Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Nature, Poetry, Relationships, Sports/ Leisure, Technology, Travel, tagged art, asphalt, body, broken, burn, carefree, chase, coming, cradle, create, criss-cross, direction, fade, freedom, going, hard, heat, hug, indelible, infinite, kind, leaving, life, line, loop, machine, marks, master, poem, poetry, press, raw, rugged, savage, shift, skid, sky, soul, speed, steel, suffocate, surrender, tattoo, togetherness, traces, tyre on February 22, 2012|
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Not a soul passes by but me
cradled on this steel machine
hugging the asphalt hard
chase the broken lines
fading into the infinite sky.
I see the tyre burning marks
like tattoos criss-crossing,
shifts of directions of going
and coming into your life.
A rugged kind of art
you have mastered
with speed. I surrender
to freedom, leaving
traces indelibly
creating loops-
togetherness
under heat
pressed
suffocated
in our bodies.
Raw, savagely
carefree.
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Posted in Art Scene, Literature, Memoirs, Nature, Poetry, Religion, Science, Society, Travel, tagged asleep, awake, axis, bed, blossom, closer, clouds, cotton, crest, daydream, dot, ebb, edge, embrace, flow, fluff, free, fringe, full, grass, green, heaven, hills, made, past, poem, poetry, poppy, red, reverie, self, shadow, shift, soft, spirit, splash, sun, swirl, trees, under, velvet, white, wide, wind, world on February 8, 2012|
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From the grass bed,
cotton fluffs of white
swirling past
shadowy ebbs
and crests
of green hills.
Dots of trees
fringe the edges
of reverie in the wind.
I’m wide awake
asleep
daydream embracing
splashes of red
soft velvety blossom
full under
the warm sun.
Free spirit flowing
with the world
shifting its axis
closer
to self-made heaven.
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Posted in Art Scene, Literature, Memoirs, Music, Nature, Poetry, Relationships, Society, Travel, tagged ache, applause, approach, autumn, awakening, beat, blank, bone, breeze, careful, counterpoint, crotchets, dream, drop, ember, enter, fill, forgotten, glide, halt, harmony, hear, heard, hush, imagination, inspiration, leaves, locomotion, love, melody, minims, movement, muse, night, octave, out, own, pace, part, pause, pavement, peace, play, poem, poetry, pulse, quavers, rain, remember, reminder, rest, restless, rhythm, rustle, semibreves, serenade, sharp, shift, silence, skin, slow, smooth, soul, sound, space, stave, step, tempo, thunder, tonight, touch, train, trickle, under, unfamiliar, weight, white on August 26, 2011|
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Imagine yourself playing the part.
The melody in a slow tempo
touching the white bones in mine.
The blank spaces glide
filling the staves into octaves
where rhythms of silence
are aching to be heard.
The approaching train
in locomotion slowly halting
to a rest and the muse
steps out in a sudden hush.
Whose inspiration reminds me
of the autumn breeze
that shifts its weight
among the rustling of leaves.
The sounds in the pavement,
and the trickling of the rain
drops of minims, crochets,
semibreves and quavers
into unfamiliar serenade
awakening the restless
in the night’s peaceful embers.
I remember the beating pulse,
the sharp pause counterpointing
the pace and the careful movement
of that forgotten harmony
smoothly entering my soul.
When all love was just a dream
and tonight I hear applause
thundering under my own skin.
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Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Poetry, Relationships, Travel, tagged ache, across, Africa, ageless, almost, along, ambition, Arabia, arms, around, candle, chime, clock, constant, countless, cowboy, cry, devotion, difference, dinner, discover, distance, dream, east, end, exchange, familiar, feet, fireplace, fishermen, flex, forge, forget, grand, grandfather, grow, hands, hour, how, image, intimate, journey, laugh, life, lifelong, light, listen, lofty, love, make, make-believe, man, marvelous, Mediterranean, memory, might, move, mystical, north, old, out, pace, poem, poetry, prayer, quiet, reach, recall, rekindle, remembrance, revolution, romance, sailor, Samarkand, sand, shift, signal, silent, simple, slow, sound, south, spring, stand, steady, story, sundown, sunrise, tears, time, tireless, Travel, twelfth, west, whisper, Wild West, wildlife, wind, winter, within, witness, wobble, woman, year, years on July 9, 2010|
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The clock strikes the twelfth hour.
As the familiar sound of wind chimes signals
another year of moving on, slow and steady.
Remembering the images of the man
within the constant, shifting revolutions
of sunrise and sundown in this woman’s life.
Witnessing how lifelong travels have ended,
forging across countless dinnertime of growing old.
Around the fireplace, rekindling romance.
Recalling the stories of the fishermen,
of sailors down the Mediterranean.
Of cowboys in the Wild West
and the wildlife in Africa.
Of the mystical journeys
from the sands of Arabia
to the sands of Samarkand.
