"unspilled" poems
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket -
And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming - mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath -
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.
7.9k
My city spews poetry like smoke,
In vicious columns of abstracts,
Of unspilled blood, untold hurts,
Unsung love and unrestrained joy.
Neck of an old refill snapped
absent-mindedly,
Sploshes a tiny blob of red ink,
On the table cloth,
And so flows musings and rants.
Smell of twilight rain mingles with
Incense fragrance of evening prayers
Triggering a burst of longing and love.
Electric bulbs and rainbows coexist
And emit more than just light.
My city breeds more poets than
The Lakes ever did.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it is the blood
of soldiers
shot before
they could return the favor.
If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it the blood
leaking down teenage arms
those that so dearly
want pain to end.
If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it is the blood
of those murdered
whose lives ended
without meaning.
If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it is the blood
of a broken heart
that doesn’t bleed,
but wishes it did.
If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it is the blood left unspilled
that lives to let live
and dies only when death takes it
to soak these petals.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 5:14 PM UTC
Paalam na muna, sinisintang toyò
Childhood sweetheart kita, karibal ng tuyô
Pero wala sa usapang mayro’ng dugo
ng obrerong sa alat mo’y ihahalo.
Di ko maatim na sa kanin kong puti
Iwiwisik kita, habang may lugami
sa mababang sahod, sa dusa’t pighati
Kapalit ng yaman ng sa ‘yo’y may-ari.
“Bukas na lang kita muling mamahalin”
Kung sakaling katarungan ay dumating
Kontraktwalisasyo’y tila almuranin
Kamandag sa buhay nitong bayan natin.
Translation:
We’re on a cool-off, Soy Sauce
Well, it’s goodbye for now, dear soy sauce brand, unspilled
You’re a childhood sweetheart, rival of dried fish grilled
But unjustly having lowly workers’ blood spilled
It’s not part of the deal, your salty taste concealed
It really is just hard to bear to sprinkle you
on my white rice, while those who toiled to see you through
suffer deeply in wages low, mis’ries undue
amidst the wealth, so huge, of those few who own you
Love you again, oh tomorrow, maybe, I will,
if fortune brings that sweet justice to hands that mill.
Contractualization’s a serpent waiting still
To our dear people’s life, a venom meant to ****
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 3:04 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
*They say the world is made of strings.
Spinning, creating the very fabric of our existence.
The knots are delicate as a tiny bird wings
But...
It always lacked the colours of the rainbow.
The firey reds, the liquid blues.
Green, pink and all the hues.
Also the colour of the desert was a few.
A person I fell into deeply.
that person didn't paint my life with brush strokes.
That person drew my eyes neatly.
Lift the lid off my eye folds.
Carve me the visioners I always dreamed of.
Blow me the glitter of your soul.
Stroll me around like a baby dove.
Line my eyes in a clean role.
For you my lover, one can see life.
In colours of day and night.
In light and darkness our bright glows.
As our delicate bodies ignite.
The strings of life untangled.
The golden jar unspilled.
Evil shows hit and mangled.
For thy love may prosper and refill* ~
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
i
wish
that
i
could
tell
you,
like
soured
milk,
so long
overdue.
like
birds
that
fly
south
before
the
snow,
i wish
it
had
flown
from
my lips,
long
long
ago.
like
a
rose
in
full
bloom
and
the
bee
that
buzzes
above,
i'll
have
to
fly
away
in
peace,
just
as
a
graceful
dove.
some
things
can
never
be
spoken,
some
things
can
just
never
be,
some
thoughts
get
treated
as a
lifetime
prisoner,
...
never
to
be
freed.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
An old hag, I tell ya,
She read my palm,
And revealed it.
That only momentary pleasures,
Were written in my destiny,
Of varying measures.
I agree to some extent,
Only torment is permanent,
As pleasures are just temporary.
Lost within myself they often get,
Like a delightful chocolate bar,
Akin to one from a beer bar.
Dissatisfied with every happiness,
Half filled with unspilled tears,
The other half of lost years.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 1:14 AM UTC
Red Flame
Once again
Beauty
Reflected
In the Context of the World
How many times?
Can Love say No to Itself
From the Perception
Of Difference?
Writers Ink,
Unspilled
When a Flag comes out
Is there no longer One?
Are the Words Spoken
In Another's Language
Really the Threat
Of an impoverished Life?
Or the Words of another
Persons Faith
....heretic?
These ears
of Listening
Are the Walk
Of Life..
There is
No Team
No Coin
No Fear
Just the
Opportunity
For Choice
To Love, and Listen
A Rainbow
Of Entry
Into a Room
Without Light
Love's Miracle
Unbroken
Sight
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
All of your sincerity can nay make me believe
There is an egg hatched within these words
A broken ***** unspilled with lusting
Doesn't a new father and a mother bring
We just carry on with odd shuddering
The benevolent shot of blind oxytocin
Rings the bells of this sweet typing
Until the critic sets in.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
the milk is
left untouched,
the cookies
left uneaten,
"santa didn't come
this time."
gifts
left unopened,
words
left unspoken,
"when will he
be back?"
secrets
left unspilled,
and sobs
too quiet to hear.
"maybe
next
year."
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
I hear almost silent whisp’rings
Hist’ry
Tells me you’ll soon be gone
I promise not to cry o’er unspilled drinks
I think
It may be time to move on
This is selfish self protection
Prevention
From pains once felt before
I’ll take my heart from your grasp
Safer that
It just stay on the floor
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 9:40 AM UTC
no. 1: nothing is ever elemental
it's never only this or only that
which is probably why we overuse the word
B I T T E R S W E E T
no. 2: it's better to tell someone you love them than to not
at least if you die now,
you won't regret leaving those words on the edge of the table
a glass of milk unspilled
no. 3: this world is too beautiful to explore alone
that's why i go to the movies with my friends
and lay in the grass with my sister,
counting clouds and singing songs from the '00s
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
a torrent rests uneasy
in my soul.
heart unspilled to the ear of
ever-loving God.
why do I stay away
why do I stay awake,
when grace and sweet
redemption wait my
soul
if only I speak
unchaining heart
and soul to be
entered, swept and
renovated painfully by the dead, undying
Savior of my soul.
Lift up your weary, aching silence,
you ***** tired soul.
Let not the halls of God above
lay still, unmarred by the
whimper of this self-inflicting
dog.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC
between my mother
and her paper
cup
I’ve heard tell
that even sorrow
has a life.
father yells
at dogs, at the necessary
born, at me
in the mirror
to turn
around
get someone
can clean
this up. father calls
light
the unspilled
blood
of the god
we're in. he suffers on his path
the suppressed
amnesia
of faghood. being gay
has long been
being open
to the possibility
he’s not.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
In the distance someone is playing
Bolero on a flute
It's melancholy melody is gripping me
To times I must not visit.
This night is heavy with sadness
Everything is filled
with the humidity of late summer
Moisture forms upon the glass of wine
In my hand
Water drips from the leaves of the parched trees
It forms in my heart.
In the sultry night air
someone is playing bolero on a flute
it is bringing her back to my vision.
I must not let her inside me.
And my heart is aching.
The breeze that carries the music
Is filled with water like unspilled tears.
My heart is releasing her as fresh as the day
That I fell in love with her.
In the distance someone is playing bolero on a flute
And my soul is aching
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC