Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Why Under A Jacaranda
1
We met under a tree
Under a tree in the season of its bloom
Under the bright purple flowers of the Jacaranda
You leaned on the tree and it illuminated you
Though tears fell on your cheeks.
I stood obverse, observing you Full, to the brim, of inferiority;
Pining for you as a prisoner yearns for freedom,
Needing you as windmills need the wind
Stalagmites and stalactites of emotion mushrooming
And yet my tongue hid exiled in my belly
We met under a tree
I seeking a satisfactory nod
You seeking to reclaim a love lost, freshly lost.
Under the guise of counselor I won your time
Though, in turn, I lost mine completely
Lust came before love for me;
Love almost never came for you towards me:
Lust then was indismissably necessary for love –
Your questionable reluctance was as much an ingredient as well.
Your eyes foresaw my intention, examining my with strict caution
And your body denied ever suspecting my schemes
We met under a tree
And I kissed your cheek while you whispered –
Words of discontent, disapproval, clearest prohibition –
Before you leaned on that tree, before it elucidated you
Before tears fell on your cheek.
But though tears trickled on your cheeks,
Though my tongue was sunken deep in my belly,
Though I won your time and lost mine completely,
Though your body denied ever suspecting my schemes,
And though your teary eyes noticed my self-derision
You, in the dim-lit corridor of your cracked heart, beckoned me.
We met under a tree,
The only thing of beauty: a solitary tree in the plains,
A solitary me, a solitary you – the solitary three.
It rained underneath the flowery Jacaranda tree:
The tree’s water-drops, your tears, and my bias our emblems.
You looked ripe and very much forbidden,
Your breasts inviting yet sacrosanct and sacred
And I fixation my eyes to the very object of my temptation.
The heaving was heavy with random unsteady rhythms.
My shivering hands met behind your carved back.
Still, your body denied ever suspecting my schemes.
And though you were decently dressed and fairly covered
You appeared dreadfully naked with so much detail to it.
I was like the sun in the west at sunset,
Like lightning to the tallest alpine tree,
Carnal and vulnerably exposed and wishing I was worse.
Still, your body denied affiliation with this charade.
2
I spent countless days
In the shade of the Jacaranda
Tree under which we met and stray waves
Of air brought countless whiffs of spring.
I was like a lonely cloud over drought-stricken land,
A man whose ghost existed long before he died, strands
Of my wraith a cumulus cloud shoved by the wind’s hands.
I would come and go Coming in hopes of finding you helplessly expecting
Me; and going in hopes that I would need you no more.
I multiplied disappointmen by disappointment not accepting
That serendipity was the absence of design: it isn’t assigned.
That no engine is serviced before it is aligned.
I had to release my heart whence it was quarantined.
You kissed me back and freed my tongue
From my belly.The gab descended on me like tongues of fire.
I stroked your forbidden breasts and felt the rising of your lungs,
It was like a shift of octaves of sopranos in a expertly choir
During a marked transposition that is meant to transform
A ditty into a masterpiece. Love took form.
It was a kiss that shook the nerves yet calming all my storms.
3
Finally I broke the silence To describe your undecipherable gaze and your limpid eyes.
I gave you the depths of my essence, and my confidence.
The song of your kiss played once more a bit more simplified.
This our new finding became my most treasured,
A blessing over and beyond what could be measured:
You soon became a copious well of endless indescribable pleasures.
We met underneath the tree, our safest and official tryst.
You spoke deep, about Socrates and other philosophers, about Jesus Christ;
About literature, oil on canvas, about true and false; of U2 and Bono;
About love’s awkward mismatches: Bill and Lewensky, Lennon and Yoko Ono, Ahab and Jezebel, Oedipus and his mother, Mandela and Machel’s widow
Love made me see the world differently, looking out the window.
I saw a home where we stood, a birthplace of a different genre Of love. The kids were revealed to me in your kisses, Espera and Henry.
It was hope that swept away all uncertainty and promised fruition –
The shade beneath the tree, like the grace of peeping into the future –
Of all diligently pursued dreams and properly cultivated visions,
An unfaltering guarantee of success for all benevolent decisions.
