WRITING 201 : DAY 10 : LIFE’S SONNET : FUTURE, SONNET, CHIASMUS

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i take on the past and see how things took on me

the courage in facing future tasks that came to unfold

pressured by will to survive, angered by failure in varying  degree

rights were wronged and wrong were fixed to snatch the gold

 .

life is a story and a collection of agonies learning to breath

series as they come, downs were numerous ups have been few

alienated destinies others were lead to their untimely death

survived the ordeal others have triumphantly pulled through 

.

future, how much does it hold on your judgement, confidence and hope 

destiny is stagnant drowning in the lake of uncertainty bubbling with dope

sweat and blood, luck and health and faith, building a grainy slope

.

slippery road can’t take you up on a tiled wheel

a shiny one with no grooves of failure always go down the hill

life that kneels and prays, sweats a muscled body of steel

 .

                  –oOo–               

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WRITING 201 : DAY 09 : “WORDPRESS.COM” – lANDSCAPE , FOUND POETRY, ENUMERATIO

Maybe you’ll wonder what the “wordpress.com” stickers are doing there in the night sky. This is all I can do, can’t do better than this. After reading the poem, you’ll know why its there. (Grin, not so wide please)

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i traveled close to a million miles

each night i saw a different sky

and half way through, i wished i could fly

the stars wrote some letters, i’m dancing like Psi

nights have passed before the trek ends

stars following me  as if they’re my friends

clear as the sky, clouds were behind

a W was written, O next in line

the R was not clear it lacked a slant

next was a D appeared to be pregnant

P with a head or nose like Pinocchio

R this time was handsomely written like Romeo

E, eehhhh, seemed to lie on the dry ground

a snake S appeared, Ssshhh said the sound

now there were two S’s now I can see them 

a little dot . a small c, an o and an m….

It was a cool night and grasping it had a chance

reading them straight, all in a perfect glance

So, I shouted, while the night birds sing along

W  O  R  D  P  R  E  S  S  dot  com… 

–oOo–

WRITING 201 : DAY 08 : “ODE TO THE TERMITES” – ODE, DRAWER, APOSTROPHE

Cavernous and hollow caves that lead to the woods

Carpenters’ sweat, woods of art, gorgeous as it looks

Art pieces of doors, hard wood floors, now become foods

.

A long line of snaking, cozy, earthen caves

Branch out left and right like icings on cakes

They aren’t sweet but grainy maps of fakes

.

Milky white bodies, red and colored honey

Winged adults they become as they eat your money

You let them be and they become a greater colony

.

Living in the flashy and the wooded heaven

Under the care of the brownish roof of the flaky haven

Drawers of dreams and memories have become the eaten

.

“O, termites, multiply anywhere but not in my drawer

Necklaces of memories, heart pendants of dreams are there 

Better live away where you can stay somewhere”

.

‘Though some live in holes deep in mounds

Some underground and freaky hills around

Some in dead trunks and live branches like hives

.

“Live in the forest where fresh trees abound

Trunks are large, juicy and chewy could be found”

Unlike the dry woods of mansions, stone houses of cities and towns

.

“I am the owner of this modest house”

“I will kill you all and let you vanish from my sight”

“Termites of the woods, You are all parasites!”

–oOo–

     

The Flower whose name I don’t know

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If I’ll name this flower, I will call it the “Broom flower”. It resembles like a broom as its appearance may show. If you cut it at the stem and hold it upside down then you have a broom. I don’t know the real name of this flower I photographed at the hospital where I submitted myself for a check up.

WRITING 201 : DAY 07 : “HE PUSHES BUT IT ACHES” – PROSE POETRY, FINGERS, ASSONANCE

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It’s hard to fathom the inner self of a man

you hear him talk, “you should go”, but 

he doesn’t like you to do

the influential allurement  that he feels

he doesn’t want you to do, inside him 

but he says the other way, follow him

and with a suspecting sharp smile

he gives you a “choose between”

the opportunity is yours in selecting

it’s up to you, really can’t tell, but you 

unless he tells you what

jealousy, it might be 

the best kept secret

of every man

hidden under his ass

try to know the truth?

you have to smell the icing

and taste the bitterer batter

 but wait till he turns vitriolic

his actions he borrowed from a lunatic

  jaundiced eyes he’s sporting

and that is him…

WRITING 201 : DAY 06 – “THE PERFUMED STICK” – BALLAD, HEROINE, ANAPHORA/EPISTROPHE

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she, nineteen hundred and twenty-five, was born

nineteen hundred and twenty-five, two of July

a mother she didn’t know and her life was torn

gone far away, far, not reachable by a cry

where did she go, she didn’t know of a place

she kept asking, she always heard a secret lie

.

grieving weeks passed and the searching years had flowed

couldn’t find, embrace the she where her life began

thought of  guidance to seek help to where she strove

didn’t have some leak nor an old photo in hand

not a single shape of face to spot in crowd

not a simple color of skin to shine and stand

.

where’s the mother, a nightly scene, in her dreams

missing her nightly to plant a meaningful kiss

in the depth of her sleep a visit of screams

flashes of scenes forming a long line of abyss

from the starting point treading a visual scar

she’s leading a path, the single point she can’t miss

.

she traced her dreams and soon tracked the dreaded hell

the sidewalks of the city and the gutters den

an old woman draped in all poverty’s shell

lurking in knees, naked of feet  smelling  cayenne

her arms reaching  to heavens asking some alms

and the long lost daughter gave some to an alien

.

but the coins dropped not in the woman’s cold palm

it slipped through her fingers  into the concrete floor

she stooped down to reach  three five-peso coin alms

and that was the start opening the ajarred door

the old woman’s eyes meet hers and the heart jumped

and tickled their blood finding some feelings of yore

.

is this the flash that she dreamed for the past nights

wrinkled face, woman with a mole on the left cheek

confused, teary, frightened with the spoken sights

this time she won’t remain silent and just be meek

it’s your daughter, long lost years, the days be bright

hugs, embraces, cayenne smell became perfumed stick

                                                         –oOo–

THE URN

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Breathless, pale with no blood

Seeing, feeling, it can’t

Stiff

Hard

Sleeping

Inside his temporary home,

A box, wooden, with intricate carvings 

Waking up, escaping, he can’t 

And he was lifted and into a stainless

Furnace

‘Till he was consumed to ashes

By fire

By the burner

‘Till bones are whitened

And crushed

‘Till the cinders

Await 

Their final destination,

The Urn 

The dispersal

Of the soulless matter

Into a raging river

Into the quiet sea

Into the turbulent air 

Or just at the stillness of home

Or at The Columbary

Blessed and stable 

In an Urn.

–oOo–