A gazelle at sundown

Gratitude

2010-10-30T18:40:00.000-07:00

The memory of the heart. A prayer that needs no god.
The sweetness of humility. A cure for envy.
The silence of the ego. A smile that requires no muscle.

Is what happens when you get inspired by someone.
What transforms misery to "I can be" and reminds you
that you already are that which is to be.

It takes only a moment of your time
and gives your time its moments
and the momentum to flow with life.

But nobody really needs it to exist.
No one gets scared of having an amnesiac heart.
It doesn't shelter the homeless nor feed the hungry.
People will still get sick, grow old, and die eventually,
just like machines. Without it, the world would still revolve
around the sun, business as usual.

Yet is there anyone who has truly lived
has truly felt the richness of life
without gratitude to sense it?

Aernout

2010-10-20T11:06:00.000-07:00

in your embrace

my heart is lucid

the ripples inside

return to a serene center

by your presence walls shatter

my being unwraps, i am unwarped

in the calm of your patience

pain graciously wanes

my defenses retreat

silence stands triumphant

i don't know how you do it

i just feel the wonder of its magic

and the joy of being grateful

for the lilting la la la

of being with you

in love's enfolding space

Lighthouses

2010-10-04T08:53:00.000-07:00

We were two points at the opposite ends
of a distance, oblivious of the line
drawn by time between you and I.

Our meeting point made visible
another line, connecting three points
to a constellation of our glares.

And here we are kissing the lights out
of each other's eyes,

while the waves whisper
the ampersand between our names.

ACSdJ

Pink Bicycle

2010-09-26T15:07:00.001-07:00

"Home is where the heart is."

"There was one great poet, Guiraut de Borneilh, around the middle
of the twelfth century. There were many, many discussions of what
love was, but Guiraut de Borneilh's answer is the one that really
epitomized the sense of it all. He wrote, ' The eyes are the scouts
for the heart and the eyes go forth to find an image to recommend
to the heart. ' And when the image is found, if the heart is
a gentle heart - that's the key word - a heart that's capable
not simply of lust but love (and those are totally different things),
then love is born." - Joseph Campbell

Copenhagen, 1 August 2009

In between the sheets, after kisses, sweat, heat, and moans had been exchanged, William might have asked Linda whether he could stay for another day. And "No. Go home," might have been Linda's reply. That might have pinched his heart for he might have expected for that evening to be more of a door than a dead-end wall.

Meanwhile, in another hotel, after a steamy hand job, Stella slept soundly in the arms of a guy she kissed and danced with in a bar. She savored being tenderly nestled by this guy's arms; and somewhere in her sleep, she dreamt, like she had always dreamt, for something more long-lasting than this another suitcase in another hall.

The guy woke up early - he had an 8 a.m. flight to catch. After taking a shower and packing his things, he kissed Stella on her forehead. Stella awoke. "It's okay," he whispered, "you can sleep here until check out. I'm going back now to Finland."

Stella didn't go back to sleep. She had a bike to return to Baiskeli, one of the bike-rental stores in Copenhagen. She washed her face, left the room, and went back to the hostel she was staying at, which was near the Ny Ellebjerg train station. It didn't take her long to reach the hostel.

After taking a short nap, Stella had breakfast: bacon and egg, croissants, orange juice, English breakfast tea. During her cigarette break, she had a chat with her roommate who naughtily inquired where she slept last night. "In Finland!" she cheekily answered.

She took a shower, blow dried her hair, and wore a cream chiffon dress, black tights, and ballet flats, looking particularly romantic. Then she headed for the city centre on her little pink bicycle.

She didn't take the train as she used to do. She wanted to be more spontaneous so she can enjoy more the last hours she still had with her bike. She got lost several times, finding herself cycling through the same roads and streets over and over again. She decided to just follow the train's direction.

When she reached the city centre, she immediately looked for the street where Baiskeli was. She arrived way too early for the return-time of her bike. So she decided to kill time by cycling more around the city.

Stella stopped at the corner of Vesterbrogade and Vester Farimagsgade, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. On her right side was the sidewalk where one could find Ristorante Frascati. William was there with his travel bags, waiting for the go signal to cross the street. The light turned green. The pedestrians, cars, and bicycles started to move. Right before Stella was able to get to the other side, William saw her and called her name: "Stella?"

It was a voice Stella never heard before. Puzzled, Stella glanced back, trying to trace the source of the voice. Her eyes met William's. She lost her balance and almost ran over the pedestrians crossing the street.

Stella parked in the opposite corner, where Hotel Astoria was. She waited for William.

"William? This is crazy, how were you able to recognize me?" she greeted him.

William was a bit shy. Struggling for words, he smiled at Stella and said: "You look the same as your pictures on Facebook..."

"How are you? Were you able to meet Linda last night?" asked Stella.

"Yes," William answered coyly. "We went out last night. Can you tell her that she left her earrings at the hotel room and that I left them at the counter?

"Sure. You should also call her to inform her as I don't know where she is. Do you have her number?"

"I do have her number."

"So, where did you go last night? Did you have fun?" Stella asked perkily.

"Yeah, we went to Ny Havn. To a jazz bar there...," answered William.

"Where are you going now?" Stella looked at the travel bags of William. "Are you already leaving Copenhagen?"

"Yeah. I'm going to Paris. I have a plane to catch in three hours."

"I see..."

"Ahm, do you want to sit and have coffee somewhere?" William invited.

"Sure. But I don't drink coffee."

"Okay...Do you know any cafes here?"

"I'm not sure about this area. But we can look somewhere near the City Hall."

"Do you know the way?"

"I do."

Stella and William started to walk towards Hans Christian Andersen Boulevard.

