Best Spares Poems
missing, the magic
stars shrink
the moon cowers
all that's sweet turns sour
heartfelt sighs
comfort food
steam baths
no good, no good...
O, before ye despair
love will repair
nature's caprice, no one spares
~ angels in heaven yet care
Panagiota is a whirling Galaxie
with her blue thunder words
a spirit like black diamond lightning..
She bruises the clueless and ignorant
not out of hate but of love
not with a brass knuckled fist
but with pearled wisdom
layered around grains of
life's relentless grit.
Her words are not fanciful or minty...
their always stained with the talon of truth,
She crushes the weak-minded and the oblivious
with her Olympian soul and rose scented boots -
She fears nothing and never spares the rod
while weaving a spirited ink to her parchment heart.
Atop enchanted moonbeams
she lances pit vipers and tangos with God.
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
If you come to find me
Look no further than you must
For I will be burning effigies
A conspiracy is afoot
Some might say I spend too much time alone
Too much time in the attic of my brain
I have fake conversations with myself
Some might say I spend too much time alone
I think they don’t understand me well enough to know
So call me a mad man.
The axe is buried deep and falls again and again
Wood chips fly as I hew the tree of death
I am working on commission
That’s right the agents are paying me
A coup d’état
To overthrow loneliness
I burn effigies of myself
Some might say I spend too much time alone
Ask me if I care.
Ask me if I can find my way home.
Ask me if the sewage is raw in my veins.
Ask me if I can crack the code of loneliness.
I dare you to ask me.
Some might say I spend too much time alone.
I can never have enough time alone.
It spares me the spirit of life with society.
I burn effigies.
Let the flags and cannonballs fly.
A war upon my soul will not stop me.
I'll ride a pack of dogs into the teeth of the storm
And rain down pain upon your shores
A coup d’état
A coup d’état
Will you finally come and spare me?
I doubt it.
I am not an anomaly
I am free to ramble in loneliness
It burns my flesh, flesh that is hard as gasoline
Underneath the muscle is sinuous and built for pain
Come save me if you must
I am not an anomaly
I just spend too much time alone…
The Sun
The sun gives warmth
But it doesn't care how I fare
And sometimes
It burns too bright
And causes a blight
And the plight causes fright
On nauseous nights
On these streets where the homeless fight
With the might of knights
Their souls are for sale on kites
As they sail through such great heights
Their sights set on new horizons
Their eyes on the prize
Because this land defies all logic
The sun gives warmth
But it doesn't share nor care
All I get are glares
And nobody spares me
From knife wound tears
And what scares me the most
Is how I can stare
Into the abyss and not miss
The kiss of the sun
Nor the hiss of my burning flesh
And if you get the gist
Maybe you'll lower your fist
And pass your pissed off aggression
To those who spread oppression
......for Clark
Thoughts are more sure-footed at
Low tide, those he meets along the way
Are often stationary....sometimes stuck,
With a helpful curse, a hand reaches out,
Feigns retreat, chuckles and spares another
Mucklucker from the landsharks,
Towards sundown, God provides,
A daily dose of thanksgiving squeezes between
Epitaphs, well earned....
No bearing, the sea, nor desired, but the gems
Left behind sparkle forever,
Mental health central,
A
Moveable
Feast
10/4/14
Squeak, squeak, squeak. The sound that resonates in my ears. My existence in orbit around the source of this sound. Every move, in fact, every thought of mine, is associated to this sound. Like a placenta wrapped around a baby's neck, in a mother's womb. Sign of impending horror or remnants of an incident past?
Shining stars in the sky fail to beat the glitter on my chest. A chest once proud, now a frail shadow of loss. All that glitters on my chest is far from gold. A hand that once saluted with honour and pride, now outstretched, palm up, waiting for your largesse. You look at me with disdain.
Squeak, squeak, squeak. I move on
Treasure trove
Insignificant metallic honour
Wheelchair spares
Rudeness at places of work is a terminal cancer
That reduces and kills productivity
Promoting the dancer
Who feels her rudeness proclivity
Resembles a godsend in her way of thinking
Equating its futility to putting in a full day’s shift without any proof
That rudeness despite its inkling and tinkering
Adds to long faces among colleagues whose home roof
Undergoes strain victims of rudeness export home where their rudeness
Hurts family members who in turn unleash
Their reverse rudeness to kill at home happiness
Inspiring butts of rudeness to dish
Out the taste of the rude message
To new victims enlarging the cycle by tit for tat
Until time passage
Widens the rudeness culture making it so fat
It recruits new rude members
Consolidating and spreading the rudeness epidemic
Insulating no one, hurting everyone to fan embers
That burn, burn, burn and burn so that rudeness no comic
Spares. Then, people wonder why so much rudeness flies about
Crashing good manners, killing decorum
Until a wisecracker reminds the person who in the first instance thought her rudeness clout
Despite a dose of rum
Contaminates and hurts more and more
Unless everybody makes it their business
To observe good manners and tenets of politeness in folklore
Then and only then can a rude-free society exist, pouring boundless happiness bereft of rudeness.
Living spares no time for goodbyes, pray save them for the dead...
Life or Death One Liner Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
10/13/2016
The petals of a rose, they tremble and they fall
Just like my aching heart, my backs against a wall
so I Scream- but no one seems to hear me
(and) I Bleed- but no one seems to worry
(and) I Cry- but no one spares a passing glance
(and) I Die- no one seems to care
My mask, it melts away
as the flames burn through my bones, the pain it never fades
and its worse because i know the angels are not here to save me
everthing but you hates me
and im stuck with all this trapped inside
Im forced to sit and watch me die
Im in an empty room...
all hope disenegrates.
nothing left to do but get drunken, high
im willing to do anything just to get by
so I Scream- but no one seems to hear me
(and) I Bleed- but no one seems to worry
(and) I Cry- but no one spares a passing glance
(and) I Die- no one seems to care
My mask, it melts away
as the flames burn through my bones, the pain it never fades
and its worse because i know the angels are not here to save me
everthing but you hates me
and im stuck with all this trapped inside
Im forced to sit and watch me die
Im forced to sit and watch me die
When caught mid-flight
End to bloat against gravity
Thanks, rejection is not of the earth
My eyes are welling
I won’t hold back with shame
Even warriors often times loosen, weeping
A good mother’s breast thrust
Not in for the oldest trade
Gives the child, from infant, the best trust
The sexton is a pagan
Lushness of the hashish field
Makes his story from Canaan
Morals pillar nobility
But nature spares by –
Insofar as the choice is moderacy
Over me they seek to keep
They can shape me, me too a shaper
Just that I start a peep
A quest to solve the world
Challenged to fix my head
Get me defined – no word
Launch talks for luck
One screen sets parts
Grace, lone-stands, earns buck
Formless strife made me worry
An envoy made as of succubus
Made me awoke being sorry
He who sounded the gong
Has done it wrong
And rhythm’s lost in our song
The earth, about the Sun, rotates
Science, my house remains on its plot
Lies make the pupils dilate
Africa! Here some questions
Khartoum, Mogadishu, Malaria, HIV, Genocides . . . ?
Orients through Occident find me solutions
Muses – a kind that’s potent
Might make me hit the laureate’s podium
And be free of amateurish latent!
Today I wrestled with the beast.
Thought of suicide
And the solitude it would bring.
From a window I watched the snow fall
And I was envious of its simplicity.
How it could make even the ugliest of things look beautiful.
I prayed to the Gods and asked them if they could make this madness that
Raged and burned inside me beautiful too?
I wanted the darkness that fills my soul to shine on it
And to see what would happen.
But the silent screams inside my head deafened me into submission.
And so I turned away.
Broken.
Alone.
Empty.
Tonight I will dream with the angels
And hope the beast spares at least a little flesh when I wake.
I have swallowed enough medication to numb ten elephants,
But the pain still finds a way to kick me in the balls;
To bring me to my knees.
To squeeze the last bit of life out of this wretched, tortured body.
The snowflakes fall a little thicker now,
The madness a little darker.
And I wait,
Silently
For the next wave of despair to wash over me…
Nascent dawn's pale omen loomed
and eased me from my pensive trance.
But I am stirred
beyond expression’s means—
my face suffused with tears.
Mercifully, stolid memory
desists in part,
dread recall’s threat
impounded by advancing age.
My conscience then begs destiny,
pressing to undo.
But heaven spares not its majesty,
and history,
ever breathing in,
refuses to exhale,
a broken heart to salve.
Grimly, I stand and take a single step,
and one more after that.
3rd Place, Giorgio's Impress me II ! ( Old/New )
Each day that we live let’s soar to the night sky
on the mighty wings of dreams,
And there let’s pick the stars one by one and drop
them to earth below.
Then let us awake to find we have not the stars
but only each other!
For captives of mutual love we are, two twinkles on
sweet love’s sky;
By no fees and no keys shall we be freed while
death spares his snatching hand.
For what force in truth can cleave our sweet captor’s
chains,
These dear chains of wondrous make, with beauteous
ends of wedding rings and links of strongest passion?
Gentle breezes blow across my face
as I gaze endlessly down the steep precipice.
Strangely the forces of nature are kind
when I am about to die.
Blood stained stone behind me marks death.
Death for Jesus who hanged on the cross.
Murderers and robbers alike must die here.
I hanged them all with pride and vigilance.
Time spares no mercy for these,
extracting life slowly and painfully.
Vindication of this crime receives death only.
My position compels me to vindicate.
Hypocrites have no post in life,
I must die.
Lurching towards my death I see a man.
Beaten and bruised, he reaches out to save me.
"Why do you stop me from justice?"
"Let not your flesh die; however,
die to your flesh and you will be vindicated."