Thornberries

The poor animal had blood
Dripping from its lips,
For no one had forewarned it
That thornberry branches had thorns.
Blood tasted of sensational stillness.
Thornberries tasted of pain and bitterness.
Blood stained the animal's lips
As it walked away, aching,
When all it ever wanted to taste
Was sweetness.

Like Rope Against Rope

You've stuck around for quite too long for a first love.
You still coil around the arteries of my heart, entangling
Every delicate faculty of it like rope against rope,
Intertwining passionately, moving carefully about
The corners and the spaces, shaking the unit from within;
When the body does not break, the heart receives
What it echoes on mounts and vales, on rocks and plains,
On seas and shores. The dream awakens,
And a vast wide sky reopens. Everything about that sky
Moves in flocks: birds, dandelions, butterflies. Love:
The air has it. It multiplies inside the unit like bees
Inside a balloon, swarming furiously and fighting profoundly
To get out to meet the sky. Once it does, it empowers the unit
To relieve itself from all kinds of desolation. It becomes powerful
Enough to conquer what love cannot when love fails.
Love won't steal a kiss but the unit would, when it is able.

At the Center Where Ends Could Not Meet

I.

You know I'm not ready to face you.

You're reckless, unbelievable, of a good sort.

II.

You know I'm not ready to face you, and you know
How terribly I pretend. You might be too tired

Or too busy. I might clock in at a wrong time, and I'm afraid
You won't welcome me (do not believe this). You know I’m afraid.

Whatever today welcomed in its dawning,

I force to leave immediately.  It has to leave, right away.
It infects me to long for you. You know
I won't see you (do not believe this either). Currents: they confuse
A steady weather. Maybe the air today was too cold or the sun

Too high up that my inner landscape beheld currents, and I dislike

A part of it for being too excited. “Not yet!” says Side A, the cautious.
The other side knows how it should not believe in a velvet lie.
Two sides of the matter, poker-facing each other...

III.

You know yesterday can't repeat itself,
Yet I dare not believe it. Believe this: I cannot have another lie,

Another fight, another heartbreak, another day

To start to love to end in hate, or another night

To dream of forever to end in waiting for nothing. I do not want

A repetition of yesterday; yesterday is days

Or months or years ago. I may have hated you years ago,

Fought with you months ago, or tried to forget about you

Days ago, but each day tells of a different story—a better story perhaps
Than yesterday's: Yesterday, I may have loved you years ago,

Hugged you months ago, and remembered you, dreamed about you

Days ago, and you know why I'm not ready to face you.

We are doomed to forget and remember, hate and love…

IV.

Break it at the center, now, to end it with me. Do not break ends

To let ends meet again, or if you must, do not do it too fast.

Either end it now, or straighten it up and tighten it up to last…
You know I'm not (yet) ready to face you. Do not do it too fast.
You know that deep inside, you, too, would want to make this last...

V.

There was a time you knew the things

I wanted to do or say and I did not have to speak

When speaking was hard, mentally and emotionally.
The brain and the heart are two ends that do not meet.
Let me try something. It's your turn to speak.
Stand with me at the center (of loving and hating,

Of remembering and forgetting), and choose

Which way you want to go. Go on… Which side of the line?

VI.

Stand with me at the center and I know that you know

That between all our thinking and feeling,

We found a way to mend the gap by a touch

Of a finger… You know how that goes.

Months ago, I fought with you, maybe physically. Months ago, I hugged you.

Somewhere along the line where ends could not meet,

We found a way to forge a linkage, temporarily,

Although not even quite. At the center was where hate

Definitely turned into love, and we turned days ago of forgetting

To days ago of remembering. Could you

Stand at the center with me again and stay (please)

Where ends could not meet, again and again?
And then we could learn to live and love again,
And then we could try to make this love last
At the center...

VII.

You know I'm not ready to face you
Until I can be sure that you and I could last.
Until then, the currents will always confuse,
And the pretenses, continue to build.

VIII.

Yet must we stay at the center if love

Needs not be forgotten, and if love could be true,

Peaceful, and healing (instead of it being another lie,

Another fight, and another heartbreak)? Walk with me, today,

To a love, to the side,

That has no end.

