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Philomena Dec 2018
He is the sunrise over the black hills
He is the feeling from which my soul spills

He is the beating of my heart
He is the pain of being apart

He is my song
He is where I belong

He is amica mea
Because my bean is the best bean
Nebuleiii Mar 2013
To my innocence, naivety, and viridity
Childish ways, high school days.
A mere three weeks, I say good bye
With a cry, a tear, a sigh.

To blue slacks, and a polo
Black shoes and white socks
To my pink skirt, and white blouse,
Pleated, soon to be folded.

To the OHS rooms of our first and second years:
The broken windows, and tantrum-kicked chairs,
The broom box behind the spider webbed chalkboard,
Messages on the wall hand printed in red and green.

The broken doorknobs, and broken floorboards,
Carved armchairs, and eaten chalks,
Missing brooms and dustpans and garbage cans and rugs
That show up in who knows where
Stolen by jani- we know who.

The witnesses and victims
To our random laughter (from some Chinese-looking girl’s corny joke).
Our random tears.
Our not so random learnings.
The pillars of our memories.

To the PF rooms of our third year:
The storage room turned gigantic garbage can and dressing room (maybe because ours keep being stolen)
The exploding socket causing sparks to fly (and us to fly away from it), and
The amazing “alambre” lock; who knows who installed (as if that could keep us away).
The earthquake resistant rooms would be missed.

To the New High School Building of our last years:
The kicked door (not our fault!), and cancerous blinds (like hairs falling after chemo),
The jigsaw floor (not sure if better than broken floorboards),
The “Halayan 2012”, and
The mind-boggling “no key needed” lockers.


The UTMT with its fair share of mango sentences,
The old guidance office now turned “tambayan”, and
The Computer lab with its fragile yellow chairs and bruised bums.

To Ibong Adarna plays, and the half cooked uncooked Teriyaki,
Generation X (and Generation NOW! and Generation Facebook),
Jai ** dances, and cheerleading,
Kalagon Kamo Namon,
And Mickey Mickey Mouse Kabit-bintana memories.

To the NikJep Tandem,
Kanlaon Boys Behind the Flowers,
D.H.A.I.N.G. (not sure if they remember this),
Fred vs Gino version
And DewBheRhieTart.

Keep the volcanoes of memories burning.

To blue paint, and blue shirts,
And Geometry teaching us
“There are a lot of solutions to a problem.
We just have to find one that suits us.”

To saying “***”,
And cooking imbutido.
And wearing (for some designing) reduced,
Reused, recycled clothing.
And dissecting.
And parrot-Filipino teachers (she gave me P30 for load though).

Keep the river of rumination flowing.

To being scared of one whole sheet of paper,
Two becoming one,
Party rocking to make up for the tears,
And knowing we should have won.

To the hand sanitizer girls,
The Cream-o-holics,
The Canterbury Crusaders,
The Valenciana eaters.

May our tree of friendship continue growing.

To our winnings!

The glow in the dark madness,
The Lakan at Mutya clutch-heart-moments,
The Sports Fest *******,
Basketball girls’ coronation!

To the fieldtrips and failed trips,
To air conditioned crammings,
And space and time bending
To comparing notes (and sometimes other things)
Copying notes, sometimes photocopying
(Not Xeroxing)
Sharing words, phrases, sentences
And giving pictures (via Bluetooth).

May you keep walking on the right direction,

To the expectations achived,
Broken, overtaken.
All the skepticism,
Constructive criticism.

All of it.

The in-your-face-we-did-it-baby-
We-are-awesome-you-can’t-bring-us-do­wn-
Coz-we-rise-back-up-attitude.

To Arielle
And Mhae

To Amica
Marie
Narzcisa
Cyan
Fred
Theo
Alvinson
Anthony
Faith
Karmil­la
Matt
Jeffson
Lourince

To Carolyn

To Makayla

To the thirty-five castaways in this room
The thirty-five castaways who struggled
The thirty-five castaways who persevered
The thirty-five castaways who fought, cried, made up, laughed, shared, gave, back-stabbed, and front-stabbed, celebrated, suffered, passed
Thirty-five
Thirty-five castaways who loved,
Thirty-five

Thirty-five castaways who made it, who did it.

