"unsheltered" poems
His bicycle let out a little yelp as he slowed to a stop,
The lady was dressed the same as the night before.
He could have cycled on but he had intentions he would not drop,
For he had heard stories of such beings from old wives' lore.
It was important for him to address this spectre.
Motivated by the advice he had received from his dad.
To never succumb to fear if a spirit he should ever encounter,
For the fear would consume and eventually drive him mad.
He was brimming with confidence as he spoke,
"Hello there again, I see that you are still in a fix".
He was determined not to be made again the joke
He had sworn to not be taken in by the imp's mischief and tricks.
A sweet fragrance lingered in the air,
Teasingly inviting him to greedily inhale it all in.
A gentle gust blew, caught and played with the strands of her hair...
Enamoured by her visage, he secretly gasped as if the air grew thin.
Her face was still partially obscured by her black flowing hair.
She turned to him before she gave her reply,
*"Would you please give me a lift, dear sir...kind and rare...
I do not wish to be stranded alone, unsheltered under the moonlit sky"*.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
~
*Inundate your love
for this sacred village,
on bended knee,
facing the freshet,
supplicated hands pressed together,
one of grace, one of charity,
lips of sweet euphony,
whispering into the morning sun,
a language deep and pounding
inside your heart's timpani,
abiding like unsheltered waters
that nourish the vine*
~
Sep 8, 2021
Sep 8, 2021 at 10:38 AM UTC
Never judge a book by its cover - they say.
Never believe a man's word over his actions - they say.
Never trust without reason - they say.
Why not? - I say.
Humanity (as a virtue) is being crippled by humans as they
stride
past the crippled man, hunched-back and desperate to extend,
to stand up,
to reach out
for that can of coffee at the grocery store.
As they violate, debilitate and penetrate our
minds by starving
us of
education
and
taunt
us
with
grant
money.
As they reduce our
complexity and significance and capabilities
to
stats
charts
numbers
lines
dots
.
As they stand, staring
up
eleven floors
at a flailing, failing student ready to
jump.
As they stereotype us
into boxes
that we use to hold our belongings -
our interior design.
As they spend more
money in one day
than they
pay
the gardener over
a week.
As they scoff down ketchuped french fries
after saying they were
starving
whilst they edge
forward
at the
robot
to
ignore
hungry begging children.
As they complain about being
alone
when the others around them are also
human.
That's just it.
The 'they' that we always speak of,
'They'
are us.
Unsheltered, not oblivious -
we see the misery, suffering,
pathetic pain -
but we are ignorant of the
barefoot woman with
a load
on her head and
a life
on her back,
asking for a
lift.
Some of us see the strain
but convince ourselves that our efforts would be
insignificant,
assure ourselves that it is
hopeless,
we are helpless.
Science and religion
seem like parallel lines but
they
converge on the point that
Mankind
is a superior species.
'Made in his image.'
'Increased cranial capacity, developed the ability to reason.'
Yet we use that magnificence to justify our
INcapability?
Advanced beings in an age of connectivity and
so disconnected from the essence of our own kind.
We decide
to be
alone.
There are rainbows of
'umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu'
but Ubuntu becomes
'don't want to'
and apathy is what makes us insignificant
- indifferent and inhumane.
To those who
can read this,
we
are hypocrites
- together -
which means that we are never alone and thus we are made
able.
We are not helpless, we just
Help Less.
I refuse to hope less in humanity
and allow us to be coaxed into an inferiority-complex
when we can have
progress and
success but
Only after we have
oneness.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
All it took was three steps up
Doors swung open before me
I approached Him, who sat still and unmoving.
unaffected by Time but ravaged by the pain of doubt and ignorance
All it took was three steps forward
Then, strength and courage left me
Worn-down
Beaten by life’s merciless hand
My knees sank as Life’s hand grasped my shoulders and I felt his burden
My whole being collapsed upon the marble floor
The sound echoed and cruelly dealt a strike to my ears,
My senses and my soul
As if Moses struck the rock with his staff
The water came forth
Flowing freely from my soul against sallow, weary skin
Hands trembling
Body aching
I closed my eyes
I saw darkness but an image appeared
****** and bruised
It took all my strength
To utter three questions:
Why (to the Father)
Why does the grass grow, rich and fertile
only to provide for those that destroy it?