Color X

Nothing sat there except a lamp. It glowed.

The seat was not as empty as should be.

Living ideas are of that color, and thoughts.
They are not wasted on paper. Some thoughts
know a color. It is a battle of freedom in the mind.
No one ever sleeps with a dark space in the mind,
Or a white, because a color like that exists in the mind
On living idea. The sun sets. The sun still has it.
A color shines like the sun. It looks like the sun.
It might be the sun.

Despair for Paper...

I literally would not have survived that day without paper. I was in the library, itching to write, but paper was nowhere (this poem is the result). Just as people need oxygen to live, writers depend on their musings for growth, and it's not hard saying "you can always write on the computer" as doing it. I never understood why, but papers give us (me) so much more. Written on June 5, 2013, Wednesday.

I'm desperate and longing
For a pad my pen can ink on...
A sheet of white where I can write...
A ready notebook full of grace
And space to capture
My topsy-turvy, wordy
Heart in place.

I need something to write on.
I need it really fast
For time can never satiate
Half the burden that might last.
I really need to put this down,
On the table if I may,
For all this writing will behold
A fateful story for someday.

Poetry and Fireworks (formerly "Untitled 11")

Last year, as the year ended, I stayed up

All by myself, watching the bright light show.

As loud noises joined the technicolor,

I stayed inside and did what I always.

Well, it was poetry, for that matter,

And I did not want to miss the display.

Perhaps the old years were a bit more free...
I had not much to care about.  Not much.
Not until I had poetry, as thus,
And though it felt more obligatory
Than optional, I liked it. I grasped it.

That night, as I watched, I knew:  in my soul,
There was a longing that felt like fireworks.
Big. Bright. Loud. Explosive. Annoying. Swell.

[old] Dinner Outside Earth

Published on June 24, 2008, via Triond. I'll forever miss being this hilarious.  Awesome, hilarious poetry indeed!  If I remember correctly, this was a homework for 1st year high school creative writing class (an elective).  For that homework, we were told to list down words that began with the first letter of the name we are called (mine is S).  Using those words, we were to write a poem, and this poem was made.

On a cold night in September,
I ate a star so tender.
It tasted like a sandwich
That made my tongue twitch.
Once I tasted that star,
I wanted to go as far…
To taste the solar system and everything…
And drink the Milky Way--anything!
Won't it be really fun
To have a taste of the sun?
AH…the taste of red-hot chili!
Won't that be just so silly?
If ever you run out of grapes
While you're outside in space,
Go to Pluto and eat it…
Though it's bigger than your face!
Your meal outside earth is now complete--
With Pluto as dessert, and asteroids as meat!
A cool sip from the Milky Way
Will brighten up your day!
Play “dodge ball” with the sun,
But just avoid a ray.
When you play with the solar system,
You'll never again want to miss 'em!
Just wait for another night,
And they'll be back in sight.

[old] On the Other Side of the Wall

I published this poem five years ago on May 30, 2008, with the description: "I woke up from a dream, and I don’t consider it a dream… it was real."  I think poems are dreams given form.

If we believe in fantasy and happily ever after,
What on earth would life be like if all we had was laughter?
Would we know of challenges if there wasn’t a challenge at all?
Would we know how to stand up if we've never had a fall?
Would we ever learn what's right if we've never made mistakes?
If happiness were only for one day, for what do we stay awake?
So if we believe in fantasy and happily ever after.

Think again for this world's not only for laughter.

Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/on-the-other-side-of-the-wall/#ixzz2TvP6Hs3l

[old] I'm Secretly a Writer

I published this on Triond back in May 31, 2008, and back then, I used to think that being a writer was like having some kind of superhero capability which one had to conceal.  Funny thing to think, yes, but this poem turns out natural and sweet.  Reading this five years after (now at 17 years), I miss the childish innocence I once had and wrote with.

I can write anything I could.

That is, if I would...
I can write about anything,
And laughter or tears I can bring.
I can write about myself,
Or about something plain, like a bookshelf.
If I dream about the stars,
My writing could go as far.
If I write about a rainbow,
I know how far it could go.
I can sing a simple song,
And make it very long.
My writing could make it strong...
But some things might just go wrong.
I can write about anyone-
Whether alive or when he's gone.
I can scare people off their veins...
For writing for scares is just an old game.
I could write something they never knew,
And make them think the whole night through.
I could write something
To make them understand,
That there are certain times
I don't want to choose their brand.
I can write something
And give them a stern look.
Don't you ever, ever...
Judge me like a book!
I can write about God,
And tell them why He's great,
For the reason why I write
Is all because of faith.
I can write about His love,
And watch it as it grows.
I think nothing could compare to it,
As all His children know.
I can write about romance,
And make boring people dance.
I could place myself in it,
Though it never happened one bit!
I could write a poem
That I've never written before,
(Maybe something like this one...)
And see how high it will soar.
You might think I'm great.
You might think I'm fine,
But some of my poems may require you
To read between the lines.
I write one thing at a time,
But they may take a while.
Well maybe that's 'coz I'm a writer,
And I have my own style.
Though not everyone knows this secret,
I do not want them to know that
I'm secretly a writer,
And I write with a pen that's fat. :)

[old] On Comet Lulin's Fall

Now this one's really old.  I published this on Triond on March 14, 2009, the year I was so fixated on online publishing and blogging but didn't have so much to write about.  Well, at least I tried... and at least I know where to go scouting for my old works if not on a stack of old paper.  This was the year I literally fell for astronomy after so many nights of watching stars and reading Shakespeare...and the same year I thought good poems had to be written in Shakespeare English. Probably my first attempt on free verse.

You are not alone out there,

With all those stars and planets.

But you’re a beauty, Comet Lulin!

You stand out among comets.

Comet Lulin so green,

You’re the most beautiful thing

I have ever seen!

Comet that fell from above,

Astronomers view you with love.

As seen in those sky trails…

That comet so green, so hot

Was cold and lost its tail.

Some would forget not.

Today’s the day, you see,

And the excitement–just wait.

For thou old Comet Lulin

Will be in thy glorious fate.

Years pass quickly, ol’ comet,

And you will be forgotten.

That comet that once was so green

Might later never be seen.

This space is full of comets

So different from where you are,

And many will be interested

In another comet or star.

So dear old Comet Lulin,

So green you are today!

On the 24th of February,

We will watch your way.

I am still so young,

With so many to explore.

You’re one of them, ol’ Lulin,

And I’m still wanting more.

I’ve always loved astronomy,

But it may be hard to believe

That science is my worst subject,

So it makes me want to grieve.

I dedicate this to the ones

That has first discovered you.

In many years’ time, I will forget thee…

But I’ll never forget the day

I’ve started loving astronomy.

February 24, 2009, Tuesday

Comet Lulin’s Fall

Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/comet-lulins-fall/#ixzz2TvBsTpVI

[old] RAENAN

A Broadway song goes something like "Bring out the old/Bring in the new...A midnight wish/To share with you..." I like wishes, but I disagree with the first part.  As an amateur poet, nothing makes me feel better than rereading my old poems (hence bringing the old back to life again on this blog) and seeing how much I've grown as a person and as a writer.  I wrote this for my friend Raenan Tiu on his fifteenth birthday, October 24, 2010.  This was written on the 21st and given midnight of the 23rd.

Raindrops fall like tears from the face of a wounded sky,

The wind sings a gentle song… a soft-breeze lullaby.

The rain that falls reminds me of you in every single way,

And as it rains today, I’d want to say… Happy Birthday!!!

As the rain falls, as it always does these rainy days;

As the clouds cover the sky like a roll of fluffy lace,

The memories of you and everyone fill up the white space;

The rain still brings light, even in a dark place.

Enjoy every rain and every sun,

Or whatever the weather, ‘coz that’s what makes it fun.

When the rain falls from the sky,

I remember you, and this is why:

Not only because it’s close to your name…

Do you remember the “poking game”?

You always made me laugh when we were kids,

And you help me sometimes when I’m on the skids.