To Nikki
Hazel
Alyssa
Gef
Veni
Alex
Jaykee
Bernard
Myra
Vince
Chanta­lle
Josen
Jerian
Shaira
J
Uriah
Ihra
Renz
Bless
Steffany
Angel
Fl­orey
Bernadine
Antonette
Rency
Owen
Majah
Gino
Marcelo
Ney
Keith
­Joselle
And Jessa,

We did it guys.
We really did.
TO MY CLASSMATES (IV-ILAWOD)
So many private jokes and inside thoughts. So many.
MARIA PANOUTSOU May 2018
Coccinella, mia amica


Κάποτε έσμιξαν για λίγες μέρες,
δυο πασχαλίτσες.

Τυχαία,
πάνω σε ένα ανθισμένο λουλούδι,
που μόλις είχε στεγνώσει τα πέταλά του,
απ’ την ανοιξιάτικη βροχούλα.

Αφέθηκαν εκεί.
Και έτσι πέρασαν στην αιωνιότητα.

Μαρία Πανούτσου
Ρεμβάζοντας
brandon nagley Sep 2015
i.

mahal ko
No matter how long it shalt taketh to meet;
I wilt wait an eternal span.

ii.

amica mea
I shalt be in long-suffering;
To kiss thine feet, on mine knee's and hand's.

iii.

Mo grá
Through ourn waiting;
I shalt taketh thine incise, and warm thee with fire taking thy ice.

iv.

mon amour
Mine spirit is thy window;
Mine soul is open to thee alway's as thy door.

v.

agápi̱ mou
I loveth thee, forever mine queen;
Just sayest that thou loveth me to, forever we shalt be.



©Brandon Nagley
©Earl jane Nagley dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
All the beginning of the stanzas are words meaning my love.,
Les longs rideaux de blanche mousseline

Que la lueur pâle de la veilleuse

Fait fluer comme une vague opaline

Dans l'ombre mollement mystérieuse,


Les grands rideaux du grand lit d'Adeline

Ont entendu, Claire, ta voix rieuse,

Ta douce voix argentine et câline

Qu'une autre voix enlace, furieuse.


« Aimons, aimons ! » disaient vos voix mêlées,

Claire, Adeline, adorables victimes

Du noble vœu de vos âmes sublimes.


Aimez, aimez ! ô chères Esseulées,

Puisqu'en ces jours de malheur, vous encore,

Le glorieux Stigmate vous décore.
betterdays Apr 2014
amemini,
semper amandus,
te amica mea,
ego sum amator,
est ductor noctor,
et quod suus 'peregrinos,
in hoc itinere vivendi,

siete amati,
sarai sempre,
amato tu sei il mio amore,
io sono il tuo amante,
l'amore è la nostra guida,
e noi che di pellegrini,
in questo nostro cammino
di vita.

*you are loved,
you will always be loved
you are my love
i  am your lover
love is our guide
and we it's pilgrims
on this our journey of life
the progression;
latin,
italian,
english.
the love,
the same,
no matter,
the words.
Che speri, che ti riprometti, amica,
se torni per così cupo viaggio
fin qua dove nel sole le burrasche
hanno una voce altissima abbrunata,
di gelsomino odorano e di frane?

Mi trovo qui a questa età che sai,
né giovane né vecchio, attendo, guardo
questa vicissitudine sospesa;
non so più quel che volli o mi fu imposto,
entri nei miei pensieri e n'esci illesa.

Tutto l'altro che deve essere è ancora,
il fiume scorre, la campagna varia,
grandina, spiove, qualche cane latra
esce la luna, niente si riscuote,
niente dal lungo sonno avventuroso.
i missed the Mythril age of high school
when Shadows graced our halls
and beautiful Boys were hailed
with every step that falls

these Boys with Angelic beauty
were Demonic in their strength
their Wit sharper than any sword
of human make or length

'twas a warrior King who led them
and others (almost) as fine
He was much revered by his people
and will be loved 'til the end of Time

a great Battle once he led
much remembered and retold
to defend the Hill of revelry
once the stronghold of the Bold

his Fighters were formed and eager
both male and Female in their Ranks
just the sight of them made most lose heart-
flee with their tails between their flanks

too soon his reign came to and end-
through the iron Gates he passed-
to his Brothers, Sisters, Lovers, Friends
He left his Legacy at the last

i missed the Mythril age of high school
of the Quiet and the Elvenfair
the Artists, Writers, Singers, Dancers-
reams of Talent esoteric and rare

i came on the edge of a transition
from the Old age to the new
i live in the age of tarnished Silver
a less forgiving hue

i was honored to be with the last of Them
before their time was done
first a willowy Queen and Princesses-
of their silver Harem i was one

our Revels we held within our Hall
for the Hill was never ours
it was held by the pitiful dregs
of the revered King's old warriors

the second Queen i was blessed to serve
was an Artist without peer
She ruled with fairness and a ready laugh
sang with a Voice so crystal clear

the Mythril few, and fewer still,
were the Silver in our Hall
there were young ones of crude Iron
to whom the majority did fall

the willow Queen's leaving had scattered
the silver Harem, far and wide
some to new schools, Mates, heart-Children-
but i stayed, for the final Mythril tide

i missed the Mythril age of high school
but found friends in those remaining
the mythril Princess i love most of all
who banished my tears without complaining