We met under a tree
Under a tree in the season of its bloom
Under the bright purple flowers of the Jacaranda
You leaned on the tree and it illuminated you
Though tears fell on your cheeks.
I stood obverse, observing you Full, to the brim, of inferiority;
Pining for you as a prisoner yearns for freedom,
Needing you as windmills need the wind
Stalagmites and stalactites of emotion mushrooming
And yet my tongue hid exiled in my belly
We met under a tree
I seeking a satisfactory nod
You seeking to reclaim a love lost, freshly lost.
Under the guise of counselor I won your time
Though, in turn, I lost mine completely
Lust came before love for me;
Love almost never came for you towards me:
Lust then was indismissably necessary for love –
Your questionable reluctance was as much an ingredient as well.
Your eyes foresaw my intention, examining my with strict caution
And your body denied ever suspecting my schemes
We met under a tree
And I kissed your cheek while you whispered –
Words of discontent, disapproval, clearest prohibition –
Before you leaned on that tree, before it elucidated you
Before tears fell on your cheek.
But though tears trickled on your cheeks,
Though my tongue was sunken deep in my belly,
Though I won your time and lost mine completely,
Though your body denied ever suspecting my schemes,
And though your teary eyes noticed my self-derision
You, in the dim-lit corridor of your cracked heart, beckoned me.
We met under a tree,
The only thing of beauty: a solitary tree in the plains,
A solitary me, a solitary you – the solitary three.
It rained underneath the flowery Jacaranda tree:
The tree’s water-drops, your tears, and my bias our emblems.
You looked ripe and very much forbidden,
Your breasts inviting yet sacrosanct and sacred
And I fixation my eyes to the very object of my temptation.
The heaving was heavy with random unsteady rhythms.
My shivering hands met behind your carved back.
Still, your body denied ever suspecting my schemes.
And though you were decently dressed and fairly covered
You appeared dreadfully naked with so much detail to it.
I was like the sun in the west at sunset,
Like lightning to the tallest alpine tree,
Carnal and vulnerably exposed and wishing I was worse.
Still, your body denied affiliation with this charade.
2
I spent countless days
In the shade of the Jacaranda
Tree under which we met and stray waves
Of air brought countless whiffs of spring.
I was like a lonely cloud over drought-stricken land,
A man whose ghost existed long before he died, strands
Of my wraith a cumulus cloud shoved by the wind’s hands.
I would come and go Coming in hopes of finding you helplessly expecting
Me; and going in hopes that I would need you no more.
I multiplied disappointmen by disappointment not accepting
That serendipity was the absence of design: it isn’t assigned.
That no engine is serviced before it is aligned.
I had to release my heart whence it was quarantined.
You kissed me back and freed my tongue
From my belly.The gab descended on me like tongues of fire.
I stroked your forbidden breasts and felt the rising of your lungs,
It was like a shift of octaves of sopranos in a expertly choir
During a marked transposition that is meant to transform
A ditty into a masterpiece. Love took form.
It was a kiss that shook the nerves yet calming all my storms.
3
Finally I broke the silence To describe your undecipherable gaze and your limpid eyes.
I gave you the depths of my essence, and my confidence.
The song of your kiss played once more a bit more simplified.
This our new finding became my most treasured,
A blessing over and beyond what could be measured:
You soon became a copious well of endless indescribable pleasures.
We met underneath the tree, our safest and official tryst.
You spoke deep, about Socrates and other philosophers, about Jesus Christ;
About literature, oil on canvas, about true and false; of U2 and Bono;
About love’s awkward mismatches: Bill and Lewensky, Lennon and Yoko Ono, Ahab and Jezebel, Oedipus and his mother, Mandela and Machel’s widow
Love made me see the world differently, looking out the window.
I saw a home where we stood, a birthplace of a different genre Of love. The kids were revealed to me in your kisses, Espera and Henry.
It was hope that swept away all uncertainty and promised fruition –
The shade beneath the tree, like the grace of peeping into the future –
Of all diligently pursued dreams and properly cultivated visions,
An unfaltering guarantee of success for all benevolent decisions.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Falling in Love
Cupid stupid cupped his face,
Limpid eye lucid, he stooped lower than base;
Heart under threat, the hidden disclosed, body shivers.