Those intimate exchanges of lofty dreams
and grand ambitions traveling marvelous
distances of north going down south.
The eastern spring and the wintry west.
Witnessing how she listened. And almost
forgot the difference, whether it is
the story of this man’s life in the stories.
Or simple make-believe.
Witnessing how she wobbled achingly
at her feet standing up and lighting a candle,
whispering a prayer. Memories became
mighty flexing arms reaching out for the years.
Discovering the man who makes her laugh
and who makes her cry the silent tears.
Witnessing a love that will never grow old.
Those quiet devotion as ageless and tireless,
pacing along with the hands of time.
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Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, tagged after, anew, batter, believe, birthday, bowl, breath, broken, bury, can, candle, cast, celebrate, chaos, charcoal, chill, city, clouds, color, content, corner, deafening, decide, declutter, determination, dream, drench, drop, entangle, evening, existence, fate, forgotten, fresh, gather, gaze, happy, hatchet, hearing, hide, hope, images, incessant, laughter, leak, left, less, life, light, litter, lukewarm, man, men, mud, Nature, never-ending, normalcy, now, paint, passing, past, patch, people, pockmark, poem, poetry, quiet, rain, rest, rice, roof, ruins, sardine, send, shadow, shattered, shift, shy, silence, single, sky, snooze, sound, space, spark, star, start, storm, sympathy, table, tatter, things, tonight, traces, tragedy, tune, twist, wall, waltz, want, watch, water, way, when, whistle, white, wind, windows, wish, wisp, world on October 19, 2009|
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There will be a single spark of light.
But not from the stars. Because even them,
they have shied away and have forgotten.
Here, only from my birthday candle
casting shadows waltzing the wall
and the chilly wind whistling a tune,
sending wisps of wishes, for tonight.
While the rest of the world snoozes
in its deafening silence. Getting used
with the normalcy of tragedies.
And in their lukewarm sympathies.
In the quiet corner of the city, littered
and battered of the rain-drenched
images of chaos and shattered hopes,
on the table a bowl of rice
and a can of sardine. In a color
charcoaled space, I breath as a man
determined to celebrate my existence
among the ruins with this twist of fate.
I shifted my gaze from the table
to the broken windows and watch
the passing of the storm clouds
in the evening sky. I am happy
but no sound of laughter. Hearing
the incessant drop of water
from a leaking roof. Contented
among the shadows. Decided
to bury the hatchet of what is past.
Gathering what’s left after the storm.
As I dream of patching the tattered
and pock-marked walls, then hide
the traces of mud in fresh white paint.
Believing nature has a way to let people
start anew. De-cluttering my life of things
that entangle men of never-ending want.
Until now, when I had less.
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Posted in Art Scene, Film, Literature, Music, Poetry, Relationships, Society, Travel, tagged abrupt, alone, alternate, anticipate, ask, baton, beneath, blue, board, body, bow, breath, bridge, cello, chair, choice, choreography, conductor, counterpoint, Cremona, curve, delicate, disjointed, ebony, embrace, episode, fingers, forgiveness, gentle, glissando, gravity, harmony, lifetime, linger, longing, loud, lover, lucid, mad, man, maple, melloe, melody, memory, mezzo-soprano, monotony, movements, muse, Music, nape, note, octave, orchestra, overwhelm, part, passion, pitch, pluck, poem, poetry, punctuate, quartet, quench, random, resonant, reverberate, rhapsody, romance, sadness, segmented, sensual, serenade, shift, signal, sit, slow, smooth, soft, solo, sorrow, spike, staccato, stage, story, string, sweet, swoon, tell, tenor, touch, Travel, treble, usual, vibrato, Vienna, vigor, waist, whisper, wish, written, young on September 16, 2009|
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No string quartet.
No conductor to signal the baton.
No orchestra to anticipate my usual swoon
of randomly plucked staccato
alternating octaves
like a mad man in Vienna.
Alone in the stage,
I would linger
unvigorous in vibrato,
punctuating this sadness
in glissando. A solo part- how I wish
to serenade the muse. Longing
to tell her story in music-
under the sweet delicate pitch
sorrow of Cremona.
The episodes, I have written on
mellow notes, resonant harmony-
bowing cello. Passionately
romancing my fingers to the smoothness
of her nape, the ebony board. While
sitting on a chair, I am a young lover
in blue, embracing memories.
My gentle touch travels
her body, her maple waist
to her bridge, her sensual curves.
Choreographed my movements
spiked to her gravity. My slow breath
became whispers reverberating,
counter-pointing her lucid melody.
I chose to be soft rather than loud,
my cello swooning treble of a tenor-
overwhelmed by a mezzo-soprano.
Quenching beneath this segmented,
disjointed and abruptly shifted
monotony of a lifetime
asking for her forgiveness.
