Tag: poetry
Coffee
Hot water is showered over granules formed—this is a geometrical genius: triangle. From this heat touching inert potentialities, out comes wisps of sleep leaving and down is its liquid—mad men’s necessity to keep going. Yet here, I make it through the slowest form to watch it bloom and fall and fall, drip by drip particle…
Rain
Many years ago a friend and I: started to rain under a nearby grove of quaking aspen; the rain decided to call it a day and opened the lightning with stripped leaves bark off the trees, leaving a few limbs smouldering… And silence—across our Idaho valley—I love it.The raw power: Voltage! Percussion! Shock and awe!…
Spotlight, 1
And when all of that is said and done— When all of what? That, this whole thing with our being human beings— You mean, how we’ve got ends and beginnings? Yes, but more than that: How right here, in the middle this middle section where things are moving around it but not through it not…
Kay Sarap Magmahal
Kay sarap palang magmahalat namnamin ang lamig ng hanginsa mga gabing maliwanag ang buwanat matingkad ang mga anino natin. Kay sarap palang magmahalat damdamin ang mga minutong ‘di nagtatagalYaóng tila usok na initat mala-habambuhay na pagpikit. Kay sarap palang magmahalat pakinggan ang mga salitang ‘di masabi-sabimusikang pampakalmaat nanggaling sa nanginginig na mga labi. Kay sarap…
Still, dreaming
Such a world that feels so vivid built up by more truths than falsities All the waking emotions had been reflected All of mine, that is I may have no idea of yours to begin with
Night; shade
The night is futile, as is any attempt to survive; to sleep is neither Being nor Nothing— Being: unreal, impossible, Truly—
On Defining Terms
The World is full of inhibitions I cannot write the world I see for it cannot be true. My vision is fractured; it is nothing but a piece of glass—nothing is no more. Nothing is no longer natural—to be nothing is sinful here in the World that deceives the truth stares at me observer vis-à-vis…
In theory
We are but storms and it overwhelms me the thought of no fair days and neither rain I want the cold winters and blazing summers the whole spectrum of colour in theory I want to witness it, all from afar; I want to see—this is the expected response, the right answer All I want is…
It
Terrible: Has it any worth? It? Has it any value anymore at all? It? Has it anything left in its shadowing capacity—where is the fortitude cleansed by grace? There lies some sort of power overcome by a vacuuming guilt riddled with shame intangible and abstract— It does not seem to matter, it does not seem…
Fire
Fire is how she goes: burning from within, flames in the palm of her hands—the world turned to ashes. She wanted to know if petals can turn into gems; she sought alchemy for alchemy’s sake. There was no need for friction: burning from within, flames everything she holds turns into flame—the world and all within.…