrain ne vous remaine:
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
English Translation
Ballad Of The Ladies Of Yore
Tell me where, in what country,
Is Flora the beautiful Roman,
Archipiada or Thais
Who was first cousin to her once,
Echo who speaks when there's a sound
On a pond or a river
Whose beauty was more than human?
But where are the snows of yesteryear?
Where is the leamed Heloise
For whom they castrated Pierre Abelard
And made him a monk at Saint-Denis,
For his love he took this pain,
Likewise where is the queen
Who commanded that Buridan
Be thrown in a sack into the Seine?
But where are the snows of yesteryear?
The queen white as a lily
Who sang with a siren's voice,
Big-footed Bertha, Beatrice, Alice,
Haremburgis who held Maine
And Jeanne the good maid of Lorraine
Whom the English bumt at Rouen, where,
Where are they, sovereign ******
But where are the snows of yesteryear?
Prince, don't ask me in a week
or in a year what place they are;
I can only give you this refrain:
Where are the snows of yesteryear?
9.4k
Ignore the itch you can't scratch deep in the palm of your hand.
Ignore the morning alarms, just sleep right through them.
Ignore the sound of the coffee bubbling over, let it spill.
Ignore the toothpaste stain on your new shirt.
Ignore the voicemail notification, who listens to them anyway?
Ignore the mailman at the mailbox, he didn't really say hello.
Ignore the stare of the drunk man in your lobby.
Ignore the morning brigade of children running behind you.
Ignore the damage your heels are doing to your feet.
Ignore the whistle from the man half your height.
Ignore the traffic light, the cars are going the other way.
Ignore the loud honk from the trucker as he speeds off.
Ignore the liquor store, and the desire to take a shot.
Ignore the "Baby let me talk to you," from the **** wannabe.
Ignore the text message, don't let them know you have a phone number.
Ignore the cigarette smoke invading your lungs.
Ignore the baby boy getting slapped by his mother.
Ignore the bakery with the tres leches cake you like.
Ignore the bank, you're probably broke.
Ignore the homeless woman, she just wants to buy drugs.
Ignore the Facebook notification, just another ALS challenge.
Ignore the time, you're at work early.
Ignore the habits, listen to your conscience and speak loudly and clearly.
You are so much more than ignorant.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Gabi.
Nang una kitang makita.
Ikaw yung matingkad at nagniningning sa madilim na parte.
Sa may kubo.
Nakaupo.
Ikaw, alak, at sigarilyo.
Lumapit ako.
Dahan-dahan, para malaman kung alin at ano.
Kung bakit nga ba sa dinami-dami ng tao,
Bakit sa’yo ako dumiretso.
Gabi.
Ikaw ang unang nag-salita.
Ngumiti lang ako, habang nakatitig sa’yo.
Tila may kabog sa dibdib.
Hindi maipaliwanag ng bibig.
Tinanong mo ako kung naniniwala ba ako sa diyos.
Sagot ko ay hindi.
“So, atheist ka?”
Tanong mo na may halong pag-dududa.
Sinagot kita. Sabi ko, oo.
“Tayo na ba?”
Ngumiti ka at tumawa.
“Sige.”
Biro-biruan lang.
Walang palitan ng “mahal kita.”
Nag-palitan lang tayo ng numero.
Sabay sabi “nandito lang kung sakaling kailangan mo ako.”
Lumipas ang ilang araw.
Hindi na tayo nagkita.
Minsan, nag-uusap sa telepono
Madalas, hindi kumikibo.
Minsan, magpaparamdam.
Madalas, parang wala lang.
Minsan, nariyan lang.
Madalas, wala lang.
Gabi.
Nang tayo’y muling magkita.
Sa harap ng bahay.
Sa may kalsada.
Nag-usap ang ating mga mata.
Ikaw, alak, at sigarilyo.
Tanda ko pa non, magpapasko yun. Laseng na ako.
Madaling araw na, tara sa dagat, ligo tayo.
Mga alas tres na yun.
Tapos nag-inom ulit tayo dun.
Sa likod ng pick-up truck.
Sa bote na ng Jim Beam deretso ang inom.
Walang chaser.
Kasi wala namang habulan.
Hindi naman tayo naghahabulan.
Gabi.
Pang-ilang ulit na ba?
Akala ko biro lang,
Akala ko lang pala.
Yung joke time, tila nagiging seryoso na.
Natatakot ako baka bigla na lang ‘tong mawala.
Pero sa t’wing magkasama na,
Lahat ng problema’y nalilimutan bigla.
Kita ko ang ngiti sa mga mata mo.
Madilim man ang paligid,
Maliwanag naman sa piling mo.
Gabi.
Hindi ko alam kung saan magsisimula,
Kung ano ba ang dapat sabihin,
Yung tama lang at hindi makakasakit ng damdamin,
Pero bago natin tuldukan,
Bakit hindi muna natin simulan sa kama,
Kung ang ending ba natin ay parang sa pelikula,
Yung masaya o tulad din ng iba, yung hindi pinagpala.
Pero maaga pa ang gabi,
Hayaan **** mahalin kita ng lubos kahit sandali,
Pati ang mga galos at sugat mo,
Yayapusin ko hanggang sa maghilom at mawala ang sakit,
Dahil kung may pusong mabibigo,
Gusto ko yung hindi sa’yo.
Kay hayaan na lang muna siguro natin na gan’to,
Pag-sapit naman ng gabi,
Ikaw pa rin ang uuwian ko.
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 1:50 AM UTC
Patay sindi ang ilaw sa kwarto. Bawat pagsindi ay napuputol ang tulog na mga limang minuto pa lamang ang tinatagal. Kaluskos mula sa kisame ay pilit na sinasawalang bahala.
Ang salamin sa aparador sa paahan ng aking kama ay mistulang naggiging larawan. Mayat maya'y nagkakaroon ng imahe ng isang babaeng naka trahe de boda. Balingkinitan ang katawan, bagsak ang balikat, bahagyang nakatungo't walang bahid ng kagalakan sa kanyang mukha. Ilang saglit lang ay mawawala. Dali-dali akong tumayo at binuksan na lamang ang pinto ng aparador. Ihinarap sa pader ang salamin, sabay balik sa aking kama. Ang loob ng aparador na lamang ang aking nakikita. Wala na ang babaeng nakaputi, di narin nagparamdam muli. Nawala narin ang nakakabahalang kaluskos sa kisame. Ang ilaw ay nanatiling nakasindi.
Alas-tres na ng umaga nang ako ay nakatulog. Nagising ng alas-sais at nagmamadaling naligo't nagbihis. Iniligpit ang gamit sa bag, nagsuklay at napaharap sa salamin. Natigilan. Nakasara na ang aparador.
- March 15, 2010, Vigan
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 1:34 AM UTC
Hindi niyo ba nakikita
Ang kanilang panlilinlang sa taong bayan
Sa pagpapakita ng malayang lansangan
Ngunit ang totoo'y sila ang kapahamakan
Apat na dekada nang nakalipas
Bata, matanda, sanggol, walang takas
Walang takas sa pagmanalupit ng mga pulis at sundalo
Ang nakaraan, hindi ba tayo natuto?
Mga pulis ay nagkalat
Mga sundalo'y laganap at dumadami
Kahit saan lumingon, sila ang matatanaw
Nagmamasid, nag-iikot, baril ay nasa tabi
Putok ng baril biglaang maririnig
Kasunod ay balitang may nabaril
Iisa ang rason: nanlaban
Ang tanong, nanlaban ba o kunwariang nanlaban?
Kanilang pagkatok
Biglaang pasok
Naghalungkat na walang pahintulot
Tama pa ba ito?
Mga tao'y hinahayaan lang
Ang mga naglalakad na kapahamakan
Dahil sa takot na sila'y tauhan ng presidente
Isang kamay sa bibig, kabila'y sa mata
Unti-unti nang nagpaparamdam
Ang pagbalik muli ng setyembre bente-tres
Tao'y nabulag, hanggang ngayon ganon parin
Kailan kaya magigising ang tao, kapag huli na ba ang lahat?