Why does my neighbor strip me bare and steal my coat
To leave me unsheltered from the cold wind’s bitter punishment?
Why must I walk this lonely and sullen earth
While the black crow pecks violently at my flesh?
Why? For I have loved but have been despised in return.
Who (to the Son)
Who is the snake that lies?
The brother that prays and the brother that kills?
The husband that beats and the wife that endures?
And the ****** Mother that reigns over all, even you?
Even me.
Who? For I know none and all of them.
Where (and to the Holy Spirit)
Where does the sky end and the Earth begin?
Is it where the body ceases to be and the soul takes over?
Is it where I made my first steps
And tumbled right after?
The indeterminable line between sea and sand;
Truth and lies
Where? For I have looked and looked.
My lips, salted and mad, trembled
Pain pierced my soul
I felt it all
And felt it again
My body began to thrash
I felt it upon me
Misery, sadness, death, despair
I became Samson, tearing down the pillars upon the accursed Philistines
I raged and roared
For hope, wisdom, strength, and faith
I opened my eyes
And Light filled me
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
Thugs
Go to Stanford.
And the construction workers
I've seen
Are more likely to spend
Their downtime playing
Video games
Then smoking the ****
And I've seen my
Fair share of manic,
Wide-eyed young Filipinos
Like myself,
A little browner,
A little more beautiful,
I'm a little more racist
But
It's not okay.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I guess what I simply want to say
Is there is a simple joy
To watching fingers
Of all kinds
Mold and shape futures,
Whether it be in the form
Of softened concrete slabs
Or the hard writ
Of word,
Whether it taste
Of exhaust smoke
And leather
Or orange juice
The school
Is the sky
The blue sky and the
Fields and university
Is a gold-ringed
Fist and in this
Respect we all have
Our PhDs.
And as for this sheltered
Unsheltered rooftops
Holed like ozone
World we've all built together
Well,
We try to find words for it
And collapse.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
You are nothing now,
but if I had the chance to wish one thing of you,
it is this:
(may your past rest in parenthesis)
only an aside in the monologue of life
a soliloquy to the fourth wall of dramatic irony
a bracketed prologue to your story
interjecting an understanding of now and everything from now
in a seemingly never-ending pattern
as present becomes past and enters the parentheses
when your death came and your last words and thoughts slipped behind you
death was the only thing left unsheltered
as your brackets came to a close
but may you rest in every moment and memory you contained in interjection thus far,
(may you rest in parenthesis)
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Here are three hundred and seventy-one letters
write gibberish aimed at me.
We can warm up with haughty language,
cumulus white skies that brim with rudimentary quarrels,
as we watch an apprehensive apprentice appreciating an amateur.
Perhaps a devils activist entertaining a lawyer,
might spin supplementary lie- swathed webs,
Appeasing an imaginary stranger that whispers at night.
Liberate the unsheltered side,
In merely ten lines.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Pitter patter,
pitter patter.
The rain echoed in your head,
as you tried to remember what the drizzle sang
On that cloudy noon in November.
With its rhythmic tune
And endless repetition,
It danced its way to your sun roof
installation.
Staining the back of your mind with images of tear drops,
shed by the clouds.
For the skies missed your company.
The rain drops,
Quietly tapped on the,
Glass panes of your apartment; reminding you to use your umbrella.
Their warning useless,
Because you never wanted one.
Never needed one.
Even as the cool shower
came rolling through town.
You were there: Umbrellaless.
See,
The dreary weather here seemed so...
Relaxing.
Well,
not to anyone but you..
But it was as if the rain that day,
brought a hint of restlessness.
The aroma of coffee shops
became tempting,
like little boy's feet
drawn to sidewalks full of puddles.
They teased and tickled your exposed skin,
Those parts unsheltered by your favorite grey cotton sweater
The rain left the scent of wet pavements and fallen leaves,
lingering on the tip of your nose and top.
It seemed like one of those days:
Reading your book;
Your body tangled up in the couch;
A blanket to warm you;
Freshly brewed tea on hand,
as the endless chime of drizzling kept you company.
To you,
it was the most sensible thing.
The bustle of the city went mute as you walked along the avenues and streets.
(Especially without an umbrella.)
For where you went, you felt the rain.
While others got wet.
And for that brief stroll around the city,
slightly damp.
You were lost in the rain.
Calm and free.
For the rain was your friend,
And you were his..
Pitter patter,
pitter patter,
pitter patter.
I hope it rains today.
Sent from my iPad
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
The eccentricities of nature
Leaving us at its mercy
Sun and rain are taking turns
To play with us, caught unaware
Mood swings of nature
Blatantly leaving us perplexed
Sometimes raging with fury
Or its calming nature acts as a balm
Another moment tornadoes
Ripping across the hearts of habitats
Leaving us bare and unsheltered
Earthquakes depriving the ground beneath
Leaving us with open chasms of darkness
Erupting volcanoes, burning away
Glowing rivers of lava, taking its own course
Not showing any mercy, drowning dreams
Icy cold glaciers melting away the past
To drown away the future of our existence
And the vast seas encroaching shorelines
So many vignettes of nature
We can only be mere spectators
To the eccentricities of nature
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
Look through the fence, you see that beast there?
That tense lump of muscle and mange-ridden hair?
That's old Scrapyard Spike, and this is his lair;
Don't tread in his yard on adventure nor dare.
Old Scrapyard Spike, he's been a-weathered for years;
In his chain-link domain, rain-soaked despair.
Unfed in the morning, watered only with tears;
Unsheltered from squalls, corroded by glare.
Now poor Scrapyard Spike wasn't always so old,
When he was a puppy, they told him they loved him;
But when he grew up, he had to make friends with the cold,
For with the clink of a fence, he was thrown out on a whim
So Spike spent his days alone with his chain;
He sweltered at noon and slept wet with the rain;
And all those who passed him discounted his pain:
"He's just an old cur" was the daily refrain
And then one cold day, a girl found her way in;
Her flesh on her bones, blood coursing unspilled.
Old Spike smelled her first, his chain went a-slitherin'
And the lost child stood rooted, her every nerve chilled.
The silence of metal, broken plastic and glass,
The beast came a-running, his chain length a ploy;
And jaws opened wide as he lunged for the lass;
But when his head pressed her thigh, he whimpered with joy.
Old Spike raised the call with a manticore's thunder;
A summoning cast with his lungs' every strain.
She petted him gently, whose care she was under,
Though his poor heart convulsed as he looked back at his chain.
The clangor succeeded, a blue-clad protector
Saw the beast at her heel, and he drew as he lept;
An ounce of hot metal found Scrapyard Spike's skull,
And the last thing he heard was his friend as she wept.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Oh Winter, I welcome you,
Your nippy air, your kindling hues,
And the tint they cast on my moods,
Oh Winter, if only you knew,
The simple pleasures your arrival bears-
The precious sleep that only your lullaby brings,
The sudden love for rich food you excite,
And so many other little 'winter things'-
Things like colourful gloves and socks,
And poor unsheltered, chilled pink nose tip,
And age-old pseudo-smoking out cold breath,
And cherry/strawberry/cocoa balms to coat the lips,
Doodling a beloved's name on a frosted window,
And tugging blanket under toes in bed, snugly,
The evening nap feeling more easing than ever,
Followed by heavenly gulps of warm milky coffee.
Oh Winter, despite, as the time of
Separation and Forlornness being ill-famed,
Each time you visit, you touch my senses
And leave them pleasantly tingling and inflamed.
For summer may be bright, sunny and sky-blue,
But you can be an enticing dark, a passionate maroon,
You mischievous cupid hiding under the garb of cosiness,
Refilling hearts with yearnings anew.
Welcome, dear Season of Romance,
Time to commence the routine all over again,
Of you- enthusing me with deep cold-warm sentiments,
And me- writing poems celebrating this eternal game.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Strange tides
as shifting sands clutch my ankles
I am home again
in a sea of change.
The world shakes, expands
and rolls on invisible tracks through space
as I am pulled
Apart and breathless
Under full moons hidden in shadow.
What remains, left unsheltered
is the smallest nugget,
polished gold.
I burn fast and melt
into nooks and crannies
of belonging
while all around whispers
of leaves fall in sweet longing
onto moss and soil, countless
ancestors' songs
of mourning,
I am wilted and tall
I fold and reach skyward
I am endless and small
a chaotic mass
of synchronized heartbeats,
a shell of swollen light
ensconced by sheets of skin
I no longer fathom
outside looking in
I watch idly
as creation flows
against a backdrop
of antique lamps,
worn tapestries
alone in time
surrounded
by infinite
potential
A touch, a glance,
I leap into the dance
and I'm carried on a swell
of change
In dreams, I believe.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
i miss the bare minimum that you gave me
i waited on every text
relished every call
and every time our eyes met i fell in love all over again
i was completely and utterly devoted to you
to loving you
to making sure you felt loved
but now i don't even have the cradle of your voice
or how held i felt when we locked eyes
and the warmth of your embrace
you've left me cold and unsheltered
but i would still give you the shirt off my back
if i noticed your shiver
and i still answer every text
every call
because even though i'm not what you want
you're still everything
Mar 29, 2022
Mar 29, 2022 at 12:46 PM UTC
I glanced at him, while the trapped light of morning danced through the blinds and graced his cheeks,
looking for peace.
He could be a metaphor,
an effortless poem, one that ink and paper could never hold
His hands entwine with mine, rough hands so carelessly comforting and eyes embedded in a trance.
His laugh so warm, to mimic flames,
he is a fire, my every desire.
Show me your soul, naked and unmasked.
I will reciprocate with my unbound flaws and once hidden heart to be unsheltered in your trust.
You hold a smile more marvellous than a captured sunset in Autumn with glorious colours at work to create a circle of eternity.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
cathedral dawn
she speaks in silent gestures
and with eyes
awakening
to the light
she wanders the cold hour
she wanders
through the homeless lives
with the unsheltered
she's looking for somebody else!
she waiting for you
to be here
cathedral dawns have heard her
every prayer
when will
WE
be listening?
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
Off I go to the Land of Nod
Where reality sleeps and dreams are God.
Where waking thoughts slip away from me
And hidden fears the braver be.
'Tis a world of light and suspended form
Where changing scenes become the norm.
My mind revealing a secret held,
Not wanting to see where the demon dwelled.
A message veiled, the truth untold
‘Til I am ready to face the cold.
The cold, the stark, unsheltered truth
Was hidden from me in my youth.
Laid out only when I am ready.
Now I’m strong and finally steady.
A voice inside me knows the time
To bring it forth in pantomime.
To weave the tale, show it all.
Only then will the blinders fall.
My eyes are closed but yet I see
What my waking mind has hid from me.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
From the depths of the sea, they came. Homeless.
Creatures of hapless form, and formless bodies.
Animals carved in the nature of blindness,
without godly supervision; deities.
Convicts they were; that which is wrong,
Leaving behind a world lost to them. Alas,
Their crime is that they did not belong.
But even in exile, they hold debt to their past.
They flopped, they crawled and oozed,
Out of old skin, they became something new.
So the years passed and frequently bruised,
They became gargantuan and further still; grew.
Inhabiting a land, once uninhabitable; now tamed.
Creating dominion over raw nature, they climbed.
Hills, valleys, mountains, volcanoes! They claimed.
Even in the face of annihilation, they climbed.
Above it all they choose to rest, touching the sky.
The creatures learned time, then they chased it.
Always pursuing it, always getting one step ahead. Fly,
They soon did, faster, faster, faster, they chased 'it'.
Until they broke out of the awesome surface.
Like once before they made prints on lands once untouchable.
The creatures are creatures no more. At least not all.
But, soon. All the creatures will float away 'pon solar winds.
