Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

This is a picture I did not take
one uneventful afternoon
when all the self-confessed heroes of today
have finished fighting in their own four-walled battlegrounds
with the white, shiny boards as their flags
that they were all too willing to raise in surrender
an afternoon when I myself,
out of breath and full of sweat—38 degrees—
have put down
all my weapons and wits for the day—
just there, on the platform for my ride,
unguarded, without walls, without shields,
and in that instance, I heard a thud—
steps—and footsteps drawing nearer,
bringing to my peripheral
a stranger’s face that was all too familiar,
all too disorienting,
all too heart-arresting,
giving me enough breath just so I could gasp
a little louder than necessary,
and like overflowing water from an unsealed pitcher
make every memory with the stranger resurface—
walks in the park, our rides home,
popcorns and Marvel movies,
sneaky holding hands under the pool,
every caress, every inside joke,
every message cherished and regretted—
it’s a vivid picture I didn’t need to take;
It—he—has always been there.

 

Writing prompt (credits to Dr. Martin Villanueva):

  1. Finish the sentence “This is a picture I did not take.”
  2. The sentence has to be one page long.
  3. The sentence must respect grammatical conventions.
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Death

Posted: May 29, 2019 in Poems
Tags: , , , , , , ,

I stand in silent anticipation
as an old friend drives up my door.
He has come for yet another visit–
I swear he drops by more often than before.

He has never yet arrived quite unannounced,
but he’d always give a very short notice.
Yet perhaps no heads up is advanced enough
for someone’s visit such as his.

There are always more things to be done,
more preparations to look after;
And every time that he leaves,
there are countless details I wish I did better.

So with every goodbye he utters
every time he steps out of my place,
I would make amends on my planner
so as to receive him next time with more grace.

It’s been eight months since Death first knocked at my door,
since I first rehearsed and prepared for his return.
But no matter how much I plan my worded greetings,
every time he comes around,

I could only offer yielding silence.

(Written March 10, 2019)

Hyperbole

Posted: August 7, 2018 in Poems
Tags: , , , , , ,

When you promised me the world
And everything beautiful in it
When you counted for me the stars,
Told me you’d fetch and give them to me
One by one
When you said to me, “Look at the moon, how it shines”
And with a smile whispered,
“that’s because it knows I’m here for you”–
You should’ve heard how it seemed so true.

When you told me you’d cross all rivers
You’d ford all streams
Fend off my every nightmare
And help me reach all my far-off dreams
When you insisted to be the salve
For all my brokenness
To be the balm to soothe all my pain
When you sweetly said, “they’d all leave, but not me. Never.”

When you swore to be my Perseus,
sword at hand, ready to cut off and slay
all the ugly monster heads
to ever rear in my darkest nightmares

When you promised to be swifter than Hermes
and come running to my side at one beck and call
when you claim before all that, like Romeo,
you would only either have life with me
or have no life at all,

When you swore to God you’ll
Outwit the sphinxes,
Out-combat all of Odin’s Valkyries,
Defeat Ares and Athena combined in a war,
Outshine the sun god Ra as he makes his
trip around earth,
go through the gates of Hel and overcome
her territory’s terrors,
All for my sake–

When you convinced me there’s no one else
You can imagine to be with
Today, right now, until you breathe your last,
When you promised me you were sure
To be as the very air I breathe–
Always with me, ever in my system–
To be my very shadow, never leaving my side
When you vowed to me, “I love you, always,”
You were exaggerating–
Weren’t you?

How do I love thee? Let me tell you in many ways. Now, darling, I don’t know another foreign language. I don’t speak Latin, I don’t know Spanish. And I most definitely have no idea how to speak Korean. But I do have my own set of languages to tell you–I love you.

I don’t speak Italian, and I won’t be as romantic and expressive as they are. But let me tell you I love you in the way that I know how.

I would give you… A tulip. Not just because you are unique and not cliche as the rose, but because I love you with a love that I can declare out loud. And call me geeky but tulip for me is the five points of Calvinism and therefore I love you with a love founded on the truth.
I would give you– a forget-me-not. Because babe I’m telling you I will never ever forget your smile, your touch, and your every word. And I just hope your heart will always remember me too, because mine will always love you with a love that’s meant to last.

I don’t know how to use Italian, but I know how to say I love you in my own language of flowers.

Now babe, I don’t know how to make poetry in Greek, and I’ll never be as half poetic as the Muses are. But let me show you I love you in shades and hues that I can draw.

For me you are my army green. Not just because army green is my favorite color and you’re easily my favorite person, but also because you keep me calm and at peace. And dear you are my golden color, the shade above all my bronzes and silvers, the color that exceeds all the others in my Life painting. And it doesn’t matter if you think the only shade you can offer at my pallette is black. Because as dark and foreboding as it may be, I love it because it’s such a strong color, strong flavor, strong personality. And I’m telling you, our love is not just red, but a deep shade of crimson–a passionate fire that will keep alight until our scarlet hearts stop pumping our equally crimson blood.

Babe, I don’t know how to write in Greek, but I know how to say I love you in my own language of colors.

And really, Love, I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to converse in French and I’ll never be as assertive as those who confess their love in the bridges of Paris. But let me show you I love you in the manner that I can.

I met you at a public performance, and that night we were way more than 12 feet apart. Strangers back then, but I realize you were simply a friend I haven’t yet met.

As I continued to look at you from a distance I find the space between us too vast. Too wide. But somehow your wide black eyes are deep pools of vacuum pulling me closer, and closer.

Closer, until we’re just four feet apart. Things between us have become more personal now. You talk about your past, I talk about my flaws, and the words and thoughts that we give and take are now more than just an exchange of witty wordplays. They’re now getting closer, and closer, and closer.

And still your deep pools kept drawing me nearer to you. Closer. Closer. Now we’re merely an inch apart. Close enough to whisper, I love you. Babe, I don’t know how to do anything French, word or any gesture, but I do know how to say I love you in my own language of space.

See, my languages aren’t that romantic. Often, you can’t even hear them. But when I tell you again that I love you, let me show you in the best ways that I know. So how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.