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Cayetano Young Poem
Tears
(for A, I shed)
When I herd these tribes and fashion cities
With my words, you are what's missing.
- Mookie Katigbak, The Proxy Eros
I cast a brief look at you many a time,
Partly considering your noonday shadow’s silhouette a singular move far
As you pay heed in discreet agony to the old Angelus' chewed verses
and secrecy.
This dust-laden jalousie classroom spares me to steal quite a glance of you--
Trussed up in your chair, chin nesting on left palm
Time and again as against your emptiness.
Religious as your hair finger- combed in place all too often.
Seedless to say, before you’ll be hand in hand with your lover,
Whose teeth are those of metals,
On the following street to reach your home in Gusa ,
Let me tell you my itch:
If it is a misdeed that I travel from one antinomy to another,
Perhaps, you are the credo and the gospel on top of which
Of what I cannot write nor cite in the words of my poetics:
Drunk diurnal sobrieties, c(r)ooked metaphors
And jabberwockies, each verb I turn into flesh: darling, these are not
You.
If by chance, you’d come to notice the process
Of what I do and do all the time
Without my consent or other of a conscious effort,
Listen:
You are these paled viscid extracts
Resting lightly astride my lashes that are sure
Warmer than a breath and are yet to trickle down my cheeks.
*Gusa - A place in Cagayan de Oro City , Southern Philippines
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2008
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Cayetano Young Poem
If heaven permits
I will be a robin
Perching
Up on a sunlit branch of a tree
Gazing at the far-off light
That flourishes out on the vanilla sky
I will sing
From June to the merry month of May
Every flat
Every sharp
Every note of poetic symphony
That glitters ceaselessly
I will fly
Rough and tough
Beyond ferns and herbs
At odds with
The whirling wind
That might spoil my beauty
And yes
I will soar
Steeper than the milky way
As long as the world breathes
Until heaven
Forbids me
not.
Author’s Note and Inspiration.
- Free Verse Introspection International Poetry Contest
Contest Winner- Honorable Mention(4th place)
March 15, 2008
Contest Sponsor: Deborah Simpson-Author of the Chronicles of a Sage: Spiritual Revelations
via Canto.
- The Celebrating You International Poetry Contest
Contest winner- 1st place
March 15, 2008
Sponsored by Kristine Reynolds
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2008
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Cayetano Young Poem
The moon casts a surreal light
Upon looking out of the window
The night is my mistress
Solitude my blanket
Then I think of you:
The daffodils dancing as they glisten
Your almond eyes,
Serene lips always rest unscathed -
Right every after kiss,
Your silly ponytail.
They speak to me in rhythms
They hush me in rhymes
As I haunt an honest silence
To save the calmness half death
My body aches to breathe your breath -
Your tequila breath.
I smile outstretched from ear to ear
For it brings the contemplative
mood of my soul
Your flavored lip gloss lingers on me now
Bewitched on how it bathes
As it rinses my lips - my chapped lips.
Like an ocean hugging its shore:
Sweet,
Toothsome,
Relishing -
It tastes like Paris.
Tonight I lie in bed,
A nest which doesn't offer
A place of comfort no more
Tossing and turning
Swaying restlessly
All because you stop singing my lullaby
It's our pillow upon my head
Reaching against my wet cheeks:
Dull,
Lifeless,
Colder than death -
Too later - Too soon
It would then be
Drowned by cobwebs
Soaked in tears.
Authors Note:
The Love Me or Love Me Not - Free Verse Poetry Contest
4th Place(Honorable Mention)
January 28, 2008
Sponsor: Mark Cotterman
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2008
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Cayetano Young Poem
Dearest,
There would be no nightfalls
thereunto your eyes but partly goosebumps
nor would be nightscapes along your brows
even an inch above their shorelines
where darkness heaves
no. When shadows dance in tip-toed pirouette to the tune of your hairfall
whose breaths breathe nothing but the fumes from your sigh.
You are but a psalm
the Tibetan monks hymn and a mantis prays with a vengeance
for three full moons bedecked with diphthongs and rhymes
only to show beyond doubt
that every squint of the lids of your eyes
is proof of all the gods' existence.
There are no sundowns
thereunder your limbs but scarcely woundscars
nor dimlights throughout the length of your nape
all the more onto its coastline
where thoughts
bloom. When crickets perch and croon
whose hymn chants heretofore each syllable of your name.
My breathe rests each time your eyes meet mine, my love,
for nothing falls thereto except my heart.
Tears herewith,
Samson
Author's note: Finalist September Poetrysoup International Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Poetrysoup
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2008
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Cayetano Young Poem
Ood
Is this sound
From not too far afield
Like mist
Between late dusk and early moonrise
Past quarter of six.
You might not know
It is something unforeseen:
Even as I collect the bad habits
I bear not to keep
Through my sobs, it is that screams.
Strange this is,
Of what I cannot name in the things I hear:
Noise of metals against metals, oft-rhymed sighs
And battle cries, each false note of guns and gongs I overheard: these be not
It.
Is it your footsteps
Of where seek?
Or the reek of its absence
Onto this shore of a bloodbath,
That, set my pulse to skip
Abeat?
Could it be my sweatdrops
Like hoofbeats
Pattering this tin shield
Time of the same?
Or, is it just my heart
Thumps against my ribcage
Which is almost,
But not quite, sharp enough to hurt
Whose beats howl
Nothing but your name?
Author's Note:
*gong - a large bronze disk, of Asian origin, having an upturned rim, that produces a
vibrant, hollow tone when struck, usually with a stick or hammer that has a padded head.
P.S The poem is inspired by the Battle of Maktan in 1521
between the Spanish conqueror: Ferdinand Magellan and the fierce Datu of Maktan:
Lapu Lapu.
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2008
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Cayetano Young Poem
Birds that hum in two
Clothed in dyed colour and hue
Spit a kiss then coo
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2008
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Cayetano Young Poem
for Nanay who left for celestial embrace
Hello, you. I’m speaking to you, in heavy
breathing, because last night it rained
while I was asleep and dreaming
your lips: the thirst-worn cracks
of red, the silence they heaved.
Some truths, of mostly naked.
Like your tale of fairies flying,
finding their way home into trunks
of trees. Like your kiss in dreams
of that which bridges you to me.
Have you kissed me, stolen
like your promise I once believed
before you turned your back and left
and kept those lips, in sleep?
Hello, you. I cannot figure. Only that
it has been a struggle to breathe,
and sleep and dream deep
now and each night rain begins.
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2010
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Cayetano Young Poem
At ease of ill on bed where thoughts I lay
over cigar butts & a bottle of gin approaching
to its eight. c/o you, a wry malice
once most I herd under the influence of curiosity, intimacy
more than half-intended, if by if, further a notice,
if at all. Let me tell you further:
within my mind painted of green is panting
alongside its walls are sweating. More of a further,
between gasps & heavy breaths I move
from one to the other. Still,
so little you know how I’d run into you
in the most fluid of further:
humidity settles, as I fancy with wonder to imagine
you with me alone hoarding
warmth between our thighs, all save for benediction. Truth to tell,
between mine is tightening, for all that. Hence,
we kiss, then we coo. To err us,
feeding long on each other’s tongue adorned with scents
of sin ending up like fools to think it clever to thrust,
sequent to taste, the in-betweens as against the other:
a piece of heaven that reeks of me & you. Our bodies also,
waists, chests, & torsos made slippery by sweat,
by love. Like so, too, I long for our thighs to cross
like of my fingers by here.
Soon, there: somewhere,
(hereby, fingers crossed) not elsewhere.
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2009
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Cayetano Young Poem
Let a sky of clouds
Drenched in mustard shafts of light caress
The stars feasting the crispness of the night
Let the sheer twilight be my fortress
Let solitude be my guide
It is the monsoon wind, perhaps, that sends me your breath
Which subsequently sneaks me off
From the pavement of certainty
Only to catch a whiff of your skin
Or even a glint of your magnificence(worthy of sonnets)
Whose beauty transcends my reality
It is the midnight chirp of the beetles elsewhere
That soothes me to sleep
Each note is a syllable of sound free falling
Whose music seeks no violin,
Whose tune hums nothing but the rich surrealism
Of your psalm-sculpted anatomy:
May it be your sigh exhaled against your fingertips
And of your eyes sensual as the sidewalks of your lips
May it be your breast nestling on your chest
And of your walk coupled with the off-rhymed stillness of your talk/
Let it be the goosebumps burst with moonshines teeming with hyacinths
As I hang transfixed from the extinction of your
scent.
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2008
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Cayetano Young Poem
screwed.bumped.bruised.fingers caressing a flossy silhouette which happens to be a cup of
brewed coffee.savoring its stunning richness while helplessly drowned in sincere fondness
from its hypnotic scent.better than hell.better than a new-mown hay.better than anything
else that i have sniffed. it's captivating whiff has a distinct likeness from a baby's
breath.sweet.innocent.unknowing.it somehow appeases the wrath trapped in yearning that
once shook my bone and cracked my shoulders.better than a morning mist.better than a
perfume on my wrist.a way better than my alcohol breath. it soothes the voice of grievance
that once remained unheard,spoiled,wormed caused by some ungodly reasons that transcend
such human beliefs.'twas like holding a huge sneeze frightened to blurt it out for people
are destined to say ewww!
then i stutter, the wind that passes through my windowpane,gently fondling my skin as if
into my soul, tends to be humid.
bound.broken.half death.nothing left moving but a heart that pounds its own flesh and a
mouth that pushes a dying breath.dried lips have been refueled by an extinct satisfaction
brought by a tea-like pungency of such heaven scent.better than chocolates.better than a
chilled whiskey. better than a guilty pleasure in my bed.tangled in drastic devotion on
how it bathes a craving tongue down to a thirst throat as it replenishes a brittle heart.
tied into its bizarre bitterness that hinders a body from aching as it pulls a grown-up
litany from its own wreckage.its caffeine d tartness sympathizes upon a burning
discernment. like a flickering ember playing on its flares. burning hot burning
slow.burning until its own gleam stops from its own glow.
ironic as it seems, the wind that passes through my windowpane continuously swishing
humidity as it was.
torn. numb. trembled. clock tick-tacking as it performs its obliged morning ritual that
leads my ear to its bleeding. both hands still slithering the polished receptacle of now
consumed must-have to death gladness while battling to gasp for air to at least ease a
particular suffer.forgetting all I'm missing. completely incomplete.still can't exude a
certain degree of contentment from its intimate delight. desperate to bring back that
bitter sweet remedy that once pulled my puzzles from bits and pieces. a passionate
obsession . a one in a million.the sweetest fun.
tonight it will be intensely bitter than the last cup.
always could then be bitter.until the wind that will pass through my windowpane wont be
humid no more-as it supposed to be.
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2008
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