Warrior, Writer, and Dancer is She,
Healer and Songstress as well
above all, Pure and loving Friend-
and gifted with a Siren's spell

others have their own place in this tale
new heart-Brothers through Her i met
long-grad Guardians to defend Her
from whatever harm beset

all those who were my Garnet-
heart-Family, strong and true
defended, loved and gave me
a taste of Freedom's brew

now i embrace Her, the final mythril Queen
Silent Siren, Rose of Night
mea Cara, mea Regina
lady of the crimson Twilight

heart-Sister of the warrior King
alas, this realm is shorn
the Hill claimed by junkies and tramps
that blow the rutting horn

for summer's End, Autumn's breadth,
and winter's Birth she'll rule
then the iron Gates will beckon
and she , too, will leave the school

at Her side sits a beautiful Boy
last Prince of the mythril Line
my beloved Queen's heart-Brother
who'll rule for three Years' time

from Fade of winter, to fevered Spring,
'til Spark of summer-my Eighteenth year-
for Him i'll sit as Regent-queen
Failure-only one of many fears

i am but Silver and heart-Child;
umbra and amica to our Queen
He is Scion and Prodigy
on whom our simple hopes must lean

i missed the Mythril age of high school
from which this young Prince springs
perhaps He'll do what We cannot
so Mythril bells again will ring
written in 2007 or 2008
Je te chante
A toute heure
Religieusement
Les très grandes moultes belles et riches heures de Ma Dame

Je te les chante en latin à matines  
Ave Maria Plena Gratia
Je te les chante à laudes
Tota pulchra es amica
Je te chante en latin les petites heures, les heures de pucelle
Je te les chante à prime
Regina caeli letare
Je te les chante à tierce
Benedicta es tu filia
Je te les chante à sexte
Obsecro te domina sancta Maria, Mater dei, pietate plenissima
Je te les chante à none
O intemerata et in eternum benedicta

Je te chante en latin les grandes heures, les donzelles
Je te les chante à vêpres
Alleluia Hosanna Musa Benedicta tu in Musis
Je te les chante à complies
Salve Regina Mater misericordiae vita dulcedo et spes nostra salve

Et dans le silence de ma cellule
Noire et blanche
Je te renouvelle
Après l'office des complies
Sans antiphonaire et sans graduel
Mes voeux d'humilité, de pauvreté et chasteté
Ecoute la prière grégorienne
De ton moine cistercien, ton baryton orthodoxe,
Ton serviteur, ton esclave, ton Musc
Nu et sincère sans habit et sans scapulaire
Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae
brandon nagley May 2015
See,
Look closer friend!!!
Doth thou see thou beauty on that masterpiece clung nailed to thy wall?
Your to close friend,
Step back....
(Its ugly) the man whispers!!!!!
No no thou seeist all wrong young one,
Look past the color and the picture!!!
All the dots refined,
As in our minds,
A heaven sits behind thy color doth thouest see!

Do not believe???

This paintings been around a many of years young lad!!!
Here,
Step back!!!

Woowwwww,
Yells the man as his screams echoe the museums hangings!!!

Yes,
Yes, now I see beyond the colors is a hidden message,
A broken heart bleeded out to make the streaks and all the form!!!

Yes I say friend!!!
You wanna know who she is?
The man asked(yes)

She's amica mea!!!!!!
display Oct 2018
our hands intertwined in blood
our eyes dance across the field in horror
this nightmare i live, for you who hates me so
our words ran through even farther than steel
your eyes kingdoms in my soul once more
you have gone onto what we could not
tears stream as they breathe our ash
even then i fight blind and crippled
my hand in yours

this love is fake in my darkness,
yet i hold her hand
my everything now another's as i fight a losing battle
i scream with no voice my words bouncing colour
i grow cold without your warmth
wont you hold us again?

my storm has no end in this blessing rain
i still scream for your eyes i feel them yet
wont you feel mine as well amica mea
i die in the cold without you
there is no birth for monsters

how is it to have lived and breathed and loved only to be loved without you
amica mea- my love
Infensio intentitus- intention of the troops
Your glance,
Carrying the scent of
red carnations...
When the bud blooms...
When the cherries die...  
Through your childhood ears...
Summer,
I'd bring you the vase
with bare feet...
The pomegranate tree
Is gone..... 
And I don't know...
How to fly through that window?
A yellow glow...
Among the palm trees of
Agave amica...
The smell of  the sun...
From behind the
green mulberry trees...
My mother's voice...
And sliding Two white dandelions
On the skin of my hand...