Above and beneath I'm a hearth, give me rivers.
Mind benumbed will soon succumb as I'm weakened.
Stupid cupid's armed, his efforts summed, his pulse quickened;
Aiming the arrow, maiming the marrow - my soul
Is obtaining a harrow (I am taming a sparrow). Oh foul!!!
But, meeting confidence by coincidence I smile.
A few designed incidents to share sentiments and merge style. We now stroll with staves, roll in groves Confused, cooing like doves, falling in love...
Limpid eye lucid, he stooped lower than base;
Heart under threat, the hidden disclosed, body shivers.
Above and beneath I'm a hearth, give me rivers.
Mind benumbed will soon succumb as I'm weakened.
Stupid cupid's armed, his efforts summed, his pulse quickened;
Aiming the arrow, maiming the marrow - my soul
Is obtaining a harrow (I am taming a sparrow). Oh foul!!!
But, meeting confidence by coincidence I smile.
A few designed incidents to share sentiments and merge style. We now stroll with staves, roll in groves Confused, cooing like doves, falling in love...
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A Different Turn
All the emotions I’ve glorified look to me
Like the stem of a drying tree with rotting roots.
My prying conscience smells the irregularity
And my hope every morning looks out for shoots
Green is graying: this is death, not growing
The dim is preying: this is falling not flowing
The water table was lowering; it was imminent
And the sun was beating us down, drying our leaves
Turn after turn in a maze where fatigue grows prominent
As we yawn, sigh, sneeze and choke, hope barely cleaves.
Just when we are about to fall to the ground, weary and craven
We are at the threshold of seventh heaven
Like the stem of a drying tree with rotting roots.
My prying conscience smells the irregularity
And my hope every morning looks out for shoots
Green is graying: this is death, not growing
The dim is preying: this is falling not flowing
The water table was lowering; it was imminent
And the sun was beating us down, drying our leaves
Turn after turn in a maze where fatigue grows prominent
As we yawn, sigh, sneeze and choke, hope barely cleaves.
Just when we are about to fall to the ground, weary and craven
We are at the threshold of seventh heaven
A Step Towards Salvation
Having walked all paths that are sure to expose my imperfections,
After having indulged exorbitantly in the gore of my weaknesses
After having fallen to my passions into the gall of iniquity
(Grace left me and my spirit destabilized, I lost my defenses);
Time losing meaning, moments like strands breaking hair;
Nothing to cherish, nothing to admire about my quagmire…
Going from level to level, righteousness waning, my spirit complaining;
Suffering from dishevelment, rickety, trudging the boggy, sodden way;
My spirit tarnished, my soul now banished, my heart campaigning –
For, even in this tangible darkness, the heart strives not to stray –
Yeah my heart campaigning for re-direction towards salvation;
Yeah my eyes begin to see the promise: love divulges the revelation.
Yet I could have wedged myself in the pit of grief, of sorrow
Settling on the retrogressive delusion worshipping wistfulness,
Wondering why yesterday rings truer than the promise of tomorrow,
But serendipity snatched me to the island of novelty and restitution
From the iron rule unfortunate circumstances, from the known despot
(To the spring relief and release, inside life’s very depot)
How sad, how sad to watch as life wallows towards submersion!
How sad to live now and wish today was swopped for yesterday!
How sad our end if we are so feeble as to lose by submission
While our doom wears the crown of having subdued us cleverly.
I kneel in the grime and close my eyes to imagine light
Then and only then does my heart frolic: my spirit takes to flight.