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
I had walked miles that day.
Finding myself in these old
Los Angeles side streets,
was to travel back in time.
Bougainvillea, overflowing
with color, festooned the
weathered cedar cottages.
Heavy trumpet flowers,
sleepy in the filtered light,
stirred beside huge green
leaves, in the easy marine air.
I walked on.
Evening had come, and with it,
a few stars shone over the ocean.
After a perfect dinner, I still
craved a bit of sweetness
on my tongue.
Walking back from the end
of the pier under deep
cobalt, the night sky held me.
Just ahead, tiny birthday candles,
and warm, kind faces, welcomed
me into their midst.
Softly, they sang 'Las Mañanitas'
in one voice, and I sang with them.
Someone's hand
reached out to me; a
thin paper cake plate,
heavy with treasure,
was silently offered.
Tres Leches, soaked
with tender love
and milky sweetness.
Heaven could only be
more of this.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
Madrid quedó vacía
sólo estamos los otros
y por eso
se siente la presencia de las plazas
los jardines y fuentes
los parques y glorietas
como siempre en verano
madrid se ha convertido
en una calma unánime
pero agradece nuestra permanencia
a contrapelo de los más
es un agosto de eclosión privada
sin mercaderes ni paraguas
sin comitivas ni mitines
en ningún otro mes del larguísimo año
existe enlace tan sutil
entre la poderosa
metrópoli
y nosotros pecadores afortunadamente
los árboles han vuelto a ser
protagonistas del aire gratuito
como antes
cuando los ecologistas
no eran todavía imprescindibles
también los pájaros disfrutan
ala batiente de una urbe
que inesperadamente se transforma
en vivible y volable
los madrileños han huido
a la montaña y a marbella
a ciudadela y benidorm
a formentor y tenerife
y nos entregan sin malicia
a los otros que ahora
por fin somos nosotros
un madrid sorprendente
casi vacante despejado
limpio de hollín y disponible
en él andamos como dueños
tercermundistas del arrobo
en solidarias pulcras avenidas
sudando con unción la gota gorda
el verano no es tiempo de fragor
sino de verde tregua
empalagados del rencor insomne
estamos como nunca
dispuestos a la paz
en el rato estival
la historia se detiene
y todos descubrimos una vida postiza
pero cuando el asueto se termine
volverán a sonar
las bocinas los gritos las sirenas los mueras y los vivas
bombas y zambombazos
y las dulces metódicas campanas
durante tres fecundas estaciones
nadie se acordará
de pájaros y árboles
4k
A trio of scarlet tomatoes
perch on my kitchen windowsill,
traveled here in the hands of a friend.
These are New Mexican tomatoes, brought to my Portland home,
tres soles against the grey rain of Oregon.
She made salsa for me, and was on her way,
leaving behind her luminous Kat-laughter,
and three red tomatoes.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 2:57 PM UTC
This was written a few Septembers ago. Walking on the streets of a now deserted beach island, only the leaves, in various states, to keep me company.
September,
walk with me,
under bridges of wedding tree canopies,
still green aplenty,
tho subtle marked for change,
making summer illusions,
environmentally unsustainable.
September,
stroll on pathways
of lesser, off the track, shaded lanes,
the sun blocker trees wear new necklaces,
brown and yellow diamonds,
a coming attraction of
their denouement,
their denudement.
The September trees are:
Ever so slightly stooped,
bent with weight of a surety,
knowing with high certainty,
their future, bleak,
bowed and drooped,
discouraged by the
cold travails soon to arrive.
Living in the recent past,
I am dressed inappropriately,
white tee and shorts,
past pretender,
still dressed in my
Gap issue summer uniform,
summer suspended animation.
Island streets are de-humanized,
gone home are the children,
newly fallen leaves have,
their place, taken.
