*

at dusk, the sun paints
brilliant, surreal, dreamy hues
through Ann Arbor skies.

***

in Huron river's calm waters

the kayakers at dusk stalk the setting sun,

stir the proverbial pot and disturb the gods.

*

softly treading the narrow
pathway, a pitcher-full of ice
drawn from the hotel's ice machine

in hand.

about to pull an all-nighter
with a bottle of grey goose vodka

for company.

alone inside a four-sided wall, all i could hear was the quiet hum of the monitors sending their messages into the gloom.

downrange. and in country.

a flight of drones. a flash of doom.
one less tango inside the room.

a sardonic smile. a vengeful toast.
a silent triumph. a night of quiet celebration
at home.

*

 

 traversing a deserted
road at
dusk
the shadow of a
bare tree framed against
the setting sun
glaring back
at you
like a dark sentinel
from long ago
a harbinger of doom
a sinister picture of what lies
ahead
along the barren path to
oblivion.

*A2.MI

Tonight I can write the saddest lines

tonight i can drink beer and read some Neruda.

feliz cumpleaños señor Pablo.

*Andy Garcia

...

you

pray 

for a never-ending 

harmony 

that exposed 

your

innocence 

and predilections

 for that

uncertain 

butter-soft 

fragility 

of the human 

spirit 

melting 

the essence 

of your 

sweet 

heart

and rebellious 

psyche 

into one 

coherent 

soul.

This Old Guitar

my old acoustic guitar, 

the sole witness 

during those rare 

times where i can 

wear 

my heart on 

my sleeve.

 

In Solitude...

I found a long-sought

soft self-comforting freedom

a heart-rousing understanding

governed not by the common reason

but by untamed emotions.

*

...early Sunday morning, driving on a deserted Southfield Freeway. the sun's rays are trying to break through the grey clouds' spell. Michigan in winter; beautiful and lonely.

BrainDamage

Salvador Dali- "Exploding Raphaelesque Head" 1951

Another day, another wasted day. Another rotten day has passed,  spent in this dark old  room, an abyss where not a sliver of light, have penetrated its four corners for ages -- the dominion of the damned, where sanity is slowly eroding inside the battered head.

In the Brain; where the never-ending labyrinth of gelatinous gyri and sulci, continues to boggle and rattle, the spirit of the demented mind.

Pitter patter-raindrops spatter-eat the matter-in the platter-
helpless tapper-leader-follower-naked in the shower-
nobody answers...

this never-ending childish prattle-

taxes the mind,  burns the soul,
castrates the emotions
and rips off the heart

Of everything.

In isolation, inside this padded room, the only place for lunatics- lost in space, locked in total darkness- a prisoner condemned into oblivion.

This smokey room; Where the stale air flew in circles, where the mind somersaults like the high-flyer in a circus. This smelly room; where the stench of urine is stronger than the odor of filth, where the nose forgets its sorry existence. This room where darkness rules is the only one that I have ever known.

"The Sandman lurks in the dark. Take this pill and you'll be all right," says the woman in white. The lady with the perpetual  smirk, the purveyor of dreams and what have you. 

Eni meni mini mo, take the pill and off we go!

Blue pill or red pill it does not really matter. The brain is bursting and the neurons exploding- Time stood still, warping my sense of being.

I am a traveler.  I am a gatherer. I am a pilgrim

I am home.

DotMatrix

I. look. inside.
You.
nothing. but. emptiness.

deafening. silence. in.
the vast. expanse.
of. a. barren. universe.

the speck. the dust. the sky.

a. dot. in. space.
a. moment. in. time.
a. sea. of. darkness.
a.  land. of. the. dead.

a. black. hole.

I. contemplate.
my. contempt.
of. everything. beautiful.




I. seek. to. destroy.
all.
the prettiest.
things.
your mind. can. think.
your eyes. can. see.
your hand. can. touch.
your heart. can. feel.

I. am. you.
you. are. me.
a. mirror. image.
a. friend. a. lover.
a. dream. a. nightmare.

inside. my. head.