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Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Music, Prose, Society, tagged ability, advertisement, age, amount, art, artist, authenticity, background, beautiful, breed, bucket, bus, by-product, cab, challenge, chance, cheap, Chess, choir, circumstances, class, commercialization, concert, consequence, creative, decode, determination, doubt, dream, eagerness, egotistical, eligible, endless, energy, enjoyment, entertainment, environment, everyday, everyone, excited, experience, explore, expression, few, figure, fingers, fresh, friends, fulfillment, future, genuine, germination, gift, goals, good, grand, hall, hand, hum, idea, inception, individual, influence, inspiration, keyboardist, keys, kindness, leisure, length, Les Miserables, life, lifelong, lifestyle, light, limitation, lingering, list, map, matter, melody, merit, mind, movement, Music, musical, musicality, musician, musicology, need, new, noise, norm, nothing, notion, occasion, opera, opinion, orchestra, origin, originality, output, overture, paradigm, past, pen, perceptiveness, person, personal, Phantom of the Opera, piano, place, plan, play, positive, possibilities, prelude, profit, promise, public, reality, recital, rhythm, right, sake, satisfaction, scene, schedules, selected, senses, shift, situation, song, spend, spotlight, standard, street, study, sublime, success, surprise, symphony, talent, thing, thoughts, time, trend, true, truthfulness, visual, vocal, way, weave, witness, work, writing, years on May 8, 2009|
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I have always wanted to learn how to play the piano. It is one of the things in my bucket list that I am compelled to do, fulfilling the goals I have set several years ago, but so elusive that I never found the proper time and place to learn it. Even if I tried planning to pursue a piano class, it was set aside due to my regular work schedules. A couple of musician and keyboardist friends tried to convince me to study piano and even told me that they can pitch in to teach me, but I was left waiting and wondering when will be the time they had the energy to do so.
It is a good thing that out of their kindness, they promised. But that is enough already, and it has led me to nothing. I have progressed to nothing when it comes to learning piano. And for now, the eagerness and my determination to learn how to play the piano grew stronger and stronger everyday. I am so excited imagining how many piano pieces I could be able to play, leisurely at ease. Of symphonies, orchestra pieces, musical pieces, overtures, preludes and many more waiting there for me to explore. A daunting challenge for me to know musicology. I am not contented of merely being purely vocal. I have an inner need to express more my musicality even further, realizing the inner melodies I have kept humming throughout all these years.
Some maybe surprised to know that I have the ability to compose songs of my own, while riding a cab or a bus. I am getting inspirations straight from the vibratory rhythms of the car wheels and infusion of surrounding background noises from the street. The melodies are still fresh on my mind, even if it was long, long time ago, since its very inception. A germination of the musical idea derived through the exploration of our senses.
They say, when a song has been born out from you through your everyday experiences and you still remember them, they are meant to be revealed, creatively shared and exposed for public enjoyment. Artists had their unique lifestyle – a life of producing and honing their art for expression. They have also a need for expressing their sublime thoughts, may it be in the form of music, visual art or creative writing.
I don’t believe, when somebody says that a person has a gift for so and so. In my personal opinion, art can be learned. Talents can be nurtured gradually through the influences in the environment, or an individual’s ingrained perceptiveness to their environment and a by-product, or a consequence of an individual’s current life situations, circumstances and past influences.
I also don’t believe in the notion that one has to spend a considerable amount of time in actually learning an art. Although it might have some merits. The length of time is not a measure how one can evolve eligibly to be called an artist. Everyone, no matter what their ages may be, have the chance to become artists of their own right, for as long as they have the determination to decode their abilities to express themselves through art. There is no doubt that they will eventually succeed.
Artists are governed by the inner satisfaction they get while genuinely expressing their thoughts through their art. Artists are governed by the truthfulness of their artistic expression sans the dictates of the prevailing trends, norm or standards. Having said that, most of the celebrated pseudo-artists are merely egotistically bloated and widely publicized musical figures, just for the sake of personal advertisement and cheap breed of entertainment for profit.
True artists of our time are the ones who are hiding away from the spotlight and have chosen to disassociate themselves from the commercialization of the art. True artists, therefore, are the ones who are sticking their hands to the originality and authenticity of their artistic output. In one way or the other, they might find themselves in the future, being hailed as originators of a new art movement, a paradigm shift to the art scene.
So, don’t be surprised. I actually mapped it out, this time. I have listed down the things that I will do when I have learned how to play the piano. Possibilities are endless. I might have a new song for the choir to sing. I might have a new song that I can play when celebrating an occasion, and the need for some light music arises. I might have a recital to be witnessed in a concert hall by a selected few. The grandest of these plans, might be penning an opera or a musical play to the likes of Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera, Chess etc.
These lingering thoughts, get me so excited as I imagine my fingers traversing piano keys and weaving some beautiful melodies. It is a fulfillment that I think, would go beyond compare and can possibly exceed my limitations. It is a lifelong dream, bordering reality. Soon, and positively achievable.
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