The leaves are:
magically organized along
the sidelines of empty streets,
quiet stadiums of would be
kid's touch football fields.
browned, crisp and soulless,
first greet this solitary stroller,
like a cheering throng of ghosts,
celebrating a sighting -
man, as a seasonal fossil,
one that still is living
and worth reminding, yet
human too shall pass when
his fall arrives.
the leave's cheers make over
into jeers and mocking laughs:
Oh humans, they say,
your summer songs naive,
mais tres charmant.
On Crescent Beach,
the driftwood sadly forlorn,
looking more adrift than ever,
for no one passes to express
admiration at the past seasons
Nouveau Expressionism,
an objet d'art lonely,
for the beach gallery shuttered,
raising questions existential.
Is driftwood on the beach sans
human admiration,
art, truth or refuse?
I am looking backwards as the
Earth moves forward.
My own axis, my eyes,
conscientious objectors
refuse to be pressed
into service of the seasons.
No, no,
to involuntary servitude,
to rotation and revolution.
Nature's witnesses,
trees and leaves write
their own poem,
of foolish men who:
Bow and droop,
discouraged by the
travails soon to arrive,
Delaying their own fall,
finally shed summer delusions
like leaves upon the ground,
summer poetry silenced,
summer suspended, no more.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
red tile roof ...
whitewash balcony in romanesque cemicircle ,
fridge full 'f
1 litro bottles Alhambra cerveza --
clawfoot tub, coldwater (couture)
$1000/week:
(i could live on that)
lucky strike spirals in spanish summer,
bare feet on the railing upturned to sun beaming on pearly albayzin of granada.
afternoon mojitos with a new woman ev'ry week. (reading magazines)
spend
75 drunk nights ( reading , smoking , swilling gin )
&
typewriter whirring out pages (underwood airbus laissez-faire)
flamenco on a record player back in the house
one of those spanish girls slipping off a white dress (which falls like a soft breath of cloud down to the ground and sits there
still as death)
as she gets into the jacuzzi.
&
spend
75 high days throwing change into fountains, hand
up skirt of my carmen-du-jour.
climb drydust hills with guinness tallcans in plastic borsa
drinking dark beauties as golden orb hung in clouds keeps on grinning heatwaves.
(feelin' like maybe perhaps possibly i be free)
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
Uno
Matamlay siya
Hindi man lang abot sa akin.
Dos
Pakuwari ko'y manhid siya't bingi
Iihip, balakid pala ang munting tela.
Tres
Niyapos ko ang mas makapal na tela
Hinagkan ang kabuuan
Bumaluktot buhat sa kakulangan.
Ulila ang mga paa
Nais magtago nitong sampu
Wala namang patutunguhan
Kundi ang nalalabing tela sa ulunan.
(6/29/14 @xirlleelang)
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
*Un, dos, tres,
un pasito 'palante, Maria!*
Were the words
that ignited
her flare,
seducing every man
in the room
with her dessert-like
tone skin,
cherry colored dress,
and her Latin moves
awing every soul.
She embodied
seduction,
she embodied
Salsa music.
She was Salsa music.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
Binubuhay ng pag-iisa ang iba't ibang pakiramdam.
Nalalaman mo na may mga bagay na 'di mo kayang gawin nang ikaw lang.
Nailalabas ang kalungkutang ikaw lang ang nakakaalam.
Nailuluha ang pighati na sa sarili mo lamang ipinapakita.
Lumalakas ang pag-iyak na mumunting hikbi lang sa tuwing may kasama.
Nauunawan mo na minsan kailangan mo lang din mapag-isa.
Nagagawa **** maging matapang -
Na kahit hindi mo kaya ay iyong sinusubukan.
Nagagawa **** pasayahin ang iyong sarili.
Hindi mo na kailangan pang magpanggap na hindi ka sawi.
Dumadagsa ang mga kaisipan na sa pag-iisa mo lamang namamalayan.
Ngunit sa lahat ng iyan,
Napagtatanto mo na ang pinakamasakit na pag-iisa ay iyong may kasama ka.