Martin Luther King, Jr. - I Have a Dream

Amok

You

 blabbing, filthy 

mouth
Cursing

spewing trash
Stirring 

unwelcome emotions to show
Agitating 

the frailties of my conviction
 Too much

careless words that tax the weary mind

and test the limits of my patience

In my mind, the clock is ticking
In my head, darkness is consuming my being
My heart is raging, my nerves edgy and my senses foggy
Dark thoughts 

flying in circles as morbid pictures start to swirl

in nerve-wracking fashion

Clinging 

to the last straws of 

Sanity
trying to prevent the dams of self-control from bursting
But 

the current is too strong 

the murky waters rampaging
It is too late 

now, my friend
My mind has reached the end 

and 

the screws have finally snapped in my head.

Wa-pak!

#

photo credit: Finding Rest

street sweeper

bite the bullet, taste the blood

feel your heart, beating deep inside

count the pulse, shake off your fears

ignore the call, calm the nerves

check the sight, aim the gun

steady the finger, squeeze the trigger

sweep the floor, waste them all

tune out the cries, ignore the moans

you are the greatest of them all

*photo credit: Takati2012

Broken China

Sitting alone under the century-old Tamarind tree,
 meditating about anything
 that can 

ease the loneliness felt
inside of me. 

Like a sordid drought
of intellectual exercise
capable 

of harming the mind, 

thoughts run
like mad
and strike
a fire
engulfing everything in its
path. 

The shockwaves
rattled
the nerves 

of everyone that happened to be around
and brought 

shivers to the weak
spines inhabiting the land. 

I became the sole
witness when the precious
china came crashing
 into the ground. 

Broken into a hundred slivers, 

I weep for the loss of my only link to the golden past.

photo credit: Melody's Portrait

Aviva

She sat there in the cubicle, 

with eyes closed 

trying to 

drown out the cries 

of tortured souls that still rang in her ears 

and 

the pungent odor of billows of smoke 

that screened the crimson haze of gray vision that 

numbed her senses as she tried to forget the painful reminder 

of Dachau, 

now reduced to a neurotic museum of tears. 

In her mind, where footsteps are stationary 

and the labored sound of hoarse breathing echoed 

in the silent passageways, 

the faded pictures 

breezed through her memory. 

Their voices were now

 silent and the curtains drawn to hide 

the reflections 

in the mirror 

of her eyes that belied 

the mourning of her heart.

 #

photo credit: dachauscrapbook

CocoNuts

The charbroiled
kamote is
picked up from
the glowing embers
by dirty
trembling hands
Its charred
skin akin
to the one
now holding it --
dark,
baked
by the intense heat
Blowing
cool air
into the hot
smoking fruit
of the fertile
loam soil
of Bicolandia
Making
beautiful thoughts
of the fare that
would relieve the
gnawing pangs
of an empty stomach.
Justiniano,
a diminutive
worker
harvesting Copra
in the middle
of the vast
Coconut plantation
in Albay
owned by the swaggering
descendants of the
Colonizers
of yore
His face dripping
with sweat
while his hands
continue to work with
machine-like precision,
unmindful of the singing of the
Balinsayaws
that dance from tree to tree
His thoughts
wondering why
he has to toil
under the hot sun
while his supposed
Masters
had their ice-cold
lemonades and biscuits
in the shade.
A sad reality
that more than
a hundred years after
our so-called independence
We are still
nothing
but slaves
in our own
country.

the paradox of love

Two people
met
and they
held each other's gaze
kissed sensuously
locked in warm embrace
moved in unison
burnt with passion.

Perfect,
it seemed to be.

Two hearts
will never meet-
a heart that loves
and
a heart that refuses to love...

Be a Man, my son!

Here's actor Harvey Keitel reciting an excerpt of Rudyard Kipling's famous --

If....


Harvey Keitel: If by Rudyard Kipling by leafantine



*UBS TV Commercial series 'Poems 1997'

Goodnight Girl

soft music, slow dancing,

sweet wine, mind games
brown eyes, blue eyes
masked emotions, repressed passion.