"Why are you wearing tights?" William asked.

"Why not?" Stella answered.

"It's not winter." William said sarcastically.

"So what!" thought Stella.

They settled in a cafe in Vester Voldgade. Stella parked her bike in a nearby rack. They ordered Coke. While waiting for their order - which took ages to arrive, Stella's phone rang. It was a friend of hers, informing her of their plans for the night. William took a picture of Stella while she was talking on the phone.

"Sorry about that. It's Ricky. We're going to this dance concert. Linda will also be there," said Stella.

Their Coke arrived.

"Ah, Ricky! He was with us last night...We should have gone back to my hotel. There's a cafe in a nice garden there. " said William.

"No. This is fine...Do you mind if I smoke?" asked Stella. William gestured that he didn't. "So what are you going to do in Paris?"

"Work. I have to do this presentation. Maybe you should do it? You smile better than I do."

Stella laughed.

"Yeah, I can present the status of transgender rights in the world!"

"Actually, our company has this diversity policy on LGBT people."

"Ah, really? That's nice! Have you been around Copenhagen? Have you been to Freetown Christiania?"

William gave a suspicious smile upon hearing Freetown Christiania. "No, I haven't been around much. It's just a short visit. But I like Copenhagen. Although the Danish language can be a little hard to understand. "

"I know. It's hard to speak too. I was trying to learn some useful phrases but I failed. But I like it here."

"Have you been to Amsterdam?"

"No, I haven't. But I'd like to go there someday." Stella checked her watch. "Aren't you gonna be late for your flight?"

"Yeah, I think I'd better go now. Hey, do you want these coins? I can't use them anyway."

"Oh, thank you! I'll just get my bike." Stella struggled a bit as she released her bike from the rack.

"Can I help you?" asked William.

"I got it! Thanks," said Stella.

Stella and William began walking to Hans Christian Anderson Boulevard.

"Does Amsterdam have as much bicycles as Copenhagen?" asked Stella.

"I think Copenhagen have more bicycles. They also have wider bike lanes here," said William.

"Manila have no bike lanes like this. Actually, renting a bike was one of the first things I did when I arrived here."

"And you particularly selected a pink bike?"

"No, I didn't select it. It was given to me by the shop attendant. I like it!"

They reached the crosswalk to Vesterbrogade.

"Ok. I'll just leave you here, I still need to return this bike. The trains are just over there...," said Stella.

"It was nice meeting you Stella," said William.

"It was nice meeting you too William. Have a safe flight to Paris!"

"Thank you."

They hugged and cheek-kissed twice. William appealed, "Ahm, in Holland we do it three times".

Stella smiled, "Ok. Fine. Three times then."

They cheek-kissed again. But during the third exchange of their cheeks, as Stella moved her head to the other cheek of William, William kissed her on the lips! It was a quick, brief, subtle touching of lips. The punctuation that tenderly sealed their fateful meeting.

As they parted ways, little did they know that chance had already started to weave their entwined destiny: The beginning.

A eulogy for Stella

2010-09-26T14:26:00.000-07:00

I named you after a character from Great Expectations, one of my favorite books of all time. For four years, you've been such a good companion, comrade, and computer. Now, your lights have finally gave up. We used to catch stars together. But now your screen is just a night without stars.

Stella, I will miss your white, bright canvas on which I have written thousands of letters, several poems and speeches; through which I have read books, news, blogs, and emails from my friends and loved ones; and with it you gave a face to my friends in distant places.

Your screen was my window to glorious faraway lands that I might not be ableto visit at all in my lifetime, to the beauty of the Northern Lights, to the unfolding tragedies of the world, and to the triumph of the human spirit in difficult situations.

You saw me fall so greatly in love twice. Your keyboard trembled with my fingers as I typed the word "goodbye" to a love that was unrequited; and it felt the jubilee in my heart as I typed those passionate emails to my current beloved.

You accompanied me in all of my travels. You helped me graduate from university.You provided warmth to my solitude. You served as the repository of my photos, letters, sketches, dreams, and plans. I know that, for a lot of times, I had not been careful with you. Yet you never disappointed me and remained reliable most of the time.

Perhaps it is now foolish to believe what the ancestors of humanity once believed: That all things have spirit. Nonetheless, just like us and all the animated matters of this universe, you too is a fragile form that one day would perish into the abyss of oblivion, to be embraced once again by the eternal fountain of the unmanifested.

Thank you Stella for everything. You too need to sleep your final sleep. Goodbye, my dear laptop.

A walk by the River Thames

2010-09-22T07:06:00.000-07:00

Your eyes deep blue in the setting sun.
There were birds soaring above us.
Or were they waltzing to our whispers?

There were spots that invited us to stop
and kiss. I couldn't remember how often,
just how they softened the weary faces
of those who passed by us.

We crossed the river through the long tunnel
that ends in Greenwich. We tried to find the line
of the beginning of time, but we couldn't.
So, we settled to stand on the opposite sides
of our makeshift meridian, and greeted each other,
"Hello today! Hello tomorrow!"

Your arms enfolded my body. My ear pressed to your chest.
It was still winter, but I could hear the cicadas singing.