Wala naman kasing pagkakaiba 'yong pag-iisa na ikaw lang
Sa pakikisama mo sa karamihan
O sa tuwing napaliligiran ka ng tinatawag **** kaibigan.
Pareho lang ang ibinibigay nilang pakiramdam.
Pareho lang ang inuukit sa iyong isipan
Na mag-isa ka -
Kahit ikaw lang o kahit na mayroong kasama.
© Tres
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 4:38 AM UTC
Zombies are waddling toward their door.
Witches are cackling, black cats are scratching,
And the ghouls want brains and more.
But Brig and Ophelia aren’t scared yet,
They’re waiting inside,
Gobbling strange snacks while they hide.
It’s bugs they like to chew and gnaw;
And they love to eat their spiders raw,
Not fried with onions, like Granda;
Or served with broccoli, like Nana.
Not boiled with worms and creepy crawlers.
Ciaran eats those,
Not these crazed daughters.
Ophelia and Brig
Eat them raw,
Alive, not dead,
With wiggly legs and sharp jaws;
And wrapped up with mosquito heads
In white sticky spider webs.
They eat Black Widows soaked in goblin blood
And wicked witch’s poo;
Made from bats and rats and unschooled fools,
That witches eat to soften stools.
They eat fat spiders
Floating in soup,
That slide and wiggle
Down their throat.
They eat them with their mouldy cheese,
Melted over wasps and bees.
The girls fork down spider stew,
They love the taste “Tres beaucoup.”
The gravy’s made from a mummy’s spit,
And sweat that drips from a ghoul’s armpit.
They like their spiders spread on bread,
A feast to feed the risen dead.
When their snack is finally done,
They’ll pick their teeth and scrape their tongues
For Daddy Long Legs they didn’t eat.
The long legs caught between their teeth.
They'll use those legs to weave a wreath,
To trick flies and bugs and lonely spiders
Into their hungry House of Horrors.
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 11:06 AM UTC
it was suggested
that there be no nexus
between texas and your pal-
omino - tagging the alamo, **
en el barrio, yo(u)-
and your gringa homecoming
queen in tight-assed jeans
-running with ms-13?
-playing twister with your hipster
sisters misters smith & wesson
oiled up and and ready to go
- new mexico?
i found you in tres piedras
at a place called ortega's
eating huevos rancheros
- shooting jose cuervo?
-muthafucka mara salvatruchas
in a red camaro and two bruthas
on a burro with bow and arrows
-stole your palomino?
*-they shoot horses
don't they?*
riding the black el camino
-on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/30/14
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
~
***TRAVEL TIME TROPICS TRIP TOURIST TOWN TUNNEL TOLL TICKET TAKER
TAXI TOKEN TRANSIT TRAIL TRANSPORT TRUCK TRACTOR TRAILER
TRAIN TRACK TROUBLE TEST TERROR TRAP TRIBAL TURF
THINK TALK TRY TRANSLATE TONGUE TIED
TEMPER TAMPER TIMEBOMB TICKING TRINKET TRADE
TARIFF TERMS TWINKLE TAX TREASURE TOTAL THEFT TAKEN
TWISTING THROBING THIRSTY THROAT TECATE TAVERN TWO TEQUILA
TRES TACOS TASTY TORTILLAS TEN TEQUILA TABLE TAB TIP TINA
TAWDRY TROLLUP TATTOO TABOO TOE TAP TICKLE TEASE
TERRIBLE TUNES TENOR TONES TRUMPETING TROUBADOURS
TWENTY TEENS TICK TOCK TARDY TIME TIRESOME TESTIMONY
TOTALLY TRANSGRESSED
TUMULTUOUS TRAVELER***
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
listening to French pop
"I'll have liked it when it was cool before it get's cool"
sriracha sauce on pesto pizza
"The waiter was right the flavors are very complimentary to the palate."
watching a ****** "me" movie
"wow their color usage in the lighting really shows the Giallo Italian horror influence"
Listening to the Friendly Indians
"My favorite band? They are only popular in Orange County so you've probably not heard of them.... oh you have?"
watching Un Chien Andalou
"tres interessant"
reading Sartre and Nietzsche
"my favorite philosophers man."
my pretention leaking out slowly to reveal I'm just a ********* underneath this finely unkempt exterior.
