Posts Tagged ‘blues’

It’s not the imitation of a scene

of a snapshot perhaps.

A memory perhaps


beneath it.


I see words

swirling past shadows

of a hand restrained to speak them

but paint the sky

with reds, blues and yellows

in circles and dots

of dreams I am afraid

to wake from.


Sunny days

in my weekend beach walks.

Windswept cold and bleak winter desert.

And the frozen grey and snow

collecting at my window pane.




on paper water diluted tones,

shades and hues wandering

the landscape of my memory.

It may be the translucence

or opacity of colors. The absence

of whiteness and blackness

that leaves neutrality


of the wide space. I dwell,

linger and fade into horizon.

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It is Sunday (I hope it’s Saturday)

still I dread about the things

that need sorting, or mending

or keeping the weekly life in order.


At the routine and the job not started.

Of promises I keep on procrastinating.

When I complain that time is not enough

but I spent most of it thinking how


will I ever escape the inner tensions

that keep gnawing my brain, restless

and un-contained, filled with regrets

I ought to pace with speed to numb me.


For the plates and cups that need washing.

For the pieces of clothing that need ironing.

For the broken fixtures that need fixing.

For the furnitures that need dusting.


And Monday will come. When you wish away

it is weekend when you get the alibi to be lazy

on Friday. Pretending you work hard but counting

four more days and you slam down the paperwork


bolting out for freedom. Still it is Sunday.

I hope it is Saturday, better nights on Friday.

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“The last leaf clings to bow, with one leaf and all there is now. Will my last hope will be that lonely leaf, lonely leaf.”  And the Cascades song will just go like a merry go round in my head.  I could only bear so much happiness as I remember the songs my Grandpa used to play on the turntable.  Yes.  We still have the turntable here and kept among old things Grandpa had left after he died a decade and a half ago.

The turntable has been a symbol. Our ringing bell to jumpstart the happy mood around the house.  Every one is synchronized to each of their Sunday chores as we enjoy the rhythm of the upbeat music. Where my Grandma and my aunts used to prepare grilled dishes and vegetable salad for a picnic lunch.  The men used to fix anything from the knick knacks of the dog pen, the busted tube lights, the misplaced wood planks, to the leaking roof gutter.  And I, among with my brother, sister and other  little neighbor friends used to run and tumble around in the garden and playing until we are exhausted just to chunk on slabs of food lined up in the long table.

Sunday is the best time for us in the late 70’s and early 80’s.  Like a typical American scene of picnics, with families dressing up in a retro fashion sense.  With my Grandpa encouraging us to dance to the boogie music and sing the eternally minted jukebox songs. With the memories of going to CCP complex and catching the glimpse of Luneta and the bayview with the whole family. Then, going to Nayong Pilipino and take photographs among the many miniature scenic spots of the regions.  And the long walks we have had in Lamesa Dam with the many scupltures standing tall in witnessing the grandeur and natural beauty of the watershed.

Now, these memories will ring a tune out of my head in the songs popularized by the Platters, Three Degrees, Boney M, Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley, the Bee Gees, the Beatles, the Stylistics, Air Supply, Everly Brothers, John Denver, Cat Stevens,  Roberta Flack and other great American singers that have a cyclical life in our turntable. Of course, who can forget Imelda Papin, Yoyoy Villame, the APO, VST, Ric Segreto, Basil Valdes, Celeste Legaspi, Coritha etc.

“Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain, telling me of what a fool I have been. I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain.  And let me be alone again.”  They are now.  The memories of the past is fading too faster now.  It seems that I would only had the chance to relive them every Sunday when the radio pays a tribute to these once great music. The memories that connects my mind like a Magic Sing to the many of our family’s great heritage, such that of my Grandpa’s old and forgotten turntable. Nothing beats the good old days of yore in my life, I guess.

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