A poem is something that I could easily do,

But I write a poem today to show my appreciation for you…

You’re one of my greatest friends, and you’ve been good to me;

Just do what’s right and be the best that you could be.

Never fade away from doing what is right.

Always love God with all your heart, soul and might.

Rain is loud and scary during a dark night (and even I get scared),

But keep your faith (Gardez la Foi) and it will carry you to the light.

Traveling to Merlion Park and Stopping By...

Mystical lion of Singapore,
What are you?
They call you...Singha,
And you bathe in gold
Sometimes.
By night, your crystalline
Mane turns lychee and coins;
The moon takes it away
Until the sun comes to paint it gold again.

If I can touch your cold tail
In the morning, I can touch
The smooth scales of heaven
Because you live in paradise
Where the sun shines forever
In your eyes. Your voice
Hears of waves of power
And honor that sing out a song
To old Singapore...

You look almost like heaven
(Your air is fresh,
Your streets are fine);
You're made finely of pure gold
Everywhere...
There may never be
A place of correction
In this place
Of sweet perfection...

Singha, what do you see?
Mystical lion of Singapore,
Have you any sight of blemish
In this land we cherish?
Every highway tree,
A drop of heaven's splendor...
Every speck we see,
A breath of fine surrender...
A sight like never before

...and a bittersweet reminder
That we're not in heaven yet.
The merlion never sleeps.
No one sleeps at all, and no one weeps
Too much. Old Singapore
Has the composure of youth
With towers of vibrance (brilliance) on every corner...
There's a slice of endless dreamland
On the park where Singha stands.

Queen of Hearts

I wrote with this poem due to too much excess brain fuzz.

The Queen of Hearts says nothing for she
Had grown weary.  Love changes everything, they say.
Love tore her person in two. "What hard love," she thought.
And they were right, but she was wrong.  I know
That love is a spot healer--an antidote. It heals, makes new.
I love what love can do.  It soars, breaks free.
I love what love can be.

The Queen of Hearts knew somehow that she
Had thought wrongly.  Love changed her broken heart one day.
Love gave her strength to love on.  That was love, she thought.
And she was right; yes, love is strong.  I know
That love is a dream-weaver--a telescope.  It cares, sees through.
I love what love can do.  It gives, for free.
I love what love can be.

Anak Ko, Dahan-dahan (Ambahan)

Ang tulang ito ay binigyan ng ikalawang gantimpala mula sa Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center noong ika-10 ng Abril 2013.

Anak ko, dahan-dahan

Palayan ay pagmasdan

Doon sa kapatagan

Pagtubo ay tuluyan

Huminto’y ‘di paraan

Hihintayin anihan

Sa init ng araw man

O sa bagsak ng ulan

Anak ko, anak naman,

Bakit ka nagkaganyan?

Ina mo’y ‘yong pakinggan

‘yong munting kahirapan,

Galit o kahinaan,

Alisin sa daanan

Tanggalin sa isipan

Problema’y kalimutan

Kabataan ay minsan

Buhay mo’y ‘yong taniman

Huminto’y ‘di paraan

Hintayin ‘yong anihan

Harap kinabukasan

Anak ko, dahan-dahan

Ngayon, magpakailanman

“Draw” Close to Me

Graphite against a flush warm sheet of white

Smothery from a huddle of thin gray lines

Misshapen to form an artificial image of me

Every stroke you give my simplest displeasure

Frozen, I watch you sketch this figure carefully

Your fingers lift a craggy mass of twig, a pencil

Look up, my love, look up again

But still, you look at the drawing

Every surface and curve you draw so well

So close, you form each angle of me so perfectly

So far away from me,

My shoulder, my hand,

Your head leans against the easel

Your face touches the paper where you draw

So far away from me, yet so close to another 

So close, the tip of your pencil punctures my heart

And they both break with a hole on the paper

Running After Dry Wind

(Sestina)

The day he left, I ran after dry wind,

catching every breath at every stop or fall,

wiping my wet face so that I would see,

and then go back to running, only to feel numb

and tired—exhausted—after long hours of running

after the cold, invisible wind. That was the day he left.

The day he left, the wind was cold, invisible,

and dry as I felt, and I ran after it.

I was exhausted from hours and hours of running.

I stopped, fell, and caught breath.

I tried to run again, but I just felt so numb.

Dry as I felt, my face was wet, and I had to wipe it to see.

I was wet, and my tears covered my face wet.

I felt the cold, invisible wind when he left,

and it made me feel numb inside though I was running.

I ran after the wind when he left—I ran after nothing,

and catching every breath, I stopped and fell

because I grew tired after hours and hours of running.

I was tired from hours and hours of running.

Tears covered my face wet. I had to wipe it to see or else

I would stop and fall. I tried to catch my every breath though,

but the wind was just as cold and invisible as I felt the day he left.

The day he left, I ran after the wind.

Running again now would only make my feelings numb.

I felt numb. I felt nothing—I feel nothing now for running

for many long hours. I’m tired!

He’s gone! The day he left, he was gone. I ran after dry wind,

and the only thing wet that day was my face I had to wipe to see.

I saw: he went away and left only cold invisible wind

for me to catch my every breath whenever I would stop running or fall.

I’m now catching every breath that came from his wind,

though I feel too numb now to run again—

too numb to run after the cold wind which made him invisible.

I ran for hours already, and now, I’m tired,

and I need to wipe my tears away now.

The wind is very dry—dry as the day he left.

I am tired from running for hours.

It’s time to wipe my wet, teary face and see

that he’s already gone. No use running after dry wind.

Painting a Picture of Man in the Garden

(Villanelle in Pentameter)

He lay on the grass like a fallen tree.

Bright as the sunrise, his gaze met the sky.

I stayed behind leaves, quiet as can be.

He watched little birds flutter ‘round in glee.

He tossed a rock that nearly hit his eye.

He lay on the grass like a fallen tree.

I watched as he rolled like waves of the sea.

He rolled in the grass and captured a fly.

I stayed behind leaves, quiet as can be.

He stood up and danced like a bumblebee.

He tripped on a rock and fell with a sigh.

He lay on the grass like a fallen tree.

His mother calls him to help her fix tea.

His sister comes out and lets out a cry.

I stayed behind leaves, quiet as can be.

He stands up to give his mom a reply.

He punctures the soil and falls down—oh my!

He lay on the grass like a fallen tree;

I stayed behind leaves, quiet as can be.

Hydraulic Systems

Pascal's Principle: Any pressure applied to a confined fluid will be transmitted undiminished to all parts of the fluid.

F₁/A₁=F₂/A₂

We, like two cylinders, are joined hand in hand,

Confined by the people who do not understand.

They force their way downward and hope we let go,

But the force they exert holds secrets they do not know.

For whenever they push one, the other gets longer.

As the manner they push, so shall we hold stronger.

We, like two cylinders, transmitting our love:

Force undiminished, that which comes from above.

Magnetite (Free Verse in Pentameter)

From the rich earth rose a beautiful man.

His gaze, to gold, passes comparison.

His eyes, at laughter, arrest in silence;

They're like nickels, on the beach, that sparkle

In the light of the warm afternoon sun,

And when he speaks, his manners are gentle

For he is wise beyond his age and true...

And his heart? His heart is of magnetite,

To point always toward that constant star,

To point always toward that star up north.

Hope, set my heart to where the dippers dwell.

My heart shall then point toward north as well,

But my heart might skip a beat when we meet,

Toppling over toward a different feat--

Hope, bring us heart to heart to attraction...

Binary Stars

Held together by a force so great,
We can henceforth be called a single star,
And you shall be the star Sirius by me,
And I would be the Sirius B to thee,
For aren't you, after all, the brightest
In the entire binary collection of countless?
And aren't you, after all, the beauty
Which many astronomers journey to see?
What in space's enormity would I ever be
Without the force of gravity you share with me?
So I, the dimmer star born out of your light,
Shall share your force and always be
Your fainter friend, sole companion of yours,
As we orbit around each other for fifty
Quiet years in the galaxy, you and me,
Or perhaps a thousand more years or more...