822.
Clean, Clean, Clean ni Pres. Duterte
May 8 Magagandang nagawa
Si Pres. Duterte sa bansa
“Clean, Clean, Clean” ay isa na rito
Mga paglilinis sa bansang ito
Physical Cleansing sa kapaligiran
Mga estero at ilog, pati mga kadagatan
Internal Cleansing sa pamahalaan
Mga kawani at opisyal, pati mga kapulisan.
-03/28/2022
(Dumarao)
*8 Magagandang Nagawa ni Pres. Duterte sa Bansa
(77th Birthday of PDuterte)
I searched for grail across rails
looking deep without sleep
at the last clean harbour
frequencies
bleeped …
secrecies
sacred
naked I folded silvery
drops scattering dreams
….
Scattered dreams lay
a c r o s s
the last clean
harbour (...)
it was blue-green before ascent
reminiscent of Andromeda’s
coves where frequencies
danced
translucent gold across
pebbles speaking —-
…..
Naked fear rapped dew
pane
it shook with pain of
Love
L o s t
dimpled her toxic flesh was seeking
the last clean harbour at
my window where
quickly
I drew
drapes protecting victories
gained
at the last clean
harbour ~
_____________________
9th Placement: August 26
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Clean up this mess.
I feel defeated once more, and get the clothes off the floor.
This order has now translated to, "You're a mess."
I feel the need to impress,
But also to rest.
My mind changes and shifts words.
I feel as if I will always be unheard,
But how must I be heard if I can't speak?
Children should be seen and not heard.
I feel defeated once more; shut my mouth and close my door.
I no longer feel like I want to be heard.
The only thing that seems to please is to be seen.
My looks shift and validate me through praise of those around me.
Maybe this is the only me worth seeing.
There's no need for the rest of me.
Simple phrases pan into endless thoughts.
Ideas and phrases leaving those and me distraught.
This writing may come as a shock,
But those whose minds are similar to mine are tortured by thoughts.
I fell out of the bright nothing.
Now I'm mud with a pulse.
I crawl, teeth full of street.
Keep your heaven, your clean sheets.
Oblivion is the only bliss.
It doesn't ask for good behavior.
It doesn't remember my name.
I keep crawling; it keeps quiet.
Light filters through my mind,
Finding my belief on the other side,
My eyes pried open wide,
Projecting a reflection of inside,
Like the changing of the tides,
We ride the Ebb & flow,
Knowing where we want to go,
Growing our own field of awareness,
Bear witness to what's before you,
Explore every avenue,
Travel to your inner core,
Theres's way more,
Then what you came for,
A portal to past information,
Is stationed within your cells,
Swelling with excitement to tell,
You never fell from grace,
They displaced your allegiance,
Implanted a grievance,
Committing treason to the soul,
As they gain control of the flow,
Knowing you'll watch their show,
Slowly starting to let go,
Letting others tell you what to know,
Growing afraid of your own shadow,
Tomorrow a scary place to go,
Blow off the dust,
Clean up the rust,
Trust in your unique design,
It was a gift from the Divine.
I finished writing in my head
And reached to type it, but alas
I dropped the text, and it fell dead
Just crashed to pieces, like a vase
Words on the floor at random order
Glint in the sunny afternoon
I wrote them narrow, they get broader
And jumped away, to die too soon
Words quickly rot, but some look fresh
Like fruits in autumnal decline
Few nouns shine, like burning flesh
Verbs ill-begotten, spilled like wine
Visceral fear I tied with hope
What was the purpose, can’t recall
Hopes rolled like pebbles down the slope
And fears ended with great fall
Words on the floor, farewell, my dears
I need to clean the room today
Brush off the trash of hopes and fears
They weren’t needed anyway.
I shall write of fading distant things
Of silenced bells, birds without wings
Of time, that metronomic dunce
Who lives its moments all at once
I’ll view this masterpiece I’ve painted
Slightly perfect, slightly tainted
Leave it to you to gauge the hues
Of struggling artists paying dues
Upon them I have placed my mark
Both heaven light and hellish dark
For each pursues the shredded truth
Of tarnished age and stumbling youth
Of dreams released and dreams contained
A perfect life still slightly stained
Ladies and gents, it's happening tonight,
a well-promoted prize-fight -
and a party with every bigwig and socialite.
I'll give you an exclusive invite!
It's where "No, it's not" meets "Yes, it is",
and "It is hers" meets "It is his".
Meet "Who is wrong?" and "Who is right?"
I'm an attorney. I'll make big bucks, alright.
she was terrified of knives
had been fearful of them since she was a child
her children laughed about it
“We never had a steak knife in our home.
We had to cut a side of beef with a butter spoon.”
When October crept near, her fright pranced on overdrive
Her nightmares were not repeated, but we all knew
they had something to do with blood, gore, death and knives
I was a fairly new neighbor, and even I knew about it
Because this was a small town
The things people knew about each other made my hair stand on end.
I had never lived in a place like this; I was a metropolitan chit.
She asked if she could come see me.
“I hear that you clean knives,” she said.
I was astonished, astounded, and intrigued.
“I can, I do, and I might,” I told her.
The knife she showed me had flesh, blood and red hair on it.
The same color hair as her missing husband.
I pretended not to notice and cleaned it as she stared.
Gorilla tail does hard work, yet, there are much for cleaning and
remove!
We may liken lower vibrations as dust,
a contaminant opaquing light of soul,
so let us be wary of ego’s lust thrust,
since it but deflects us from our true life role,
inducing us to engage in deeds unjust,
distancing us from God’s light, our true life goal.
Now that the truth is known, it is up to us,
to meld our head with heart and board God’s bliss bus.
I am a captive of these chores,
Clean dirt from windows, walls and floors.
Clothes washed to remove all the dirt,
Even the lipstick on his shirt.
There's no time to check if its mine.
Washing is done, dirt came out fine.
Such bliss to have it all done, and when I die.
They'll throw dirt on me, where I lie.
I keep my house uncluttered,
appearances are key.
Still dust accumulates,
I try to not let it bother me.
I don't make people eat off my floor
so... how clean does it really have to be?
AP: 3rd place 2026
What haunted me the most, was the myth of clean.
Soap with its pale arrogance, its perfume of forgiveness.
Water pretending to be neutral, pretending it could rinse a history.
As if purity were mechanical.
As if turning a handle could unmake a person.
As if the stain were not the self.
See me labelled by facial features, by skin
By my nation whatever it costs
As my whole life’s derived from original sin
I could easily be so much worse
That you won’t even notice me in the crowd
And subsequently I wouldn’t you
We’d be wasting our time each on different cloud
Watching life slowly passing us through
Then one day, as it usually happens at day
We come closer like never before
While our clouds dissolve in the clean sky of May
We can stay for a little bit more.
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