Is that changing? Well no but i thought you should know anyway.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
Nagising ng Alas tres ng madaling araw tila wala ng araw na sisilaw
Iniisip ang mga salita na binigkas mo sa araw na hiniwalayan mo ako
Bakit hindi napansin ang iyong mga galaw
Na ayaw mona at pagod ka na kaya nag-paalam
Nabigkas mo ang mga salitang hindi ikaw ang dahilan kundi ako sinta
Mga sandaling kay saya napalitan ng lungkot at luha
Nakita ang luhang sanhi ng kalungkutan na nagmarka sa aking unan
Na tila magmamarka na rin sa aking puso at isipan
Bakit hindi napansin na hindi ka na pala masaya aking sinta
Lumipas ang ilang araw, linggo at mga buwan
Nakita kitang masaya at hindi na lumuluha kasama ang aking kaibigan
Ako'y parang isang tangang tumatawang humuhikbi
Basang basa sa ulan na umuwi
Parang wala ng humpay ang sakit
Gusto ng mawala sa mundong puno ng pait
Kailan kaya ako makakakita ng isang taong hindi ako ipagpapalit
Na magiging masaya kung ano ako at kung ano ang meron kami
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 1:54 AM UTC
Dear Brady,
Your hair is so luscious
How is it so curly?
It's like Fabio
Learned what a curling iron is
You're a straight baller
Poppin' tres like it's nothin'
You're like Kobe,
Except you actually play
You have a long way to go
To dunk, even though you're like 6' 7"
You have late team parties
Pushed back 3 weeks
I guess it's okay though
At least you have them
So you're Brady
The curly-haired baller
Who has late team parties.
Nice to meet you.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
The "dark planet" it's called
because a stars light can't reflect
a single atom of brightness
visible to the eye.
Suspended in space
light years and light years away
an entire new world
with a blackened sky.
A human hand can't touch
a surface too hot for clouds,
that swims beneath supernovae,
absorbing the potential of sunrise.
The journey would pass through
the Pillars of Creation
around Sirius and Betelgeuse
and Proxima Centuri.
If I could explore
many a glittering nebulae,
with Sagittarius I could speculate
and with comets could I pry.
But on a marble's where we've thrived,
and speculated a silver rock,
why not look deeper to the veil of explosion
And, with that, the wonders that colour our sky?
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
I saw Agnes outside Harrods
Looking tres chic, le chic
I say darling, what's happening, sweetie
where's your Wainpatrik from the sticks
our erudite writer who thinks aspic is pate
I gave that hick the 'go find your level'
Agnes replied with a smile
You know how it is with him and his drivel
that coarse, crude, pretentious oik without a shovel
He tries to be intelligent but his head is full of gravel
bathes once a fortnight and has a todger like a weasel
You can't beat good breeding, she continues
those reconstituted barrow-boys
with B-Tech English thinking they are now genuine
Lacks confidence, style, self assurance, wet as the Rhine
******* in the boudoir, sloppy kisser, todger like a string
Bully and a coward trolling on his stolen PC, has no spine
Hey, lets **** down round my pad, she purred
You may be out of shape at the moment
But who's cooler, more charismatic and interesting than vous
Do you know you're the best I have ever had and I mean it too
You're head and shoulders above Wainputrid and that's so true
The twerp is so envious of you, he and his barrow mates stew
Tales of your exploits and size just leaves them aghast and askew
Hahaha...haha..she laughs as she linked arms, a glint in her eyes!
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
A Parody
Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?
Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!
Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y
Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!
Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!
And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free
The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty
Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?
Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic
Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri
Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!
Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!
From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!
Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:18 AM UTC
Je suis tres fatigue. Je veux dormir. Où est le lit? J'aime sommeil. Je vais a ma chambre. Je n'aime pas travailler. Je veux ai fermé mes yeux et serais reves. Bonne nuit, au revoir.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC