Rebel/artist/slave, a long, long, near lone life spent swimming against
a bourgeois tide, he makes shore one last time, drags himself back
onto the beach: a man gets too tired, the sea grows too dark and deep.
Dreams of Dreams;
Yester dreams;
I forgotten days;
Of forgotten woes;
I forgot not always right;
My apology is true;
Cuz, darling I still love you;
Yester dreams lost love
To make tips;
To justify a Doctrine;
Forever darling I'm your friend;
I'm expressing a regret;
Let's not forget;
Fault insults and inferior substitute;
As for your love, lost love...
Yester dreams lost love
I find no absolute apologia
One who defends or attempts to justify;
Doctor to make apology;
Express regret
as for faults a short
I like Glory cool story with moral fable;
Please note and come to the table;
Yesterday dream lost love
8/27/74
Written words by James Edward Lee
(for C.)
I know your frustration –
I can see it in your eyes
The daytime teased you with idle thoughts
And the nighttime wore a disguise
They never give us any disclaimer
An apologia at the start
The only way to plunge into this race
Is with an undivided heart
We stammer and we choke
Over words of love and pain
Wearing that invisible yoke
Like the blind man in the rain
Like the blind man in the rain
The suffering endures
The seasons bear the years
The roots that entangle, the boughs that
Suffocate us in shadows and fears
My son, look out your window
There’s light behind that tree
Let it lift your undivided heart
To perfect totality
For we stammer and we choke
Over words of love and pain
Wearing that invisible yoke
Like the blind man in the rain
Like a blind man in the rain
And if you should trip and fall
And there’s no one for your moans
I’m deep in that alley with you
My boy, you’ll not be alone
Tho we stammer and we choke
Over words of love and pain
Wearing that invisible yoke
Like a blind man in the rain
Just like the blind man in the rain
Blunt words sharp
In rude harp
Can grind flesh
In harsh dash
It is sad
That words mad
Drench more pain
Once again
Wrong words strap
A blunt trap
As hurts sum
Pain that comes
Loose tongue kills
Skin that peels
In wrong vein
Crude torn pain
Just speak soft
Not high loft
Say: "Sorry.
Forgive me."
Leon Enriquez
19 June 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
ESSAIS ON ART
Transformation,interpretation
an essay in aesthetics,the meaning
pictures ,telling a story.
New theories of art and the
nature of painting.Prospectus
and preface,postscript and
apologia.Expressions and
impression of an artist and critic.
Tribute to artist and critic Roger Fry
You may hear me recite this and most of my PS poetry on YouTube under my pen name ichthyschiro
Make what you will,
Yield to harsh play.
Amend wrong feel,
Prompt ploy portray.
Offer to bring
Lines that appeal;
Observe bold fling,
Grace you reveal.
Invert the wrong,
Answer harsh grain.
Frame tact made strong,
Irk sorrow plain;
Now be sorry,
End sad story.
Leon Enriquez
02 December 2014
Singapore
To me, verbal Apology is only inflated pride
The good people don’t call for apologies to deride
Bad people for base vantage may go on their knees
Verbal apology is only inflated pride, to me.
Torment none, repent for past and dread for future
If you think you've erred, make the amends sooner
It is easier to eat crow while it is still warm anon*
Repent for past and dread for future, torment none.
While travelling over the world, a sad truth I’ve found
Those people we’re fond of, their feelings we wound
we flatter those of whom we have hardly heard
A sad truth I’ve found, while travelling over the world.
* Proverb
Inspired by G.K. Chesterton's writings
+++++++++
March 8, 2014
Form : Swap Quatrains
Dr.Ram Mehta
9th Place win
Contest: Swap Quatrains by Andrea
Deep down thighs, unhoisted,
what was there, harvesting the sperms ? At dusk
an inflorescence breaks into myriads
of fireworks, wrecked apologia,
interned unlikeness, insanity, kissing the goldenrod
to start the flow of bare grief.
I deserve no nobility, my moonscape
has a blazing truth about a shooting star
which went into a gape groaning. Somebody
is done for, for a fragile skull. The riverbed
buries the dead child in white sands.
That lump rises again. I said, I never carry
the death on my shoulders. Wrap up and play
the drums for I lost the pathways to enemies.
SATISH VERMA
I intend to move away from myself
as apologia for sadness,
Could not give up the zen,
powerless, breathless, drowning,
in my skin, my viens,
sharing the existence of undoing,
what was something.
Nobody I am, connecting to you
by flames of aristocracy of pain,
for eternal slavery.
Primitive memory hurts. Give me your tears.
The world is struck by salutation to sun
I am free to put a mask
and light the dead wood.
SATISH VERMA
On the serpentine weave of winding roads
Where dust and sand is blown
I refuse to tender apologia
For the things I do not own;
Tumbleweed memories roll on by
Then all at once are gone,
What point is there in bemoaning
Of dreams once dwelt upon?
The crack-foot tread of a crooked mile
That led far away from home
It made no scanty difference
Such roads all lead to Rome;
Things that I by instinct did
Fabricated to tender hurt,
What point in reminiscing
When everything is dirt?
My invite of you, come along with me
If you have such a mind,
Or if you have no feelings
Or things to leave behind;
Valdez is coming from far away
From the valley where dawn will break,
What point in theorising
On the vengeance in his wake?
Valdez is coming from out the sun
With vengeance in his wake,
Valdez is coming hard and fast
From the valley where dawn will break;
Valdez is coming and thus is death,
Down the ransacked esplanade,
What point in loss and grieving
For the lives we never made?
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