نگاهت،
عَطرِ میخك های سرخ...
زماني که
شکوفه ها
گل داده اند....
زماني که
مي میرند....
گیلاس ها،
از لا به لایِ
گوش های بچگي ات....
تابستان،
گلدان را
با پای برهنه برایت می آوردم...
درختِ انار مُرده...
و من نمي دانم....
چگونه می توان از آن پنجره رفت؟
درخششي زَرد...
از میانِ نخل های گل مریم...
بوی آفتاب...
از پشت درخت های توت سبز...
صدای مادرم...
و لغزیدنِ
دو قاصدك سفید
به روی پوست دستم...

Listen to حیاة🌸 by yasaman johari on #SoundCloud
https://soundcloud.com/user-75031766/spyd72nz7975?ref=clipboard&p=a&c=1&si=31c0c1c9a4234f9c851a431ef7e49896&utmsource=clipboard&utmmedium=text&utmcampaign=socialsharing
La La mother's flower...
La La mother's flower...
Mom loves you so much...
She grows roses for you...
La La lily flower...
Hit the wings and hit the wings and flying up...
La La fig leaf...
Don't weave my hair late...
La La moon and star...
The sun is gone...
The flower is awake...
La La moon's flower...
La La moon's flower...
Don't be impatient anymore... Don't be impatient anymore...
La La mother's life...
La La mother's life...
لا لا گل مادر
لا لا عزیز مادر
مادر خیلی دوستت داره...
برات گل رُز می کاره...
لا لا گل سوسن...
بزن بال و
بزن بال و
بزن پر....
لا لا برگ انجیر
زلفامو نبافی دیر...
لا لا
ماه و
ستاره...
خورشید رفته...
گل بیداره...
لا لا گل مهتاب...
لا لا گل مهتاب...
چشات نشه دیگه بی تاب...
چشات نشه دیگه بی تاب...
لا لا عمر مادر....
لا لا عمر مادر....
Che speri, che ti riprometti, amica,
se torni per così cupo viaggio
fin qua dove nel sole le burrasche
hanno una voce altissima abbrunata,
di gelsomino odorano e di frane?

Mi trovo qui a questa età che sai,
né giovane né vecchio, attendo, guardo
questa vicissitudine sospesa;
non so più quel che volli o mi fu imposto,
entri nei miei pensieri e n'esci illesa.

Tutto l'altro che deve essere è ancora,
il fiume scorre, la campagna varia,
grandina, spiove, qualche cane latra
esce la luna, niente si riscuote,
niente dal lungo sonno avventuroso.
E chi saresti stata, amica mia, senza quella notte sul cuore?
Non "una nuvola nera nella vita degli altri".
Ma un sole rigoglioso.

Crocifiggerei chi ti ha incatenato
Crocifiggerei chi ti ha ingannato

Ma con coraggio hai messe un piede sulla serenità
Nella notte sono comparse le stelle
Il sentiero si è illuminato
come un giorno di giugno

Non voltarti mai indietro, non importa.
Non voltarti mai indietro, starò bene.

Il nostro amore non è stato invano.
A G.M.
.
Sei una rosa: bella e piena di spine

E io ricorderò sempre
Le cose che abbiamo detto
E le cose che abbiamo sognato
Che speri, che ti riprometti, amica,
se torni per così cupo viaggio
fin qua dove nel sole le burrasche
hanno una voce altissima abbrunata,
di gelsomino odorano e di frane?

Mi trovo qui a questa età che sai,
né giovane né vecchio, attendo, guardo
questa vicissitudine sospesa;
non so più quel che volli o mi fu imposto,
entri nei miei pensieri e n'esci illesa.

Tutto l'altro che deve essere è ancora,
il fiume scorre, la campagna varia,
grandina, spiove, qualche cane latra
esce la luna, niente si riscuote,
niente dal lungo sonno avventuroso.

— The End —