Cool sun shows its fantastic face
Early in the morn’s warm embrace;
Letting its bright rays turn the haze
Into a clear and pleasant place
As witnessed by the human race.
Note: This form is called Pasion, a traditional short Filipino poem which is composed of 5 lines, having 8 syllables in each line with a 4-4 caesura. The rhyming scheme is aaaaa. It may have a maximum of 2 stanzas.
In such cold morning
thus sleepy rooster herald
forgot sound cockcrow
the sunspots ensconced
behind howdy-do curtains
a cockcrow in lace
white watering can french blue
white sprouts of ivy deep green
unhackneyed eggs bright brown
the pale yellow sun flickers snow
and no one wears silk nightgowns
as knees fall, and wrinkles like weeds
are read on the backside of palms
that hurry the yolks and sizzle
the bacon, pour coffee into old cups
one for the geezer who grumps
but puckers up for his buttercup
T-hirteenth
E-arly
R-adiance
E-ndorses
S-unny
D-ay
E-agerly
L-etting
A-pril
C-ockcrow
R-ise
U-p
Z-estfully
Topic: Birthday of Teres N. Dela Cruz (April 13)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
M-orning
I-mage
C-lears
H-azy
E-nvironment
L-etting
B-eacon
U-se
C-lear
C-ockcrow
A-fter
T-wilight
Topic: Birthday of Michel D. Buccat (September 08)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
B-ehold the cool cockcrow,
E-arly in the morning light;
T-enth of March Saturday
H-as left the dark of night.
C-ool cockrow after the dusk
U-ses the rise of beacon;
A-nother twilight has faded,
D-usk disappears before dawn.
R-ain is nowhere in sight, flowers bloom in the meadow;
A-s the new day has broken, look at the cool cockcrow.
i remember darkness
as it filled your eyes
with the umbrage of death
i never saw it scrolled
on the lace stitches of night
yet it was written there
perhaps it was all along
when one learns where to look
i should have known
it would be the last cockcrow
before winter's storm
the way you laid there torpid
like summer's sun beyond the horizon
when tossed about in the winds
of winter's frozen breath
maybe i would have seen it
if i weren't looking
through fogged-rims of dawn
that hand's of night had sewn
upon life's window
my tears fell like heaven's crystals
across newborn fields of white
as i heard the trumpet's blow
while death and i both pressed firmly
against your algid lips
but only silence kissed back
The moor side broadcast,perpetually
amid airwaves of delirium,
aria that reverberates, from crag to scar
beacon to abbey century to century,
Everyday truth in simplicity
to ignite the human race!
© Harry J Horsman 1998
the cockcrow
sunflower, how gold it is
every morning
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