ACSdJ

Your love's elegance

2010-09-20T15:01:00.000-07:00

i want to hold your hand
with a lucid heart
and let the stones within me
lose their heaviness

i want to unfold
in your heart's imagination
untouched by pain's remembrance
and let my consciousness resonate
with your love's elegance

ACSdJ

3 March 2010

2010-09-18T15:23:00.000-07:00

my depth welcomes you, entirely,
your fullness going deeper
and deeper inside me
and all we can hear
is the erotic pulse
between the seconds
of presence and warmth

the awareness in our eyes
inspires a trembling in our guts
to rise to a silent yes,
then to whispers of Yes,
afterwards, to the YES
of Love's coming

our bodies cry,
possessed by tears
that bear no heaviness

our sighs end the waiting
between looking and finding

(London)

ACSdJ

This Space

2010-08-08T05:47:00.000-07:00

"In a dark time," Theodore Roethke wrote, "the eye begins to see." Every one has their dark hour, a temporary eclipse of the soul. Mine lasted until my early 20's. During that time, on my 21st birthday, I scribbled this monologue when I was in Cebu City, Philippines, doing the fieldwork of a research study, searching for light.

all my life, i was socialized
for my whole existence
to revolve around the dick
and all that i should do should satisfy the dick
all that they want me to become,
a forever gratification of those dicks

the dick doesn't talk, it spits
and whenever i talk, it spits
its cum-filled insults are all over me
pushing me back to where it only wants me to be

in the dark corners of his streets,
it pushes me down to my knees to suck and swallow
all that it has to offer me.
"do you spit or swallow?" It asked me.
as if i have a choice.

another block in my calendar,
an additional list to my collection of senseless orgasms.
at night, i ended up romancing each cigarette:
the only warmth i could able to feel

this must stop.
it didn't stop.
i started creating an ivory tower for myself,
alienating myself for my realizations
no longer fit each socialization,
condemned to wonder when would a person with a dick
and not a dick with a person attached to it
would come into existence

i don't like this space anymore.

i kept looking and hope that this space would emerge:
the space wherein i can play, talk, sing, cry, laugh, listen,
fuck, care, love, and just be with someone and not with somedick

where is that space wherein my existence is not being determined
by how many dickheads i have blown?
where is that space wherein each penetration is not invasion
but communication?
where is that space wherein if i am in that space and you're in that space
we're one?

i know you're there, somewhere,
i hope you're listening...
will you come with me and create this space?
i am feeling your presence
please don't be afraid to approach me
i know it's not easy creating this space
but i know we can

this space has no blueprint
has no architect
has no platform
just a genuine yearning
to belong

(Cebu City, Philippines 5/27/03)

Moon

2010-07-25T22:22:00.000-07:00

climb up
to the neck
of the sky

with your light
fondle
the skin
of the night

let the tips
of your crescent
trace
the spine
and the curves
of the clouds

whisper
your desires
into the ears
of the sea

then suck
senseless
the aroused tongue
of her waves

keep your phase
it is near!
keep the night
so utterly lost
in the ecstasy
of the coming
of the sun!

ACSdJ

Sun

2010-07-17T14:46:00.001-07:00

slowly, go down
below the navel
of the horizon

your descending heat
turns the sky
red, moist, ready

for a release
of stars passionately
quivering a moan

when you've reached
the high point
of no return

stop and let
the last shafts
of your rays

lick the summit
of a cloud
then, so slowly

let them slide
on the thighs
of the night

then delight yourself
between the booted
shins of eve

ACSdJ

When it takes over

2010-07-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

a ripening swells
in your body
a rush of blush
runs through your veins

your mind loses its grip
to the wild flow
of vibrations
titillating
every inch of your skin

all that is dead
in you
comes to life
electrified
by an endless current
of frantic joy

every breath you take
gives birth to a butterfly
whose wing-beats will
your compass
to meaning's direction

and you just burn

burning intensely
madly as stars!

ACSdJ

Missing You

2010-07-14T04:59:00.000-07:00

Tonight syllables pour words
into a wine glass
Phrase by phrase, they form
a red prose

Your name punctuates
every sentence
And paragraphs flow
with sighs of hope
that somehow you can feel
how my fingers caress
the cheeks of this glass

ACSdJ

Submission

2010-07-07T07:51:00.000-07:00

you are held captive
tied so exquisitely tight,
begging to entrust
all that is strong and fragile
in every fiber of your being
to your Beloved
kneel, My dear,
on the edge of your bliss
and pray to let this moment
surrender to your beyond
I will be there, standing high-heeled before you,
reveling in the intensity of your submission,
while you are in the safe, sane, and sacred circumference
of My power
I will be there to possess and cherish
the ecstasy
of seeing your rapture comes
as you quiver, gush, and moan
into your wild release

ACSdJ

amor Veneris

2010-05-17T04:42:00.000-07:00

You are the movement of time
that moves me to flow, beautiful and whole;
you are the currents that swell my soul to an oceanic expanse;
you pull the twin tides of love's overwhelming joy and exquisite pain.

To you, I will entrust all that is fragile and strong in me;
For you, I will live the glory of the divine that nests inside us;
With you, I will lambently unfold like a tender star,
grow those wings of light,
and fly into the expanse of our shared eternity!

ACSdJ

How I long

2010-04-09T09:39:00.001-07:00

How I long
to fill the silent spaces between your fingers
with the eloquent speech of my hand;

to nestle my body in your arms
and let my warmth trace the line
that connects your heart to your navel;

to watch the tenderness of your eyelids
as you dream the imagination of the universe;

and as you wake up,
I long to be the first ray of light
incarnated in the blue of your eyes.

ACSdJ

A place not made of No

2010-04-09T07:14:00.000-07:00

There is a place in this world not made of No:
A country called Yes, whose time zone is called Now,
and every of its city is called Here.
When you arrive at its border,
there'll be no questions asked of you;
but you'll be given one instruction
to follow: Your heart.

The roads there are not lengths of indifferent concrete
but arms extending to embrace you whole.
Every sign leads to hope
and patience is the speed limit.
The map you will need is not made of paper
but of a whisper: Your bliss.

ACSdJ

Us

2010-03-09T11:12:00.000-08:00

it could be a mere syllable of a word
that ends a sentence
or a parenthesis, a distraction,
the lucid interval of our madenning loneliness
but who knows, it can just be a phrase,
a subject longing for a verb
perhaps it's a paragraph
already complete: it's just what it is
but sometimes things like this
progress to form an essay,
other times it walks a mile
to finish an entire chapter

or it could be the story
whose plot rests upon
you and i finding each other
to write us

ACSdJ

Strands of One London Winter

2010-02-03T05:20:00.000-08:00

strands of your warm breath
entwine my neck
charming my body to spread
like an ecstatic sea
from here to a sacred elsewhere

i feel weightless
as your weight
contemplates upon my body

your scent
ignites my scent
and every of our nerve burns
like incense to the gods

the Heavens moan till dawn
as a wave of dizziness
sublimates our bodies
to a morning of bliss

ACSdJ

The most courageous question I have ever asked

2010-02-03T02:46:00.000-08:00

What the wise doubt, the fool believes--
Who is it, then, that love deceives?
- Louise Bogan, Juan's Song

Let the people who never find true love
keep saying that there's no such thing.

Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
- Wislawa Syzmborska, True Love

Like generation-old quilts,
every weave is predestined;
the acridly clean stench of bleach
which further blares the white glare
of the polished floor;
dull excuses for colors as uniforms;
bright smiles hiding the bubbling tension we all hide;
quiet dinners filled with news from my homeland;
simple pleasures: deep-pan pizzas, occasional 7-dollar cocktail,
the forced laughter to cover the homesickness,
a herd-mentality to protect us from the sheer loneliness
of being thousands of miles away from home;
long, restless hours to make ends meet;
short, headache-inducing sleep
ending in a sluggish morning ritual of same-shit-different-day;
despite these, it's true:
all the things that I've always dismissed
as mere imaginings of desperate romantics:
the upset stomach,
the cold sweat of not knowing what to say,
the uneasiness and constant fear of making a mistake --
I can’t even speak right in front of you.

But before I say anything more,
I want to be clear that
I’m not here to impress you,
to make you fall for me and then leave.
I don’t want the pretentious dinner reservation
in an all-too-obvious restaurant I couldn’t afford,
the over-priced food that would barely pass for a meal,
the romantic music that would only heighten the cheesiness of it all.
I don't want the manufactured romance.
I just want to be real. Now. And this is what's real:

you make me want to be a better man,
you took all the shattered pieces of a boy
and gently shaped them to a semblance of an adult;

you made me laugh with the world and not at it;

you never asked anything of me,
but made it real easy for me to want to give you
everything;

you didn’t give me direction,
but made the crossroads clearer,
the choices so distinct from each other
that I immediately knew which path to take;

you took the naiveté out of my confidence
and showed me what true pride is:
rooted not in empty peer approval
but in what I do and in who I am;

whatever my faults are, you did not ask me to change them, instead,
you make up for them
if only to show me how beautiful things could turn out
if I only worked harder on my shortcomings;

you didn’t shame me with what you've achieved,
but inspired me with your dreams and how you turn them into reality;

I've learned how to be a man from you:
that it’s not about the size of my wheels or the tricks on my car
but the ability of the man who drives it to stick to what he says;

All this, all these lessons that everyone who cares about me
has been trying to tell me my whole life,
you showed me.

And so I ask you this question,
amidst the bubbly darkness of this world,
stripped of all the lies,
in the barest possible place,
the most courageous question I have ever asked,
“Will you marry me?”

----
Arvin shared me an essay he wrote, which was inpired by the love story of our former classmate. Arvin and I went to the same exclusive Catholic school for boys. He was one of my intellectual sparring partners. Known to be our batch's poet, he inspired me to read and write poetry. He was one of my schoolmates who truly believed in me, and who accepted me for what I am. He was the one responsible why I became a part of our school's debate varsity team. When we were in third year high school, he gave up his place in the debate team because I wasn't part of it. Consequently, I was chosen as his replacement. He never regretted his decision. He had so much confidence in me that when I told him that I wanted to quit, he encouraged me not to.

He told me that he thought I'd like this piece because of our last conversation.
And he was right.

Inspired by it, I borrowed the words from his essay and turned them into verse.

"Have fun healing your heart," he said.

Come here

2010-01-21T01:00:00.000-08:00

Come here, now, beckons the heart...

Come here, now, free your senses from your mind.
Let eyes be just eyes,let listening reclaim its ears.
Drop your bags, empty your pockets.
You need no maps, memories, nor plans, just the courage
to surrender to The Compass of what may come.

Come here, now, transcend from the crowd's doing.
Be the gift that dares to unwrap itself,
a question that stops seeking answers outside itself.
Then fear not the space between what is and what will be:
The distance between here and the elsewhere we're chasing
is the tail of the faceless Paradise in the everywhere we're living.

The three syllables of silence

2009-11-10T05:45:00.000-08:00

for Nadine & Kevin Bradley

It must have been in Berkeley’s Square
where they found Her --- standing silver
    svelte among the crowd of din and black,

Glistening to a nightingale’s singing
the thorns, weathered petals, and the thick
    distance of I, of you,

Meeting, melding in the junction of Love:
She comes, first as a question, then,
the three syllables of silence;
    afterwards, the ellipses of yes.

Ode to distance

2009-09-18T03:43:00.000-07:00

We are
for you're not
a dividing void
But bridge
between breath,
Notes, words, particles,
moments,
Lying suspended
above ravines,
Or arched over
troubling waters.
Horizontal beam
from here to here;
An inclined steep
from summit
to ground.
You can be short
or a tiring span,
A length of cross
whose lengthening
never cease.
You can be social,
personal,
Emotional,
intellectual,
Sexual,
spiritual,
Spatial,
temporal;
No matter which,
we take you
for separation,
Then blame you for wars
and frustrations.
How lovers pray
that you're not here,
Not knowing you are,
hence they persist.
How we dare to end you
with proximity's law,
Only to find closeness
is just another bridge.
But what would be
without you?
Where would chaos get
the momentum of order?
How would strings shiver
into stars?
Would planets still spin,
just as elegant?
Where would light get
the velocity of its beam?
How would cells divide
into a brain?
Would scent still scent
in the absence of your nose?
But you wilfully collapse
in Observation:
Movements merging,
melding, fluxing
threads,
ribbons,
orbits,
axis,
flavors,
of flow.

The unselfish sound of rain

2009-09-12T14:02:00.000-07:00

before the letting go
we embraced and kissed the miles away
and listened
to the unselfish sound of rain
suddenly, "we make love" was just another lie
for our parting has shown, t'was the other way
love makes us

Hitler in my heart

2009-09-11T07:19:00.000-07:00

1.
There’s a Hitler in my heart
he survived his suicide pills
But my mind is too smart
to admit his presence fills

My heart often feels his hunger
I don’t feed him, to make him suffer
I deny he’s there, to keep him at bay
but it made him nearer, day by day

There’s a Hitler in my heart
playing Moses before its Red Sea
Splitting the waters apart
to give surface to the army of me

2.
He ordered one of his generals to destroy the Paris in my heart.
“The enemy cannot enter the city,” he said, “except when it’s in ruins.
And the enemy's anyone not you.”

Now the general had trouble finding the enemy Hitler talked about.
“Not me?” he asked Hitler, “Who is not me? Everyone I encounter is a walking me,
even those who deny and appear they are not me
breathe, beat, and bleed with so much me -”

“- that’s why Paris must burn,” Hitler answered.

The edge of madness woke the general to his senses.
And the senses accept and know nothing else but surrender.
“We cannot live nor die in a heart destroyed by the cunning ploy of pride,” the senses whispered.

“Is Paris burning yet?!” Hitler raged.
The general looked through Hitler’s eyes and sighed: “No.
But I am.”

3.
There’s a Hitler in my heart
and he sits praying
For the mind to halt
the general’s burning

Powerless, confused, Hitler watches
how the glowing silence stings
the mind’s clever wings

There’s a Hitler in my heart
weeping and retiring
for he can never burn its beating

The faucet of timeless leaks

2009-09-07T15:06:00.001-07:00

The faucet of timeless leaks;
the oceanic landscape of a living room,
lapping gently on a couch;
everyday mnemonics clipped on the fridge:
lists, pictures, reminders, inspiring words
of unforgettable encounters;
the silence of the mirror, unaffected even by
the reflection of terror;
books whose pages have felt the pulse of your laughter,
kept you warm, and turned your eyes into wings and hearts,
they beat even if you stopped reading;
windows who never refuse entry to light, crescents, fireworks,
and the motion of days;
stairs whose flights lead you to the basement
and roof of your life, even if home can make you feel lost;
and the bed who keeps your calm even if your dreams
sail through a storm; all this unveiled
in a single twist of an awakened doorknob.

But you forgot your key inside;
and you, who remain forgetful, take comfort
in the frustration of looking for it outside.

Saffron

2009-08-28T09:14:00.001-07:00

You are my sunset today
and I'm a cloud ablush
in our saffron sky

The funeral of a snowflake

2009-08-18T11:39:00.000-07:00

I am a snowflake falling,
combed into your hair
by consequence and chance
My strength, you felt as chill
in your sheltered bones
My fragility is the melting
you kept on summoning

In a moment, I'll be gone
An avalanche of the spring
of your numb,
a blossoming of the flowers
for my funeral

After the chaos

2009-08-15T17:57:00.000-07:00

After
the chaos
of chance
comes
the singular
instance
of Love

and you,
the formless, shape,
stand a height,
enter depth,
and live to die
with breadth

The first time our hearts learned to walk

2009-08-15T08:01:00.000-07:00

do you remember the first time our hearts learned to walk?
how we stumbled, wobbled, and fell? it hurt so bad.
and you never felt so alive!

do you remember how excited we were
when our hearts finally had a convenient balance?
we ran, and ran, and ran
until our desires outpaced the beat of our hearts.
and you never felt so dead!

do you remember the struggles that crippled
the feet of our smiles:
the phone rings we never heard,
the lights we eagerly switched off,
the silences we dishonored,
the lies we made,
the deceptions we endured,
the letters we never wrote,
the masks we wore,
the possessiveness that snapped our sanity,
and those one night stands that can never understand the star
this star that throbs the glimmer of joy that shimmered
when our hearts learned to walk?

we are so exhausted, aren't we?
we just want to go home, and find
to rediscover, and remain true,
and forever be true
to the first time our hearts learned to walk...

Freetown Christiania

2009-08-15T06:03:00.000-07:00

We sat by the lake in Christiania
watching the waters rippled silver
somewhere, bells were twinkling,
sunbeams breezing to our face
The ducks were gracefully floating
A strip of plastic leaped
then nestled itself in the blades of grass
The guy beside me skipped a stone
A drop of the lake jumped
and dived back, soundless, to its source

The heavens rolled themselves
into sticks
Our hearts puffed the warmth
of their joy
A fragrant tenderness
billowed up into the sky
And the stones within us
glowed like fireflies

Blow

2009-08-15T06:01:00.000-07:00

a certain moaning
luminates your spine
with a glow
of a red cloud
at sundown

rising like steam
your body lifts
to the crest
of a mountain
deep in trance

from your toes
a cantering spiral
tickles your neck
your jaw trembles
your cheeks ripe
warmth conquered you

your eyes shut
to everything but
your ecstasy
my tongue strokes
your volcanic reveries

then you erupt
those undulating rhymes
your navel articulates
your every ahs
into spastic verses
and i swallow
everything that flows

The terror called love

2009-08-15T06:00:00.001-07:00

Love is a terrifying Thing
When it whispers the chill of its warmth
we dissolve into strands of light
And we understand: the nights of our lives
are just moments of a more intimate sunrise

If what we are is but a dream, love is our dreamer
When it awakes, we are its reality
And we realize a Thing frightening
to our numb existence:
Our hearts never break
but open up
whenever there's goodbye

Eve

2009-08-15T05:59:00.001-07:00

Adam,
I'm not offering you any fruit
just my hand
I want to dance with you
for I have seen:
The way back to your heart
is the way back to my heart

Courage

2009-08-15T05:57:00.000-07:00

Courage lets itself felt in different ways

It awakens when we stand up with an undaunted "Let us be!",
even while being strangled by the leash of conventions and beliefs

It breathes with a graceful flow,
even if there are restrictions in our streams

It continues to dance gracefully,
even in places where our song is forbidden to be sang

It is the patient movement of the hands of a clock,
even if they strike a dark hour

It is the smile that keeps on shining,
even if circumstance invites nothing but the darkness of a frown

It is the laughter that never fails to heal,
even if the wound is in deep misery

Ivan

2009-08-15T05:56:00.000-07:00

doubt, where were you
to stop a violent dream
from stealing his smile

uncertainty, what made you
skip this instance
and let certainty rule
this game of chance

forgive me, my tears
refused to flow outwards
for this is not the death
my tears can heal,
for this is not the death,
not the death
anybody deserves to die

...and the flowers sighed
where was compassion
when it was needed most?
asleep in the darkness
of someone's heartless night?

yet we know, there you are
and will be, our dear friend,
living eternally afloat, awakened
a star throbbing
in the pure emptiness of light

Still life

2009-08-15T05:51:00.001-07:00

I will paint my heart in a beating canvas
It will be plain and simple, as if painted by a child,
But will be life-size, just right for your wall

Stars are blushing

2009-08-15T05:50:00.001-07:00

stroke my heart
with your tongue
let language grow

as fresh blossoms
from fertile soils
of celestial spasms

let taste buds
of our eyes
taste and relish

the aromatic aura
the pink flushes
of virginal glow

flourish the joy
cherish the grace
let silence burst

from our chests
entangled solar flames
intertwined we blaze

seize the darkness
with light's zest
stars are blushing

the ocean's dancing
the earth's shaking
our souls radiate

light the candles
let them weep
our luminous orgasm

Reykjavik

2009-08-15T05:48:00.000-07:00

in your streets,
in those coy smiles,
as your tranquil skies
embraced my eyes,
i heard Steinarr whisper
"in the melting of the snow
there's sunshine and warmth"

no matter how you're bruised
your fresh breath
shall rise again
like the tower of light
extending from your land
undressing the wilderness
of the night

you burnt my heart
and there's nothing i can do
but beat the flame, o dear,
you are so beautiful
i had to weep my goodbye -
bless for the moment

How to copulate with creativity

2009-08-15T05:46:00.001-07:00

first, make sure
you're still breathing,
beating,
most importantly,
bleeding

look for the vital signs:
letting go of The Wall
acceptance of vulnerabilities
regaining permeability

let levity be your gravity
so that the brilliant,
beautiful, and the beloved
can fall with you

it can be a flower
a river, a moment
a boy of the reel
a girl with a poem
a day without clouds
anything, anybody
everything in an instant
or everybody all at once
- it doesn't matter

undress
every of your garb
precious or not
has to go
be nothing but the flesh
unarmed, uninhabited, uninhibited

it always starts with a kiss
until everything gets warm
electrifying
you surrender into the wetness
you get hard
and soft and juicy
until you're ready to blow
and be blown
away
to EXPLODE!

the world shakes, breaks,
ready for the great release:
a volcanic eruption spins your sanity

after the rapt,
the world redeems itself
a fuzzy dreamy feeling arises
replenished

now
give it some time
and you'll get sick
a vomit heralds it:
the seed has been implanted

it will grow by itself
you become heavier
you swell
the guts strengthens

in time
you'll feel its little kicks
expect lots of hard ones
the ones that make you mellow

there'll be times of discouragements
abortion is seductive
for the real world
is not always ready for The Brave
and The Insignificant
yet for the aflame
patience triumphs over cowardice

then you become fluid: it's time!
you flow with intense goshes
everything shines irrelevantly
mesmerizing
you will get tempted
to tie it with strings
afraid to lose, afraid to let go
set it free, it doesn't need our cage
surely it will hurt
for the possessive ones -
we all are sometimes

then it is here, there, born
you hear it cry, see it fly, feel it smile
joy chills the spine
frogs turn into princes
pumpkins into carriages
dusts into stars
ashes into birds
revelations into incarnation
the miracle sparks into Life!

The gathering

2009-08-15T05:45:00.001-07:00

We are palms of hands meeting in prayer
Thumbs aligning as bodies turn to lotuses
Lips lost in each other's gaze
We are what napes set free in every bow
Between us is a solemn togetherness,
The blindness of love:
A sense more profound than sight
For love is the gathering of the senses
Love feels, tastes, scents, sees,
Love listens, luminously

Dysphoria and euphoria

2009-08-15T05:43:00.001-07:00

i woke up to a chill twining my bones
the walls of my room were shaking
i laid as stain of pain, blemishing
the sheets with my damp eyes
i felt tired but
enthusiastic to inhale burning charcoal
until nights ascend
as fragile wisps of dread

i can no longer deny:
the clock's face has no smile, just hands
juggling dysphoria and euphoria -
fraternal twins pushing and pulling
the swing hanging stationary
in this lucid interval

how i long to laugh
a laughter that is well

The astronomer

2009-08-15T05:42:00.001-07:00

lost among
impersonal city lights
neon lights blinding life

the gaze of the astronomer drowns

for what else remains in the sky:
hearts clenched
by a laminating glance,
hands raised as fists
and not as salutation to the sun

Lost

2009-08-15T05:41:00.001-07:00

The sun was painfully shy today
Every thing assumed a darker hue

An ant was struggling to sniff
A pheremone trail

A drop of rain drowned it
Before it was able to do

It is

2009-08-15T05:39:00.000-07:00

it is this afternoon
swaying the city to awaken
into a vibrant day

it is this night constellating
a full moon, an array of stars,
occasional clouds, fields of grass tickled by wind,
a solitary glass of wine: red, deep, tenderness

it is the warm yes of the body
as every cell respires
the thick fragrance of this moment:
the breeze moaning like leather rustling
the rain applauding at sunflowers bowing
the sea sparkling like eyes in tears of bliss

when the murky puddles of the mind has dried
it's the moist clarity of understanding

when there's loneliness
it's the courage to face happiness alone

when everything else is forgotten, foregone, and forgiven
it remains

when everything fails
it conquers defeat

when appearances wound
it mends

when time turns rigid
it bends

when one gets stuck
it whispers: flow

when the heart dares to clap again
it's the dove that returns

when it returns
it is this dance: the grace fluttering within

Breathing so wild

2009-08-15T05:34:00.001-07:00

our eyes follow
the gusty wind
only to find
it is us
breathing so wild
like the storm
whose eye remains
centered and calm
while running wild

our breath-threads
spin and weave
this elegant space
where skies gape
an ecstatic breadth

our eyes inhale
choir of stars
humming life and love
we lay supine
on vast fields
of sonic grass

our gaze entwines
entranced we listen
only to find
this stellar eloquence
breathing so wild
is just us

Sigh

2009-08-15T05:32:00.000-07:00

one can get tired
of airplanes arriving
from a distance
of boats sinking
into the horizon
of writing verses
which cannot feel
the pain, the loneliness,
the joy,
and the rain that comes
after the clouds surrendered
to the gravity of emotions

i'm tired, my sighs,
be the poet this time
weave moonlight and tears
into a bandage for my heart -
it's not broken (my heart is not made of bones)
it's wounded
by a painful reminder that one is alive:

love, what a stubborn toothache!
even your absence is a pain
even the jaded gets jilted
by the ache of your relentless quake

Pop!

2009-08-15T05:29:00.000-07:00

the love descending
into the folds of my heart
is too insane to be versed
in logical rhymes
too fresh to be staled
by spoiling times
too rebellious to yield
to rules and czars
even gods can't stop
its galvanic fizz
even joy can't contain
its frantic geez
soon, i'll pop its sparkle
and cry champagne

Hello, boomerang

2009-08-15T05:28:00.001-07:00

"...a Japanese astronaut has thrown
a boomerang in space
and confirmed it flies back
much like on Earth"
(The Courier-Mail)

be my guide boomerang
throw me into the lair

where the wild still lives
and darkness does not scare

let me glide with you
back to where you're from

oh boomerang, i'm not lost
just don't know where to go

now, i've been hit and found
and it is painful, sometimes

Flushing by Chan

2009-08-15T05:27:00.001-07:00

A dance of dust formed
golden azure

A waterfall gushed
the universe:

Celestial tears sweetened
the creation,

a wave advancing

Magnificence

2009-08-15T05:24:00.000-07:00

a spot in the universe
has infinity for a space
and eternity for a time

every one lives
and dies forever:
beginning again
just to end again
coming and going
currents in the run
of a stream
in a god's dream

yet we're nothing but
a tick of the hands of time,
a wink in the eyes of space

and there lies our frustration
to be something else
other than this magnificence

Dignity

2009-08-15T05:23:00.001-07:00

dignity is my name
not yours on my tomb

it is my life
not yours in my eulogy

dignity is your bigotry
not my body in my casket

it is your prejudice
not my heart in my grave

if you can't let me live
a dignified life

then let me die
a dignified death

Staled

2009-08-15T05:22:00.001-07:00

as his tongue fondled
the hood of her clit
he noticed something different:
she smelled not of talc
but of dark red wine

his tongue retired

his eyelashes
fluttered
down

drifting out of her skin
were thick wisps of melancholia

they haunted his hard on

Steam

2009-08-15T05:20:00.000-07:00

your skin my tongue
tasting
what lies beneath form

your back my fingers
striding
along the beads of sweat

your chest my eyes
tracing
the footsteps of steam

your hands my legs
folding
their way into submission

my skin your scent
wafting
into my core

Chalk-drawn suns

2009-08-15T05:19:00.001-07:00

The afternoon sky was ready to rain
And Kit knew what to do: She bought
A piece of chalk from a nearby store
And drew several faces of the sun on the road
Singing "Rain, Rain go away little Kit wants to play"

Her incantation had always worked
But this time the clouds were too heavy
To forego the opportunity
Of unburdening their bellies

Soon after
The chalk-drawn suns
Were awash with flood

These times when outside runs

2009-08-15T05:12:00.001-07:00

These times when
outside runs, raging
like flapping tongues of flame, darting
as strands of penetrating chill, rising
as waves of despair, anger, and fear,

vulnerable forms tremble like leaves
sickled from their twigs by autumn's whisper
Yet this turmoil, crunch and collapse
are angels in wolves' clothing,
messengers of the sharp, bright light, shining

in the darkest hour of sleep, awakening
the courage to accept that sorrow and joy,
victory and defeat, are but foams, spuming
on the surface of existence, forming
as impermanence shakes appearance

Fellow creatures of the Bang,
what's inside you and I never forgets,
eternity understands: For the moment, we are sounds
chaotically adrift; but in the Great Nothingness,
we're formation flight of words, flying
O beautiful verses the universe sings!

To fly a kite

2009-08-15T05:12:00.000-07:00

i never learned how to fly a kite -
it's the strings
i'm too clumsy to be able to control them
and too stubborn with my trust:
kites fly even without strings at all

of course, there were lots of voices
insisting on how things should be
some loud, other furtively subtle
kites don't fly without strings, they say,
without them, there'll be no kites at all

the voices are seductive, of course,
kites flying steadily, settled,
controlled by those strings,
are alluring spectacles

as they are repeated
over and over again,
one gets conditioned
to fly a kite in their way
but each of my attempt
to follow their way
my kite flies and decay

so, i'll keep my trust
kites fly even without strings at all

go on with your wishful thinking!
the voices say,
no strings, no kites,
go on, let your kite fly without strings
and you'll only break its wings

then let it break!
let this kite fly without wings
let it be guided not by strings
but by a trust so immense
it rends the heart
i'll let go and keep on letting go
until this heart shatters into pieces
until the heart that breaks
sets the heart that beats free
free to burn
without smoke
free to fly
without strings
and just ablaze
with the actual glory
of flying a kite!

O

2009-08-15T04:22:00.001-07:00

softly
my body flows

my arms
hugged by gloves

our souls
are doves, cooing

from your hands
a rope runs
around my neck
into my arms
across my legs
my spirit
tied exquisitely tight
in layers and knots
of your bliss

steadily
candle burns

a fragrant solstice
ascending

our eyes
are rain, dripping

The beat

2009-08-15T04:20:00.001-07:00

to forget
is to look afresh
without yesterday's images,
without yesteryear's scars

this is not easy
forgetting is blasphemy to the mind

but the heart is a rebel
for the heart forgets
remembrance is not its language
for every beat is new

as the heart beats
it forgets
as it forgets
it frees

then love is there

The muse

2009-08-15T04:18:00.000-07:00

Shafts of light frolic with
the frou frou of the lady's skirt

She walks
with a carefree gait

while we whiff
what she scents behind

The pen gets wet
The afternoon simmers...

The fragility of grass

2009-08-15T04:17:00.001-07:00

growing inside
swaying your body
freshness cuts, rants

the road has cracks
but goes on denying
the fragility of grass

finally, here
in fields and fields upon fields
running...running

Unwrap

2009-08-15T04:14:00.000-07:00

when time gets tired of distance
we'll sleep in each others arms

whispering each others songs
until dreams turn into rhapsodies

we'll trip the light fantastic
to lift the world from its knees

we'll spin thread of smiles
to weave pulsating hearts

so that everyone can unwrap
the gifts they hoard inside

Paper boats

2009-08-15T04:12:00.000-07:00

my memory pours
into a rill

i'll fold paper boats
and set them sailing
across the stream
to sink to unfold
deeper
into what is real

i'll keep on folding
until nothing remains
of this dream

I'll sit down and just shut up

2009-08-15T04:09:00.000-07:00

I'll sit down and just shut up
The mouth only opens
When your tongue slides
Its way into it
With warm moist breath
Two tongues move
A delicate movement
Treading a path
Where words have never been

I'll sit down and just shut up
Feeling your presence
With tongues tied
Not by string of words
But by leatherbound hands
Where words have never been written

19 August 1999

2009-08-15T04:08:00.001-07:00

you and i cease to be
nothing moves, all is motion
time sparkles away

and there's nothing else to say
but yes

and there's nothing left to do
but kiss

and there's nothing we can hear
but this

The fly

2009-08-15T04:07:00.001-07:00

the
insignificance
of the fly
reflects
the
magnificence
of the sky

arrogance
runs dry

Naive question

2009-08-14T19:12:00.001-07:00

if we allow our fictional characters
to live in a magical and enchanting way
why can't we allow ourselves to do the same?

Birds

2009-08-14T19:11:00.001-07:00

in cages
in zoos
in menus

no wonder
they give us flu

are the birds
in cages
in zoos
or in menus
the ones that inspired us
to invent the plane?

ahh...tell me
what can beat
seeing a bird fly
away from you
and into the sky?

Smitten

2009-08-14T19:07:00.000-07:00

The smell
of rain,
the afternoon
breeze,
the grace
of your hands
the smile in your eyes

Separation
subsides,
the poet
dies

Cleared space,
nothing remains

There you are
standing next to light
spreading your wings
as I flutter mine

Unnamable,
untamable,
smokeless,
the heart
burns

Hey velvet

2009-08-14T19:05:00.000-07:00

catch those falling stars
swallow them till they dissolve
if you find the courage to do that
care to share the starlight
shining through your fingertips
touch those who are afraid
of their night

Your hand

2009-08-14T19:04:00.000-07:00

a handbag
tea in a paper cup
my other hand
a book
my pocket
pure air

...when would
it be your hand?

Eyes

2009-08-14T18:12:00.000-07:00

who said that
eyes are for seeing?

look how your wings spread
as you open your e y e s

wake up!
and you'll realize
that sight is flight