echoes and sketches, 1995

(far beyond far,
deep beyond deep,
still beyond still)

and the people cry, goes
“make them see, make them feel!!!”

and the poet spake, so low
“they are all but fools! How can I?
no jesus christ to stand tall amidst…
even then
have eyes, but didn’t see
have ears, but didn’t hear
have system, but didn’t feel…”

“nonsense!”, the people cried
“you might as well try”

and the poet spake, so low
“i might as well do, i’m afraid
no jesus christ i am to suffer amidst…
even then
his most high reverence
his kingdom and glory
his power everlasting

and they walked together, the poet and the people
believing to have conquered all the fears within

and they shouted to the highest
“we will be ! we shall be !
far beyond far like echoes in the night
even then
deep beyond deep as jesus christ’s
still beyond still as sketches in the wall
we will be! we shall be !”

and the people soon felt infirm
one by one they faced the last breath

and the poet wondered
“how could this be ? i’m left alone.
how can i? no jesus christ to die so others may live
even then
so he wrote deep lyrics beyond deep
so he sent echoes of emptiness, far beyond
so he drew sketches of nothingness still

and the poet wandered
clutching lyrics…echoes…sketches

just as i thought
no jesus christ he was
but he lived ‘til the end, the people he passed
even then
life held in love worked far beyond far
deep beyond life, beautiful nothingness
still beyond life, beautiful emptiness

and the people see
and the people feel.

every morning- a miracle! 021422 re-entry

my sunflower days are here again...
why is it that just when i'm beginning
to forget,
there are events that force me
to remember
these days? life is short,
whatever you can do, do it now,
you may perhaps never have the chance to do so again...
your memory is cruel,
it causes aches and pains knowing soon
you'd forget or soon you will be forgotten.
i say, mind should be used against itself...
mind vs body,
mind vs matter,
mind vs events,
mind vs circumstance...
life is short indeed but with mind working to your advantage,
you will leave this world with no regrets---
proceed to other worlds of your liking and happily return via short trips.

DUCKS ON YOUR HEAD

In kindness, there was a weariness profound,

A shifting mind, too often lost, then found.

Amidst the chaos, troubles, and strife,

I yearn for peace, a pause from this life.

Breathing, once easy, now feels like a chore,

Understanding, once clear, now lives here  no more.

Sights, sounds, feelings, overwhelming as they call,

Concerns that aren't mine, yet I think of them all.

In motion, such weariness so deep,

In waiting, a tiredness that steals my sleep.

Always there for others, I forgot my heart,

Denying myself the freedom to err, to restart.

Weariness has found a home in me,

Oh I'll find rest, when tiredness sets me free.

(Version 1/Safe Version)

Sakura Magtanggol, 2024

----

i have gotten tired of being kind

i have gotten tired of changing mind

i have gotten tired of all the mess and troubles i need to check 

and solve and be just done after not breathing (almost) to keep up

i have gotten tired of breathing

i have gotten tired of understanding

i have gotten tired of seeing, listening, feeling all those concerns 

that sometimes i think, (no, i know) doesn't even concern me at all

i have gotten tired of moving

i have gotten tired of waiting

i have gotten tired of being always there for everyone, 

and not giving myself chance to err or snoooze for a little while.

i have gotten tired. 

i am not resting until this tired gets tired of me.

(Version 2/ Sane Version)

Sakura Magtanggol, 2024

ESDEGEES pain

In the name of fairness

some leaders convene,

A woman's voice echoes, echoes...

From the 70s to now,

the world has spun its wheel,

Yet the same old concerns,

they haunt, they steal.

Speeches we've heard, moves we've seen,

can you dance the dance?

A world in peril, given a second,

or a second chance.

Deep within, we know, we know the sting,

The solutions to problems are but

recurring, recurring things.

Our common home, it crumbles,

crumbles from within,

We portray ignorance, yet we know,

we know the sin.

You say it's not about money?

Oh, but it is,The poor can't buy in bulk,

a crisis, a crisis. Just cry sis!

In trying to adapt, we wound,

we wound our home, we call on phone.

The irony of life, in this global, global dome.

If only we had enough,

if they could truly see,

The pain, the struggle,

the desperate, desperate plea.

Some days are for dreaming,

some are for all the slap needed...

Unmet goals loom like specters,

as 2030, Oh 2030 is on its way.

Is it a beacon of hope or a cruel jest?

A world on the brink, on the brink,

put to the test.

The confusion of young and old,

it shifts, it sways, it stinks

Who will work, who will check,

who will dream for our days?

Is this an outburst, or a cry,

a cry for help, can't you see?

Better stop and think, or better yet

let it be, let it be....

--

END

PIECES OF PISCES - of life and AVR

 

His shadow lingers, a phantom's caress,

A father stolen, by darkness obsessed.

Tortured and broken, justice denied,

Decades slip by, where sorrows reside.

To causes and movements, his spirit took flight,

Leaving a family to grapple with night.

We tended our wounds, alone in our fears,

While he soared on wings, to unseen frontiers.

From distant horizons, his gaze might descend,

"You'll conquer," he whispers, "you'll transcend."

Struggles unmet, the path barely trod,

He battles still, for some celestial kind of God.

In his death, his wake, crowds gathered and praised,

But hollow those echoes, through memory's haze.

The father we longed for, a warmth never felt,

While wounds long suppressed for survival had knelt.

Pains deeply buried, their tendrils they seek,

Convenient silences, where truths dare not speak.

Yet hurt has its season, to blossom and weep,

And forgiveness we'll sow, where sorrows lie deep.

One day, on a dawn, echoing shadows will shine,

One day, these answers to questions will be the sign.

In a realm yet unknown, a future unfurled,

Our family awaits, in a much much simpler world.

There, a father's embrace, a mother's sweet care,

And siblings entwined, our laughter to share.

The complexities fade, the torments unbind...

In that place beyond time, a haven we'll find.

---------------------------------------------

i am tired! give me rest! [re-entry 2011]

as it was, this heart should be broken

as it goes, it has played all the mendin'

as it is, broken pieces no offendin'

as the heart, all its pride a-stolen

"should" shall i use, of no use

"should" shall i say, i to choose

the heart he had chose have been cruel

the heart she had chose is no-duel

the hearts they had hurt is a fuel

to the fire in both hearts...

whose heart was it again?

whose heart is the villain?

this heart should have had its rest

this heart have had all hell's best

whatabout, i say, the unfinished test?

i am tired, i am tired, give me rest!

mind lessons ... a year after nanay's death

there are many
many things that
would make your mind tick.
i choose to choose thinking
thinking than be bored.
i believed that many
many many people died
because of boredom,
because of sadness,
physically and some just died
even as they are still somehow alive.
but not too much thinking i say...
not from too much thinking.
those with migraine bouts should know
should know what i mean.
it may stress a soul too much.
too much one may choose boredom
choose boredom in the end---
that i know (i should!) but...
is not an easy sacrifice.

ode to facebook's sakura magtanggol

Oh sweetness, oh love, oh immortal

or so I thought in your silence- cried

Have let go of the pain and moments 

You, I love, I decide, I died surprised

Your colors, your letters, your memories

It fell short of life and its nameless face

Who am I to adorn your nothingness

As you lay in that nothingness`s embrace

Over a decade and a year or two still young

Even as it ended, this life had barely begun

But all too soon too it just faded away

No more singing nor dancing in the sun

No more of the smiles and laughter captured

No more convos that seemed wild and free

No more of the poems and midnight musings

I once thought was just in perfect harmony

I will try to not forget the seriousness of sorts

And all the shallowness to balance it all

I will try to not forget the aches and fakes

I will try harder if only to make me whole

Oh sweetness, oh love, oh immortal

or so I thought in this silence- I cried

I let go of these pain and moments 

You, I love, I decide, I remember, I died.

the end's prime

there in a night solemn and cold where black feathers flew off their nest where heavens gems gave a glow a figured shivered...quivered as it stood while trace of melancholy appeared in hazy shadows 'neath the moon "why oh why" its spirit moaned here the fate of the heart once agog stood with all its throe the soul hoping to find pathos of the everlasting...of the unknown the soul in its havoc flew then thought the sunrise and sunset were coeval...and... death...a prime. and the night grew darker its solemness fell deep the thickest leaf closed in coldness slowly the stars seemed to fall asleep the sky casted a dim - very dim glow tired crows seeking refuge among the branches of the trees that swayed with the breeze the figure shivered...quivered as it stood yet its silhouette remain unfazed the agony of its soul's there still confused pathos...shattered and torn the anguish of its heart stopped 'tho its thoughts then unfathomed suddenly...slowly...a poet's heart...was born.

when i was about 8 months

when i was about 8 months, my father wrote a poem, i didn't know about this ---'til now when my sister explained the poem that i saw in her blog...the first time i read it i felt the creeps- it is as if i have read the poem somewhere. i even wondered; was it my poem??? was it ave's??? i tried to look for answers but didn't see one...so after a couple of days i asked her, she said it was my father's. ha????? for many years i tried to look for even bits of his writings, couldn't find any. i only knew of one title RIGOR MORTIS which was just blurted out by my nanay...theirs is a confusing love affair - a beautiful chaos i would say. didn't know him much...circumstances forced me not to love him much, but one part of me would somehow look for answers...

i started writing since 1988 (was it 1988 when he was brutally killed??? yes) but as to where i got the talent, i am ambivalent---i have no evidences, i have no clues...until now... here--- (thanks sis, for trying to preserve this treasure).

EPILOGUE Here I am now. A man with life uncertain and insecure. Fighting all odds of political existence. I walk with DIFFERENT SHADOWS! And I must learn to live with them. In this world, there are those who are oppressed. And there are those who are persecuted because of their outlook - towards our social structure... towards the "SYSTEM" But as to whether they can endure or resist is a matter of how unrelenting their principles are - or how strong their convictions are. After the SHADOWS... What? They will never stop shadowing - till they get me. I'll be living soon in darkness. Behind BARS perhaps. Or inside a cold coffin. But all threats - all intrigues could not cow us. As long as we are still free to move - WE WILL MOVE. As long as we still have life - WE WILL HOPE. Yes, we still hope for a new day's dawn. The dawn of our freedom. FREE from dictatorial rule. The dawn of justice. FREE from all brutalities. My fate? I do not know what awaits me. I only know I must be brave. avr/11/03/77

she is all there is...

how else will you know that she loves you
how else will you know that she cares
when all she is to most is a worker
for wages, for ages, for cages
to lose...

how else will you know that she wants you
how else will you know what she bears
when all she is to most is a mother
for daughter, for sons, for some
to choose...

how else will you know that she needs you
how else will you know what she dares
when all she is to most is a friend
who advises, who cries, who helps
to bemuse...

how else will she know that you love her
how else will she know that you care
when to most all she is is a worker
for wages, for ages, for cages
to lose...

how else will she know that you want her
how else will she share what she bears
when to most all she is is a mother
for her sons and her daughter
to choose...

how else will she know that you need her
how else will you know how she dares
when to most all she is is a friend
who is there to advise and to help
to bemuse...

to bemuse to help to advise her friends
on their worries and their hurts
to dare look into the problem
as if it is that easy...
perhaps it really is

to choose her daughter or sons over some
over some love, she chose to forget
she is a mother most of all
as if it is that easy...
perhaps it really is

to lose herself from the cages by wages
or love or lover whatever ages bring
she cared, she loved, she worked
as if it is that easy...
perhaps it really is

so not love

after dejuicion, perfect
better decision than none

mob of might-coloreds
stealing some, little space
not to grow, not at all
no dream
no plan
no way

crumpled, pleasing taste
stealing little, some place
not to glow, not at all
no way
no need
no thing

afterward, onwards known
nothing but grapes -humiliated!

loving to the foolest

i went back to the trails we once trod

hoping to find you there still

---but you weren't anymore

my foolish heart

was foolish enough

to assume that

your heart

was foolish enough

to wait foolishly

without a promise

how foolish this heart has been!

i went back to the trails we once trod

hoping to hear your echoes

---but i heard your laughter

your laughter

with someone else

i couldn't talk

i couldn't walk

i couldn't dare 

even to look

at you, at her

how foolish this heart has been!

foolish enough my heart has been again

dreaming you were almost mine

---but you just smiled

and all i have

all i have left

all that is left

are the trails

we once trod

the trails 

the trails

don't wake me up

Write everything...

Let it all out...

Fifteen years in the making,

the story in my mind...

No good use in pretending.

Happiness, at times

is an elusive dream...

Yet, you keep on dreaming

Yet, you keep believing...

one day soon

Those who have brains

will think

Those who have lips

will speak

Those who have hearts

will feel

Those who have hands

will work... for peace. 

For peace, in and out.

Write everything...

right now, or forever be shushed.

Let it all out or

it will blow off, inside.

Like fireworks.

Like fire that doesnt work.

Fifteen years in the making.

Happiness, at times

is a beautiful, wonderful dream.

But for now... let me 

let me not let go of the pains

let me not let go of life

let me not let go of the dream

Let me dream and

Let me write...everything.

Let me sleep.

Let me be...

Let it be.

and if it is not too much

not too much to ask...

please dont wake me up.

---when September ends

one saturday of my life [tb080810]

i was terrified.
i don't know you.
you don't know me.
earth swallow me.
i was AMBITIOUS.
i better go around the world --
and take it from there.

sleeping was a challenge
this time i cried.
but yes, i'm fine.

goodbye march 2011.

found this some-where...some-time... felt some-thing...some-how.

few lines from...

FRACTURES
by Cathy Denny

           

Hearts and souls heal slowly
Silently recalling fractures of long ago.
Weighing the risk of letting anyone know
What lies deep in his heart, what he's buried in his soul.

Patiently waiting for the one to help him see
How good it feels to set his heart free.
To trust her enough, and so completely,
He tells her those things he was once afraid she would see.

Mending his heart one fracture at a time.
As he comes closer to this I find;
Mending that fracture in his heart,
Is the key to mending mine.

[from http://www.exiledmothers.com/speaking_out/fractures.html]

love... is all there is.

love in a blue mountain

love in a deep blue sea

love in a world around us

around us to see

love in a blue mountain

love in a deep blue sea

love in a poet's heart

love that is so free

love in a blue mountain

love in a deep blue sea

love in the artist's hands

'tis a love to be

love in a blue mountain

love in a deep blue sea

love in the Force within us

love for you and me.

i think that i shall never see

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

 A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

       --- Joyce Kilmer

she is all there is...

how else will you know that she loves you
how else will you know that she cares
when all she is to most is a worker
for wages, for ages, for cages
to loose...

how else will you know that she wants you
how else will you know what she bears
when all she is to most is a mother
for daughter, for sons, for some
to choose...

how else will you know that she needs you
how else will you know what she dares
when all she is to most is a friend
who advises, who cries, who helps
to bemuse...

how else will she know that you love her
how else will she know that you care
when to most all she is is a worker
for wages, for ages, for cages
to loose...

how else will she know that you want her
how else will she share what she bears
when to most all she is is a mother
for her sons and her daughter
to choose...

how else will she know that you need her
how else will you know how she dares
when to most all she is is a friend
who is there to advise and to help
to bemuse...

to bemuse to help to advise her friends
on their worries and their hurts
to dare look into the problem
as if it is that easy...
perhaps it really is

to choose her daughter or sons over some
over some love she chose to forget
she is a mother most of all
as if it is that easy...
perhaps it really is

to loose herself from the cages by wages
or love or lover whatever ages bring
she cared, she loved, she worked
as if it is that easy...
perhaps it really is

oh! to her perhaps all there is was easy
or perhaps she was left with no choice
but to go on, go on loving living
a year more this november
a year more on and on.

how else will she know she's thought of
thought of and prayed for everyday but
for all her angels and friends who
loves her to now tell her and
wish her a very merry day!

poets make poems

'tis the pain that is felt in the deepest

deepest darkest core of heart

'tis the pain...pain within that makes

verses of pain, lyrics of hurt...

'tis the poem that stabs the most

uneager senses...not the man

not the poet...

for what is a poet without a poem

and what is a man without a pain?

it is the love that makes the lovers

not the lovers who make the love

'tis the pain that lovers felt

felt deep...deep within

that makes them cry out loud

to the most unwilling ears

not the lovers...

alas! 'tis the poem that makes the poet

and not the other way around.