Tired souls on the brink of collapse;
Weakened hearts unable to rise once again;
Hopeless beings due to continued relapse,
Much acquainted with disappointment and shame
Are revived, the curse is on the verge of reverse
All circumstances are multiplied by their inverses
After having indulged exorbitantly in the gore of my weaknesses
After having fallen to my passions into the gall of iniquity
(Grace left me and my spirit destabilized, I lost my defenses);
Time losing meaning, moments like strands breaking hair;
Nothing to cherish, nothing to admire about my quagmire…
Going from level to level, righteousness waning, my spirit complaining;
Suffering from dishevelment, rickety, trudging the boggy, sodden way;
My spirit tarnished, my soul now banished, my heart campaigning –
For, even in this tangible darkness, the heart strives not to stray –
Yeah my heart campaigning for re-direction towards salvation;
Yeah my eyes begin to see the promise: love divulges the revelation.
Yet I could have wedged myself in the pit of grief, of sorrow
Settling on the retrogressive delusion worshipping wistfulness,
Wondering why yesterday rings truer than the promise of tomorrow,
But serendipity snatched me to the island of novelty and restitution
From the iron rule unfortunate circumstances, from the known despot
(To the spring relief and release, inside life’s very depot)
How sad, how sad to watch as life wallows towards submersion!
How sad to live now and wish today was swopped for yesterday!
How sad our end if we are so feeble as to lose by submission
While our doom wears the crown of having subdued us cleverly.
I kneel in the grime and close my eyes to imagine light
Then and only then does my heart frolic: my spirit takes to flight.
Tired souls on the brink of collapse;
Weakened hearts unable to rise once again;
Hopeless beings due to continued relapse,
Much acquainted with disappointment and shame
Are revived, the curse is on the verge of reverse
All circumstances are multiplied by their inverses
Sunday, July 4, 2010
For An Answered Prayer
When the leaves were dry in the budding season
We took our prayers and forsook our reason;
Bound our hearts with the thick cord of purpose
To ascertain the certainty of harvest. in humility
We knelt, being sincere, concise and not verbose,
For we feared our turn would suffer futility
And when the roots came drying ‘neath the earth,
On the verge of losing all our plantations' worth -
Purpose now embedded in our resolute hearts,
Faces on the ground to reach the uppermost heavenly parts -
We groaned invariably: family by family with sacrifices
For atonement of generational shadows that lingered,
For the re-erection of our walls and our ruined edifices,
For the reinstatement of lives obviously endangered
Thaank you Jehova God For An Answered Prayer
We took our prayers and forsook our reason;
Bound our hearts with the thick cord of purpose
To ascertain the certainty of harvest. in humility
We knelt, being sincere, concise and not verbose,
For we feared our turn would suffer futility
And when the roots came drying ‘neath the earth,
On the verge of losing all our plantations' worth -
Purpose now embedded in our resolute hearts,
Faces on the ground to reach the uppermost heavenly parts -
We groaned invariably: family by family with sacrifices
For atonement of generational shadows that lingered,
For the re-erection of our walls and our ruined edifices,
For the reinstatement of lives obviously endangered
Thaank you Jehova God For An Answered Prayer
Rosette
1
From the cold, in the night: vespers
Clothe me in your petals
Blanket my disfigured torso in your velvet bosom.
Do you know that I’m sentimental?
Coil your aura round me like a tail of a possum.
Once i was seen easily to falter
Today i see life in your shelter
To smell the rich scent of your fragrance,
Safe from the effects of bad weather
Into your loving, warm snuggle of patience.
A different human now: mutant
I’m like a zealous student
Engrossed in my matters of study, passionate, devoted
And you: the taste of the pudding,
A source-book, anthropology, words I wish quoted
The glory of your sanctuary is everywhere;
And as I lie in your comfort free of care
Dreamy, healing from all of life’s aspersions,
Covered in bloom of a flower of the desert air,
I sing your song: “thou art my new-found diversion”
I had forgotten
That to get the rose you have to kiss the thorn.
So I avoided both the rose and the thorn,
And the song of retreat blew from my horse men
I gave in; I gave loss an official endorsement.
I had forgotten
That love is a tender intention with violent corollaries
You pay to live or you’re rendered rotten;
Or worse you become a guinea pig in life’s laboratories.
Your warmth has reminded me of your importance
Oh Rosette, Rosette my love
You have painted my garden with spring
Birds once again perch on my alcove,
Birds of a myriad colour perch and sing
While i glory in the very same garden
Spoiled for choice: scent, warmth and colours,
My heart swimming in nectar – overjoyed.
