A raindrop-
Ripples in a lake,
Drowned by the downpour
01: INTREUX
the spring that lightens steps upon the soil;
the sun that brightens faces wrought in toil;
the unawareness of the mortal coil,
will soon give way to summer’s scathing eye;
will feel the fury of the vengeful sky;
will parch the earth and turn the rivers dry,
till autumn brings its blissful tranquil touch;
till cherry blossoms fall in their deluge;
till sunrays slip away before your clutch,
when finally, winter waits upon the world;
when nature, weary, from her toils untold;
when wasted, life retreats beneath the cold.
so goes the age-old story of the earth;
the treasured tale of death, and then rebirth.
Structuralism, or maybe.
Crystalline pink,
the fire chills me to the bone.
I start to mumble,
talking to my imaginary friend.
He wants nothing more,
but,
to kill me.
'If language is a construct of the mind,
are emotions, then, a construct of the heart?
What about the soul?
How do souls touch each other,
with tangible, harsh fingers?
Is that what bodies are for?
When we tingle, touch,
caress,
stroke, grind, hurt,
smash,
is it Us, or is it our souls?'
My friend replies vaguely,
nodding, shrugging, or a combination of both.
He's got no body,
you see.
It's hard for souls to communicate,
without being able to hurt,
without being able to touch,
they mumble something,
hear everything,
but,
are nothing.
-Terence.
Labels: poetry
I have seen where it grows, the moon, whirling across its celestial ballroom. A forgiving circle, the world's coin. Sometimes I see your face, pockmarked and overflowing with youth. You never tell me what's written on the other side of your face; I ask why and you say the answer's written in the clouds, but the pendulum sweeps them away before I read them. IT HITS ME
You can only see what you want to. I say a song, you say a badge; I say a boy, you say a king; I say a smile, you say a gun, then you shoot the world into a million pieces, knowing full well that I'd cut myself picking them up. I apologize for the red on the wrapping paper, after all we wouldn't know it was brittle otherwise, now would we?
No matter how well we comb our hair, what they see is always a reflection of what you think you are. Is that what you're worth? Searching for destiny in the news, a tiny column at the corner. Constellations are a child's sketch, Barney-esque imagination, the bastard child of fools too busy to be concerned with what really matters. In the end, they're just stars, just like any other celestial object. Like the moon. It hits me again: you have no other side. In my eyes, you're just a paper moon.
Labels: prose
Written in 04, for a school assignment.
-----------
Hey there Mr. Bartender, couldn't help but notice your pretty fingers grasping that cocktail mix. I like the way you move, man, that old velvet vest sparking dust and cobweb-like filigree string in the neon red lights arcing through brightly glowing cigarette smoke like a London fog. Watch your stoic, silent face smile at the ladies at the greased bar, reflected off the tainted varnish worn thin from years of mug-sliding, swipe-wiping and coin-scratching. Whip and toss the decanter behind your back and twirl like a ballerina, then serve with a dash of loneliness and uncertain tastebuds. Garnish with a re-used pink paper umbrella from the broken trashbins outside the lights sounds smells and dance-floor sex. You're so used to this, and so unsure of everything and anything else. Were you like them once, rubbing up to strangers on strobe-lit dance floors to get your fill of physical contact in the midst of cheese-techno trance mixes from the half-drugged DJs on the turntables. The same Van Dyk, Tiesto, Kosheen tracks mixed to hell and back.
Did you go to hell and back and decide that here was worse. In the humid stale heat of 3.00 AMs repeated here daily take off that vest and run fingers through hair that'll smell permanently of cigarette smoke, rum and kahlua, and Absolut Loss.* Rub the sweat from your eyes and smile at the lonely lady across the bar with her overly made-up face, and tell her everything will be ok.
I know you hear stories from them, and you know everyone's stories, whether you like it or not, because you're a bartender, and that's your job. Give them their poison when taking away the bottom of the glass bottle will lose them in disreality, and let's see how far you've come. Sneak that shot of vodka before you leave and walk in rain-lit alleys that smell of dead trash and the renmants of technicolour noise. And feel comforted by it, when you fall into beds of disused linen sheets and pray for this to be over. But I know I'll always see you there at the bar with a smile ready for the next dude that's just broken up with his girlfriend, or the next chick that's just broken up with her boyfriend, but never with a smile for yourself. A matter of mere expediency.
You've come a long way, baby. You've come a long way.
Cheers!
Bern.
Labels: prose
I think this may be the last haiku you'll see from me in awhile. I'm going to go read up and study some technique (as well as my CTs. heh.) ... so. Tell me what you think. (this was submitted for the Expressions publication btw. You may see it on paper in the near future!)
passers-by
heads bowed down by the weight of
raindrops
- adam
Labels: poetry
Something I wrote when strived to, well, see if I could make anyone cry with one of those soppy love stories you get in emails and see on blogs. Inspired by a tragic love life. I also warn you, it's two and a half pages of size 12 Times New Roman. Be prepared to read.
***
Every day of his life he could remember, Peter had known he loved her. He loved her long black hair, the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled, her elegance when she walked, the eloquence when she talked… She was perfect. He would dream of her at night, too, holding his pillow and longing for it to be her. Oh how he wished… But Peter had a problem. Sarah, the love of his life, was not his to love. Whenever he met her, she was smiled and waved. It didn’t mean anything though, for Sarah had a boyfriend, whom she loved with all her heart.
As children, the two would spend their weekends together; building sandcastles at the beach, sliding down slides and climbing trees, running around in the sun for no reason as kids do. She had saved his life once, too. She had taken swimming courses since she was five years old, and when Peter had slipped off a log he was balancing on and fell into the river, she jumped in and rescued him. Their parents had come running (or so he had heard) when she screamed to them, finding him unconscious, and he woke up in hospital a few hours later. He had become very close to her after that, but by the time he recognized what his feelings were, it was too late.
Peter would walk to school every day. He would always arrive just in time to see Sarah and her boyfriend sharing a kiss before leaving for their classes in the morning. If he was early, he would see them walking to school ahead of him, his arm around her shoulder as she leaned into him dreamily. Whenever Sarah wasn’t with her boyfriend, he was all she would talk about. She would tell Peter about what they were going to do on Saturday, and how he was going to buy her that top she had wanted for ever, or how they were going to get married in Hawaii as soon as they got enough money. It tore his heart, but Peter simply smiled at her and answered,
“I’m happy for you.”
And he was. His heart wept, knowing she could never be his, but it made him smile, despite the tears, to think she was getting all the love she deserved, and more. Love was not selfish; he knew this better than anyone.
One night, Sarah and Robert were walking home together from a fun night at the movies, and decided to take a quick detour through an alleyway. Robert smiled and grabbed her suddenly, pinning her against the wall as she gasped, but he just kissed her deeply. She grinned and closed her eyes, murmuring his name, but just as she was beginning to enjoy it, Robert suddenly pulled off her. Opening her, the first thing she saw was the barrel of a gun as someone held it to her forehead, another of them holding her beloved.
“Give me all your money, or I’ll shoot you and take it anyway,” came the icy voice.
Meanwhile, Robert bowed his head forward and snapped it back as the thug dropping him and clutching a bleeding nose. He jumped on the back of the one with the gun and tried to wrestle it off him, screaming,
“Run Sarah!”
Her legs were shaking, but somehow she stumbled away, running blindly through the darkness. There were gunshots behind her, but she just ran and ran and ran until she was at home and threw herself into her mother’s arms, sobbing heavily.
She didn’t hear from Robert until his name came up on the news. He had been murdered, with six gunshot wounds to the chest. As soon as Peter heard of this, he ran flat out to Sarah’s house and didn’t stop until he was standing outside her bedroom door, catching his breath. He opened it quietly and saw her crying in bed. Closing the door behind him, he put his arms tentatively around her as she looked up at him, her eyes red and watery. Without a word, she embraced him.
Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours when she spoke next, her voice shaky and weak from the long hours of crying.
“I can’t live without him Peter.”
“Yes you can…” he whispered back. “You have to. Don’t live for him anymore…. Live for yourself… live for me. Please Sarah…”
The look she gave him was so full of sorrow, loss and suffering, his voice trailed off. She seemed to be saying, “You can’t help me now,” as she shook her head at him and lay her head on his lap. Any other time, he would have treasured the moment, but presently he had a lot on his mind to worry about.
The evening wore on. As it became too dark to see, weariness overtook them from the long events of the day, and the two of them gradually fell asleep, holding one another. The night was cold, so they snuggled closer for warmth in their subconscious, and a smile crept across Peter’s face.
He was dreaming. Sarah was lying in his arms, just as she was in the real world, but it was early morning. They were both awake, though everything seemed dreamy because of the hour. Peter gave her a loving squeeze as she looked up into his eyes. She smiled sadly as she brushed his cheek with her thumb softly, shifting closer to him, and said,
“This can never be.”
He looked questioningly at her, but she had vanished.
His eyes opened, and the bed beside him was empty. The note on the pillow read,
“Goodbye Peter.”
He didn’t spare a moment as he bolted out of bed and ran as fast as he could, leaving the door of the house wide open behind him. He knew where she was. It just a matter of whether he could get there in time to stop her…
The early morning was freezing, the dew numbing his bare feet, but he barely noticed. He stumbled through the brush, ignoring the scratches from the thorns and branches, until he came to the river he had fallen in all those years ago. His eyes raced across it, looking for any sign of her, his head spinning. Putting his fatigue to the back of his mind, he ran alongside the creek until he saw her white shirt and black hair floating almost peacefully in the currents.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he dove into the water, the iciness stinging every inch of his skin, but he continued to battle against the flow until he gripped her arm and tugged her to the surface. Gasping for breath, he dragged her onto the ground nearby and checked her heartbeat with shaking hands. It was slow, but existent. Rolling her onto her side, he pat her back forcefully until she coughed out the water weakly and gasped in a breath. Rolling onto her back, she looked up at him.
“You shouldn’t have come… just let me go Peter.”
“Never. We have to get you some help…”
She shook her head at him, her skin a faint blue, before she passed out.
Wasting no further time, he eased his arm under her legs and back and lifted her gently from the ground. Despite the fact his arms were shaking, he would not drop his burden, and so it was he made his way carefully but hastily back to the town.
***
The first thing Sarah heard was a man talking.“She doesn’t look like she’s going to make it…”
She heard a voice she recognized… it sounded so familiar, so… sad.
“She has to... She will… Don’t you dare say otherwise.”
“What I say isn’t going to change anything. If her body doesn’t start fighting back soon, she’s going to-”
“Don’t you dare say it!”
There was a silence, before one pair of footsteps trailed away and a door closed.
Her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced them open with a groan.
“Sarah! You’re awake!” That voice… It was Peter… oh no, that meant…
“God damnit Peter, I said let me die...” it hurt to speak; her voice burned with every syllable.
“Just rest. You need to regain your strength…” She shook her head at him mercilessly. There were tears behind his eyes, but he was refusing to let them fall. He looked like a mess- his hair was dirty and he was covered in tiny cuts, but somehow, he looked handsome…
Her breathing was becoming strained, her chest feeling heavier with every passing moment. It was when she started to cough but could not gasp in a following breath she realized she was going to die. Sarah looked at the boy who loved her so dearly for the very last time and managed amongst sobs two final words.
“Goodbye Peter.”
She went into code blue.
Peter was ushered from the room as doctors rushed in and tried to resuscitate her, but the life would not return to her body. After a few minutes, there was silence in the room, and one by one they all filed out, avoiding his gaze. The one at the end just put a hand on his shoulder and whispered
“I’m sorry.”
Peter seemed to see for the first time. Fearing what lay inside the room, he took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. All that was in the room was his soulmate, lying peacefully in the white sheets. He wanted to wake her, to do anything to make her get up and scold him for worrying, to do anything, but she did not.
He knelt before the bed, his body shaking violently as he tried to choke back a sob without success. At last, the tears flowed, and he cried and cried and cried, raising his shaking hands to close her eyes, curling his fingers in her soft black hair, still littered with leaves and twigs.
“Why Jesus, why?” he asked the crucifix on the wall, but the wooden face gave no condolence and simply stared sadly at him. He turned away and pulled himself to his feet, standing over her and brushing her forehead softly. If only he'd been a little faster, or if only he hadn't fallen asleep... Leaning over, he kissed her, for the first and last time, and whispered to unhearing ears,
“I love you.”
He was never heard from again.
***
Labels: prose
Labels: poetry
I was bored one day, and so decided to write an alliterative sonnet.
There were two versions of the last line, and I couldn't decide on which to use.
Additionally, I vote that September should be the Month of the Sonnet. XD
-------
learn to love the cruel lash of fate,
the slithering snake whose wounds will not abate;
the scars which smoulder still upon your skin,
the lance that lodges in your life within.
learn contentment, to your soul deny
the foolish thought that you might fate defy;
the flame of hope that favour falls with you;
the cold that winter brings you life anew.
yet;
learn to hate the hour of your death,
the winds that wail and whimper your last breath;
the wire that wraps upon your broken neck;
the highest hell that ‘waits the heretick.
so learn to live and laugh and life enjoy;
or dead and dying you yourself deny.
//or death and dying to yourself deny.
Labels: poetry
hey... we should have a regular "project of the *unspecified period of time*" feature. like the haiku thing (which only cheng and i have tried so far :P)... say someone comes up with a general topic and we all produce pieces on it in the *unspecified period of time*. this is for poor sods like myself who can't think of anything to contribute on. sigh.
Labels: other
i once found me on a bluff,
overlooking the sea so rough;
where i saw an eb’ny sail,
from whence came a deathly wail.
and on that morbid ship i saw,
a sight which left me rapt in awe;
for on that vessel clothed so dire
did i see my funeral pyre.
turning then i saw before me,
sheets of ice enshrin’d the sea;
where no life was wont to dwell,
where only ocean currents swell.
turning back to ship, i heard
my name; a second time; a third;
i saw the wooden pyre blaze
outshining even the sun’s rays.
and yet those rays of gold; upon
the icy cloak didst break the dawn;
and yet the flames did ever rage,
a fruitless war to ever wage.
and so did sea and ship and soul
upon that bluff myself console;
for now i knew i had to go,
away from land and life to row.
“cast your body”, did i reckon
the ocean to me did thus beckon;
“immolation”, whispered tongues,
the flames their soulful song thus sung.
so my soul to west didst turn,
even as the fires burned;
so my soul from land did fly,
underneath the azure sky.
and as the ship approached the bay,
so did the current make it sway;
and as it neared the shore i knew
i had to pay my mortal due.
and thus my heart is now in ag’ny,
for the sea cries out to me;
yet i cannot the wail forget;
glory’s spell enthralls me yet.
to live in cold or die in fire;
shall my lifeblood stain my pyre?
or shall i live for life alone,
shall my soul the ice entomb?
Labels: poetry
responding to adam's call. i intend to do better ones with more time; this came out in a minute or two.
NOSTALGIA
Two times five was ten;
But what is math to us now?
dy by dx.
comments plz!
Labels: poetry
Ah! the silence, darkness, peacefulness that comes with night
No more noise, no brightness, foolishness- the daytime's plight.
Night bequeaths to dreamers, grievers life impossible in day.
Her cold embrace comforts, stills the pain our hearts display.
Night! the cursed maiden, still is grieven for the world
You comfort! But you weep, and we sleep within your hold.
Glory past! Twilight years. All our fears, our dreams are made.
What we were, we will be, we will see in your dark shade.
Fair maid of the evening! Weeping beside mankind's bed
What you can do, doing, giving hope to lifes long dead
Nurt'ring, tender loving dreams beginning, hopes at dawn
Then to daylight relinquishing, so they may be born.
And for this selfless gift, we fear! We hate the darkness
Wishing for the daylight! That we might see for ourselves.
Then our dreams disappear, and we live in day again.
Live in daylight, sunlight, living light and day and pain.
Weary then, at the end, of the day we will return
To your bosom, your heart, And our memories in turn
Fade to black. And our dreams, and our hopes wil be beginning
In the night. In the dark. And our dreams, begin to sing.
Labels: poetry