Posted in Art Scene, Books, Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Memoirs, Music, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Relationships, Religion, Society, Travel, tagged angst, best, between, bittersweet, bleed, conciousness, cut, deep, diptych, direction, euphemism, eye, face, feelings, froth, hidden, lines, look, mark, mean, mouth, opposite, poem, poetry, point, pretender, razor, read, recess, say, seen, sharp, something, spine, sugarcoat, swerve, tingle, true, verbalize, voice, wish, words on August 18, 2012| 2 Comments »
How long would you hide your true feelings?
You wish to say something but the words swerved
to its opposite direction-sugarcoating the angst
frothing bittersweet at your mouth verbalizing
euphemism.
Say what you really mean. Look me
in the eye and cut through your razor
sharp, spine-tingling voice into my face.
Don’t let me read between the lines.
Just to make your point mark deep
into the recesses of my consciousness.
Leave me bleeding. You’re the best
pretender that I have seen.
Posted in Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Memoirs, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Society, tagged air, anger, away, beneath, break, cauldron, chance, change, choice, color, conform, down, duty, enough, expectation, explode, face value, find, foam, fraternal, hands, hidden, hold, keep, kick, lava, life, long, majority, mold, more, mouth, necessity, need, nice, obligation, overwhelm, poem, poetry, proper, punches, ready, resurface, sake, say, see, short, show, simmer, stay, suppress, throw, time, true, try, understanding, wall, will, words on June 5, 2011| 21 Comments »
We try to say something but we can’t.
How it is easy for words to be hidden
beneath our necessity to be nice and proper.
While there is a wall we wanted to break down
to see if there is still more beneath
our obligation to be always kicking at face value.
Anger is foaming in our mouths like lava
simmering in a cauldron ready to explode.
Only to find that we are suppressing
our chances to be understood- for the sake
of keeping a fraternal duty to conform
to the will of overwhelming majority.
But we cannot hold it out any longer, this time
our hands are ready to throw in the punches
in the air and break away. Enough is enough.
Life is too short to stay in the mold
of other’s expectations and of other’s choices.
Needing only to show our true colors, for a change.
Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Nature, Poetry, tagged again, anchor, anew, attempt, awaiting, away, bait, big, boat, born, bounty, bury, captive, catch, chances, child, chosen, come, crash, current, cut, deep, desperate, dive, down, elusiveness, emotion, eureka, farther, feeling, firm, fish, fisherman, fishing, glimmer, grip, hands, hearts, hoist, hold, hook, hope, hours, imaginary, inspiration, jaw, keep, line, lock, lure, man, mea culpa, mid-air, mouth, ocean, once, open, persevere, poem, poetry, prize, reel, rock, rod, sand, search, shore, silence, silver, sink, sinker, snap, solitary, solitude, soon, spent, spot, start, struggle, stuck, swim, tackle, task, thoughts, throw, trap, wait, water, wave, win, winding, womb, words, writer, writing on September 30, 2009| 5 Comments »
Like a man in his fishing, so is writing.
You throw the fishing rod as if throwing on chances
while anchoring your boat on a chosen spot. In the open water.
And your fishing line sink deep in the ocean of words. You wait
in the hope that the hook lay captive to some imaginary mouths
snapped on a bait, struggling to come away like thoughts.
They are like fishes- these thoughts. They are swimming against the current.
Trapped and tackled. You hold the reel, winding down farther and farther
in search for the bounty of inspiration. Luring its elusiveness to a catch.
The waves of emotion might crashed into your shore.
The sinkers might get stucked through the rocks. Buried in sand.
Or in a desperate attempt, you cut the line and start anew.
But again, you throw the fishing rod. To wait and to hope
that a big catch is on its way to lock its jaw on the bait.
You keep gripping the reel firm awaiting for the prize.
And soon in the mid-air, after all hours spent in silence
like a child born out of the womb. Eureka! The feeling
of winning, the silver fish glimmer in your hands.
The writer has become a fisherman, persevering
in solitude, diving deeper into a mea culpa.
Hoisting the fishing line catching hearts, once again.
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Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher
 | Marietta Aquino on Writer’s Bloc |
 | Madge du Preez on October Rain |
 | hames1977 on A Natural Death |
 | MicheleMariePoetry on A Natural Death |
| hames1977 on Less Words |
 | napabelle on Less Words |
 | Tokoni O. Uti on Some Skin |
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|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
| 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |
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| 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |
| 29 | 30 | |||||
They Are Silent
Posted in Books, Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Relationships, Religion, Social Commentary, Society, tagged actual, applause, audience, bait, beans, beehive, bees, bite, blind, cast, circus, clasp, coal, corners, deceit, disguise, double, doves, ears, edges, excuse, eyes, fish, fishy, fly, gossip run, gullible, hard, hear, heavy, honey, hook, ignorance, illusuion, imagine, incensed hot, innards, judgment, laceration, like, line, magician, mockery, mouth, naivete, One, open, over, overflow, phantom, pillars break, poem, poetry, puppets, ready, ripe, scream, see, shadow, sharp, show, silent, sorts, sound, spill, statues, sting, stones, stop, sword, talking, tangle, things, thrown, tongues, trick, truth, under, victims, weight, whistle, white, wish, words, worship on July 13, 2013| Leave a Comment »
They are silent, yes, they are silent.
I imagine them talking on corners
sounding like the bees ready to sting.
And the beehive is ripe and heavy
with gossip running over like honey.
The audience, they lined up like stones-
incensed hot coals ready to be casted
and thrown at statues and pillars
breaking under the weight of judgment.
They are silent, yes, they are silent.
A mockery of sorts, they like the show.
Shadow puppets will scream and whistle.
They are victims to a phantom in a circus
and worship the magician with words.
I wish the sword will tangle with tongues,
lacerate the innards and spill the beans.
I wish the fish will bite the bait
and see the hook clasp hard the mouth
to stop fishy things from overflowing.
They are silent, yes, they are silent.
The blind is not actually blind
but open eyes would like to see illusions.
They have ears but do not want to hear
truth as sharp at its double edges.
Applause will fly like white doves
for the trick and the disguise deceives
the gullible and naivete. Silent ones
whose ignorance excuses no one.
They are silent, yes, they are silent.
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