Rosette, clothe me in your petals, in colours.
You have filled me, I’m no longer void
You have painted my garden with spring colours
2
we sat face to face, cross-legged
as if we were approaching ritualconfrontation;
we two, entangled, happily convoluted, webbed -
Under a winter's sunshine, consenting: a mutual congregation.
then she ties her hair, and edges a smile,
glows her eyes, folds her arma, and looks distracted;
hums a celtic tune and is lost in it awhile.
to me she's merely a prowess, an art the Lord abstracted
she whose actions stand eloquent, worthy to be heeded,
with a look that equals her wit (assertive but mild)
oh what colourful ideas she has worked and kneaded:
she has beckoned at spring, she winked and the Heavens smiled.
as she bears the disparity between timidity and humility,
legs still crossed, arms folded, face ever so gleaming,
time stands still while the sun overshadows humidity.
time shows up. i wonder whether or not i'm dreaming
the strand of hair she never tied falls in the way.
her arms unfold to deal with her hair accordingly.
a yawn, not of boredom (but a discourse-marker) wont be subdued
she's good. she sprinkles enthusiasm. oh the joy she's affording me
she's a song i'm still learning to sing, forever special,
where every note is notable and every chord is complete.
a flower whose blessed, scented, bright colouered petals
draw my eyes as if looking alone would be the best profit.
From the cold, in the night: vespers
Clothe me in your petals
Blanket my disfigured torso in your velvet bosom.
Do you know that I’m sentimental?
Coil your aura round me like a tail of a possum.
Once i was seen easily to falter
Today i see life in your shelter
To smell the rich scent of your fragrance,
Safe from the effects of bad weather
Into your loving, warm snuggle of patience.
A different human now: mutant
I’m like a zealous student
Engrossed in my matters of study, passionate, devoted
And you: the taste of the pudding,
A source-book, anthropology, words I wish quoted
The glory of your sanctuary is everywhere;
And as I lie in your comfort free of care
Dreamy, healing from all of life’s aspersions,
Covered in bloom of a flower of the desert air,
I sing your song: “thou art my new-found diversion”
I had forgotten
That to get the rose you have to kiss the thorn.
So I avoided both the rose and the thorn,
And the song of retreat blew from my horse men
I gave in; I gave loss an official endorsement.
I had forgotten
That love is a tender intention with violent corollaries
You pay to live or you’re rendered rotten;
Or worse you become a guinea pig in life’s laboratories.
Your warmth has reminded me of your importance
Oh Rosette, Rosette my love
You have painted my garden with spring
Birds once again perch on my alcove,
Birds of a myriad colour perch and sing
While i glory in the very same garden
Spoiled for choice: scent, warmth and colours,
My heart swimming in nectar – overjoyed.
Rosette, clothe me in your petals, in colours.
You have filled me, I’m no longer void
You have painted my garden with spring colours
2
we sat face to face, cross-legged
as if we were approaching ritualconfrontation;
we two, entangled, happily convoluted, webbed -
Under a winter's sunshine, consenting: a mutual congregation.
then she ties her hair, and edges a smile,
glows her eyes, folds her arma, and looks distracted;
hums a celtic tune and is lost in it awhile.
to me she's merely a prowess, an art the Lord abstracted
she whose actions stand eloquent, worthy to be heeded,
with a look that equals her wit (assertive but mild)
oh what colourful ideas she has worked and kneaded:
she has beckoned at spring, she winked and the Heavens smiled.
as she bears the disparity between timidity and humility,
legs still crossed, arms folded, face ever so gleaming,
time stands still while the sun overshadows humidity.
time shows up. i wonder whether or not i'm dreaming
the strand of hair she never tied falls in the way.
her arms unfold to deal with her hair accordingly.
a yawn, not of boredom (but a discourse-marker) wont be subdued
she's good. she sprinkles enthusiasm. oh the joy she's affording me
she's a song i'm still learning to sing, forever special,
where every note is notable and every chord is complete.
a flower whose blessed, scented, bright colouered petals
draw my eyes as if looking alone would be the best profit.
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