I look back on the first of them all. The scared,
Unsheltered and curious creature of the old world.
It looks upon me, with questioning, unaware of destiny. Unprepared,
In its dark eyes, I see light. Light that I am closer to taming. Knowledge unfurled.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
TV. Reflections
The news is deeply depressing, except for a Yemeni
woman activist trying to explain to a dense reporter
that Yemen do not need outside interference.
The reporter wanted to know about Iran, everyone
does, the Saudis and the Israelites.
Iran is a big regional power and has influences in
the regions... big deal.
I turn to the weather forecast, drizzle in Singapore
and that is not so bad. I have never been there
Only seen pictures, a sort of place only businessmen
Would like to visit
Blustery in Oslo, that brings out a giggle, serves it
right, the people live in fear that the foreigners will come
change their hardy culture- beer and street fights-
little do they now that Norway is not on top of the list
where the unsheltered masses like to go.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
I keep yearning for your words like an incurable addiction.
I am frightened I am slowly getting used to living under your shadow
And soon it will be difficult for me to step out to the sun when it is time for you to leave.
Yet still, amidst this drifting thoughts heading towards your world,
Fighting storms and sea monsters
Deprived of armor and unsheltered,
Offering my pride as a bait to be ravished by unexpected vultures,
Hear I am,
Letting myself drown in this miraculous possiblity that you would give me more.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC
When something's not
right..... Homeless, unsheltered
by your category of routine....
it may invite emotions mental
security hired for the dismissal
of any loitering
angry disappointment and frustration
just to name a few guards within
your mind who's considered the
most mean, tell me again why
your mind requested it's streets
to be clean
we are rich....
with health so many
can't even afford to
breathe... Can you
imagine living with
dreams of being able
to breathe absent
machines, or...: having
to bathe and hydrate
your child with water's
struck with a disease that
feast on living things, I'm
not revoking your right
to complain just lending
you the thought of the
perception of you through another's
lens may mimic the one of
a king
we take so much for
granted and stress the
minor things when so
many struggle to survive
and pray that god intervenes
Silenced
© 2014 viewtifulink
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
I watched as it began.
It was with that single, trickling drop
The undisputable urge took control
Rolling the storm and it's fury
Across the skies and,
Feeding the hunger below.
Much like a woman scorn,
The pressure beat down
Upon the earth mercilessly
Prodding over and over,
Showing the true meaning of Nature,
And how shamefully indulgent she can be.
Yet you, you beautiful creature,
Throughout the thunder and lights
You stayed unveiled and unsheltered,
Letting every single part of you
Become drenched in the sins
Of the past, present, and future.
The pure beauty of the scene
Is breathtaking, to say the least.
I Envy you as you take control,
(Like you always do so well,)
With such grace and intellect, but you are
Still so oblivious to my endeared reverence.
So we simply waited as the storm came to it's end.
Together but not together.
Apart but not apart.
You looked at me, so longingly and sincerely,
But I just couldn't find the words to say,
So at dawn's first light you flew away.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
Pale skin scattered with black and blue
Deathly pallor engorging hues
Sorry eyes sobbing their woes
Pleading for help but hoping no one knows
Little people still unformed
Perfect shadows now forlorn
Twitching lips quivering in fear
Dry flesh flushed with tears
That had only recently disappeared
Who will hold his hand
Who will take a chance
Who will wait and understand
Why the innocent can’t dance
Fading as all things discarded, ill-used
Garbage, soft human refuse
The child unsheltered scarred, scared and abused
Who will save the children and doing so save themselves
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
Dip into my morning sky o' blue jay of mine. I want to awaken to your beauty. Soar into my mind when all has gone wrong. I want to imagine the sound of you tweeting.
Oh how unsheltered head, you are now limitless, but fly into my humble abode and you will fly protected, yet freely.
Fear not my love, of stormy weather. No longer shall you fly on weary wings. No longer shall you fear the hunter, no longer shall you fly from anything. Lay with me. Rest with me. My heart is your den. And if naught you take up my offer, I shan't worry- for in the morn' I will admire you again.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC