My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view
I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused
I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone
So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss
April 14, 2013
Sa kisame ng bahay, itong si Butiking Pasas
Ay minsang nakipaglaro sa kanyang mga KAIBIGAN
Kanyang inaliw, mga pakpak na kumikinang, pumapagaspas
Binola ang bawat lipad na kay panglaw
Habang sa isip, may nabubuo’t nakaambang kalokohan
Tila naiinggit sa kanilang kakayahan
Nang hindi na sila nakatingin, tumalikod lang saglit
Nagsimula ng ibuka kanyang mapinsalang bunganga’t bibig
Nilantad matatalas na dila, na may malaasidong laway
Na tutunaw unti-unit sa kanilang katauhan
At sa isang kisap mata, dila’y pumulupot, sumalaksak,
Nilunok, nilamon sila ng buong-buo, walang kamalay-malay
Sila’y kinitil, nalinlang ng mga matatalim na SALITA,
Kawawang mga KAIBIGAN…
Kanilang magagandang LAMANG LOOB…
Tuluyan ng nawasak, nalusaw
The day’s hot-the wind like a convection oven
Blows hot air in our faces.
My cap and gown insulates me
Baking me like a potato wrapped in aluminum foil
I desperately fan myself and look around
My eyes search for my peers and see;
The bros that survived school with me;
The others who shouldn't have;
The girls with memories already wet in their eyes;
The people I never met and will never know;
All desperately fanning themselves
In silence and in waiting.
We all are waiting for the same thing-
What's next to come.
For some it will be their names
For another a trip to boot camp
For many including myself- college
A couple can't wait to forget the tortures of high school
And a few will already be planning our high school reunion
because it was the best years of their life.
As I bow my head, not out of sadness,
but out of sheer defeat by the sun,
I scuff up my dress shoes in the clumpy grass of the field-
that just finished another infamous drawn out lacrosse season,
I'll be thinking about the 4 plus years, 8 seasons,
worth of drilling and conditioning I did in that very field and on the surrounding track,
With a flash of ivory across my sweating face
I'll be thinking about
All the nooks and crannies
that I sanctioned for the intimate meetings of my girlfriends
The times caught and not,
All the heartbreaks and rejections,
The friends made, the best friends kept, and the many lost.
The drama, stupidity, and immaturity,
Everything that was and used to be.
And, all this time spent waiting-preparing
for this one moment
You can't help but remember it all
And with one, final sweet goodby-
You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit
We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you
You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love
If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.
You have lighted up my world..
Now you're the one I am dreaming of
Dont you know,
I can sit here forever,
Just looking into your eyes?
The things I see there
Always take me by surprise
but I don't see you coming...
I see you standing there;
so close but still barely out of reach;
I want to be closer to you,
so I'm on my way...
I will be missing you
I will be missing the places we used to know..
wish i could carry you with me
I hope I make you a little happy too
I am not saying goodbye
I know I'll see you again
I would be crying in that strange city
and you wouldnt be there..
but I will carry on..
6.22.11 (my goodbye poem before I boarded the plane)
The Last Summer
This is the last summer
with all of us together;
next summer we’ll all be
somewhere else and hopefully
we’ll see each other again someday.
We walked down the forest trail
we all wished each other farewell.
Looking around I could see
that we were all happy to be
with each other one last time.
Now, we’re all in college
gaining more knowledge
so, so, so far away from each other.
Oh how I wish it was still summer!
In my mind, I can still see
all of us running happily
we were so young back then.
Sometimes I dream that when
graduation comes and we go on to the real world,
we’ll all meet together again.
Counting the summers away
I wonder if we will someday
go back to that forest trail
where we all wished each other farewell.
And everyday I look back to our last summer;
laughing and crying at our fun times
Graduation has arrived at last!
many summers have passed
since we first left on that summer day
and now it is the month of May.
I haven’t seen any of the others
it has already been eighty-seven summers!
I decide to go back to that forest trail
When I arrive, tears stream down my face.
For there are my friends all standing
there and they too are crying.
So again we walk down the forest trail,
even though we’re old and frail
and I realize this is our final tale.
In memory of Bob
A true story.
It was in spring of two thousand when I first saw Bob. I’d just started working at Perth Dental hospital, and in fact it was my first day there. I walked up to the front door of this building, but it wasn’t yet opened. So I turned around and went to sit in the bus shelter which was just outside the building. As I went to sit down I noted a dark skinned gentleman sitting there with a happy, benign look on his face. He was about five feet eight give or take a little, and he was rather a thickset man who looked like he’d done his fair share of hard work in his sixty years or more.
There was something about this Gentleman that I could not quite put my finger on. He had a certain charisma about him; not the phony kind of charisma that one seen in the car salesman or the philanderer who messes with women’s heads, no, Bob had a kind of friendly smile for everyone that he met, and he seemed to draw people into him with his love, and gigantic heart. I knew as soon as I met him that Bob was most definitely for me.
As Bob looked at me and smiled, the whole world seemed to open up. He said “Ow ya going mate” in a loud ebullient manner, then we started to chat. Bob was like myself, a thinker, and straight away we started philosophizing about this, that, and the other, and it was like we had known each other forever. Then all of a sudden I found Bob talking about death, and the difference in the way the Maori people faced death, compared to the rather the silly way us white folk look at the subject with great fear in our hearts. Now this had always interested me, and somehow it just seemed natural to talk to this Maori gentlemen on this subject, and we spoke about it till the doors opened and it was time to work.
I don’t think anything happens just by chance, and I definitely have this feeling that Bob and I were meant to meet, and I really think this was a major destiny thing. I have found during the course of my life, that as I am aging, I can feel something pushing me into a certain direction, and I always felt that Bob was part of all this; and I had much to learn from him. Although I have never believed in organized religion, and never followed one I have always felt deeply spiritual, and I have met many people who I learned from, and Bob was most definitely one of them with all his great wisdom and patience. As I came to know Bob, we had many dialogues together, on many subjects. Bob used to love music and could always have time to plonk away on his guitar. He used to come round to my place and we would play songs together, though both he and I were no Eric Clapton’s, I would bang around on my guitar and play the harp, while we would both take out turns at singing. We’d have a smoke or a beer or two, and we’d play songs all day long, ahhh, I remember those days well, the memories are so strong.
Bob was one hell of a man, I could tell that he had been a wild one in his youth,
But when I knew him in his sixties he was an icon of wisdom and virtue; he had a kind word for everyone, and gave all his time to anybody who needed him, always.
He used to hear me waffling on like an idiot, trying to make him like me [as I always did] but never once did he tell me how foolish I was, he would just smile knowingly at me. He used to stand there at the window for hours, just drinking in the trees, or the clouds in the sky, and yet he was so aware, I used to try to sneak up on him; it couldn’t be done. His awareness was incredible.
Then one day Bob fell ill with terminal cancer, and he knew that he had very little time left on this Earth. He lay there sick for days in intolerable pain, but you never heard one complaint from him, even when he only had days to live, he was still worrying about the welfare of others. When the day finally come for Bob to leave his shell; he was lying there in deep sleep, when all of a sudden he woke up, with a smile on his face. His children asked him ‘Dad, do you want some pain killers” Bob laughed, compassion written all over his face, and he said to them ‘Not one of you has a clue, have you’ and he died with a big smile on his face.
His daughter got in touch with me, and told me about his death, and also told me that his last wish was to have me watch his soul leave his body. I felt very honored about this and went and sat with his body [as Maoris do]. I got the most peaceful feeling come to me [which I presume was his spirit leaving his body] as I watched his silent body, a Mari war stick and a beautiful rose lay across his chest. I still see it, and I feel blessed by it. He was my Maori warrior, and I adored the man.
I loved you once years ago
Our passion was divine
Could see our life together forever
But instead I could not compete
For your lover was a bottle.
I tried all I could do
Being your wife and supporting you
But no matter how hard I tried
No matter what I couldn't compete
With the liquid you chose instead
It's funny how alcoholics live two lives
One is surface for those to see
The other the demon inside
Fighting to overtake the good
All the while hiding sipping alone
Codependence is also an evil
Depending on others for how to feel
Walking on eggshells became a cover
So as not to stir the tipping canoe
In the end it did not matter
For then you chose your battles to leave
Easier then to give in, just said "go"
No more arguing was glad to have you go
For life with addiction is weary
And heavy on the soul
I could not watch you kill yourself
The love we had was dead
Did not want our child to see
Up close and personal
His father failing at life.
To watch a loved one kill themselves
Slowly with a bottle
Is like watching a tree slowly die
First the leaves change color
Then they fall to the ground
With alcohol it's just the same
First the color starts to leave
The brightened eyes that once were there
Turn bloodshot and empty
Desire is replaced by need
Nothing is sacred to someone whose addicted
Possessions,home, family all are second
Jobs come and go over many years
People come in an out their lives
And families disappear.
Life is filled with Hardships and Moments.
Ones we'll remember and some will forget.
It matters not how it happens or why.
But that we enjoy what life has to offer.
Even though the going does get tough,
and living isn't easy.
Success will be and continue to be
the Key to life.
My love, please forgive me for what I am about to do. I write this letter to you in candle light outside your chamber; it's late and I dare not disturb your royal slumber so I leave not you my last words and testament of my love. I can no longer keep my love for you a secret; there is is no veil big enough to conceal the way my heart constantly contracts for you. It is preposterous that your father, the King, thinks no servant is good enough for his daughters hand in marriage. If he only knew no other man will fall as passionately in love with you as I. Even in death, my heart will still radiate through earth and stone, and out my tombstone will seep, love for my Princess. I know your pondering what madness makes my tongue spill out these words that dribble off my lips. It's not my immagination that drives me into writhing this letter. While you depart on your journey through sleep, the castle walls are under relentless attack and will not hold much longer. The walls don't crumble to any treachery of man but to the behemouth claws of a fire-breathing beast. As this feather tip pen smears ink and stains this paper, the beast smears blood that stains the granite walls scarlet. Your father had all the gaurds abandon their post to defend the castle; however his efforts were futile. In one swipe of the behemouths unforgiving hand half the gaurds were crushed by scales stronger than any steel man could forge. The other half tried retreating but were instantly engulfed in Hell's inferno, which spewed out the beast's mouth with devastating destruction. It's not my intentions to frighten you or take your breathe away. The castle lay nearly in ruins and those who did not perrish, had enough wit to get far away from here as possible. So there won't be any help tomorrow. So when you read this in the morning you'll wake to the putrid smell of burning flesh, there will be a terrible sight of slaughtered men women and children. All that remains of your empire will be rubble and ashes spread throughout the vasness of your land. I will not be here in the morning. I can feel the heat from the flames rising up the stairwell. I pledge my life to you and I promise that your lungs will bill filled with air throughout he night. I'm going to slay the beast. If his scales are tougher than steel well then I'll jut have to stab him from with in. Please don't think of this as madness or disregaurds of caution. I will walk up to the beast and when he opens his jaws to eat me I will leap into his mouth and stab his heart through his throught. I must go now the soot is coming up and burning my eyes and filling lungs. I'm sorry, I'll be the one to break our promise. I will not be able to be with you forever... you can count on my love to be there, even in death. Farewell... My Princess.
Her eyes, though once bright, are cloudy,
Shrunken and fragile the form
That long was brimful of vigor
And a will to outlast life's storms.
She stares past a blank horizon
Through a door that I do not know;
The colors she sees are mem'ries,
Scents and sounds of the long ago.
A kaleidoscope of faces
Turns merry-go-round in her mind;
While trees out her window whisper
Soft lullabies long left behind.
The sound of my cheery greeting
Draws her back to this metal room,
Away from a creaking rocker
And her mama's sweet, gentle croon.
If is not my name she whispers
As I bend down to kiss her cheek,
But a name more dear than ever
Mine was is the name that she speaks.
"Papa," the feeble voice quavers.
I'm no more a part of her world;
The grandma that soothed my sorrows
Is once again Papa's wee girl.
But now, I wonder "Will I have the bravery to follow?"
Demise shall follow if I am to attain redemption and cleanness of my sins that tarnish my soul.
Sometimes, I cling to yes, sometimes I cling to no.
When the dark clouds blur my sight, I ask myself "What is worth living for?", some believe in god, some in money or in even a more mundane wish.
I lack this one thing, I lack the purpose that would impulse me forward. But then, I speculate "For me, must be love", but what is love? I do not know, I am an strange to it, perhaps this wasn't reserved for everyone.
Well, one thing is right, my passing will not be mourned nor missed. It will go like the wind, now here then gone and noone noticed a thing.
Many leaves were shaken, many tears soiled the ground, yet, none of this was spotted by anyone.
To the people I did wrong "I am sorry, please, do forgive me".
To the people that hates me, hate me more, be genuine with it and be the fuel of this endeavor. Hurt me more, make me bleed, cut open my flesh, as he once did when I was an infant, paint the wall with my crimson tint...
Make me regret to have been born, actually, this will require little effort, since I already regret that.
My mind is set, termination is the way to go if I desire to do something good, at least once, in this life.
No hope can be spied nor a glimmering light to lead this one to safety.
In a colorless world, only with shades of black and gray, thoughts of demise haunts me day after day.
I see the people around me, at work, on the the streets, everywhere and I cannot help but to feel disgusted and out of place and helpless.
I am tired of pretending, behind my mask, I weep, behind their masks, they laugh at me.
I am tired of being fed by deceiving tales and to feed other with my lies.
The lies... It is everywhere, one must tread lightly between them, or else will fall their prey.
Mookiemar, whose given name was Mike,
got high on meth and decided his life
was one of continual slavery and he was determined
to set himself and his people free from the oppression
of The Man, whoever in hell The Man might be.
Then and there he left his life of Christianity and sanity.
He instantly became a jihadist follower of the god of insanity.
Mookiemar sounded like a good raghead name to little Mike,
so the newly named Mookiemar decided that seventy two
big tittied women waiting for him in camel jockey heaven
was an excellent fate for a manly raghead jihadi such as himself.
He had a final meal of pork and beans and washed it all down
with copious amounts of homemade rot gut whiskey and wine.
Mookiemar then stuck two lit sticks of dynamite up his hairy ass
and started hunting for this honky peckerwood they call The Man.
Unfortunately for Mookiemar his last meal went through him in a flash
and he started passing great amounts of smelly stinking gas.
The explosion blew little Mike into over a hundred small bloody pieces.
To Mookiemar’s great surprise, his sorry worthless camel jockey soul
did not enter heaven’s gates, instead it went straight to jihadi hell.
Satan himself welcomed raghead Mookiemar to his eternal destination
and he informed Mookiemar that he would not be screwing camels
in hades, but that the camels would forever be screwing him instead.
I saw your pain compressed in
Tourniquets and plungers.
Memories condensed to tears.
Cooling your hand holding bottles.
Dripping in puddles that flowed,
With white wind down glass tubes.
When you pressed for it,
I asked you;
Why you wanted too
So badly –
Maybe you did not hear me.
Then I asked -
For the attention?
But you were done talking.
“The affection is still free”.
I should try not to waste sentences.
At the hour of mid morning,
I remembered when I first saw you.
Walking up the sidewalk,
And I thought to myself:
Yes, I would - So I did.
Smiling ghosts made perfect faces,
Dancing off cigarettes on my front porch..
Yours ran to catch you.
As I watched with mine,
You walking home.
I pass a year and you in a store,
I heard you don’t cry the same,
Not like you used to.
You looked happy - I guess,
Or maybe it was, I hope you are.