Who's love is compared
to that of a life manual?
One who wakes up
at any sound you make.
One who stays up all night
Rocking you to sleep.
One who cries behind closed doors ,
But put on a façade in my presence,
One who Is worth more than anything.
One who gave me this thing called life.
Who am I not to honour my mother?
Weather rich or poor,
She will always be my mother.
She is the one who takes
the place of others
but her place can never
be filled by anyone.
Her heart as pure as snow,
In her warmth I find hope,
In her warmth I find peace.
In her word I find wisdom.
In her word I find knowledge.
She whom your smile is her
Utmost joy and happiness.
Every prayer she says is a blessing,
Everything she touches is gold.
A queen in her own kingdom.
An angel with glorious wings.
A beauty beyond imagination.
The bravest of all.
She who walks through storms and lightning with high heads.
Fight battle with love,
Nurture with patient,
And love with tenderness.
Take a moment to celebrate her,
Cause she deserves to be celebrated.
More and more,
Over and over.
She deserves to be happy
a societal façade to please the outside
no true emotion
seeking pleasure from others
getting sucked dry by leeches
accommodating others' moods
acting according to how they act
striving to please them
finding little comfort in them
totally free in solitude
maximum expression
cortisol nonexistent
consistently complacent
His stoic, weathered façade
Subdues an ancestral angst
Silences the unwept tears
Of duty’s diligent dissent
Soft lights mock his withered soul
Highlight the emptiness of now
Echoing forever’s endless “OOOOM’
As darkness swallows all
The thorn means no harm
For it is but a Rose’s champion
Sworn to solemn solitude
In service to his queen
The flowers open wide
Their scented sensuality
Pandering to the buzz
Of pollinations gigolos
A forlorn star
Sits on a passing cloud
The knowing do not know the unknown
If they did
They would know
What they don’t know
The new normal says:
to pluck a flower without getting in trouble,
do it from a bunch,
'cause the crowd covers the action;
it retains the innocence.
A lie—
a masked tool,
surrounded by many words,
easy to make anyone a fool.
Best way to present any stupid thing cool.
But when it embeds on our tongues,
so sticky,
it won't leave.
Who first needed it?
Why couldn't truth fit?
Perhaps it's the fear
to see those expressions
when they hear
what the actual words are.
They might find it sour.
But the actual event is uncarved;
no one knows what truly held.
Why not serve a different tale
everyone wants to willingly hear?
The plan succeeded.
No one knew.
It felt like a weapon;
the word spread among a few.
The legacy continued.
"It's self-defense," they argued.
Reality depletes,
the façade highlights.
No one can prove
if you lied.
She personifies the rift between town
and gown in the city,
pageant pretty, in pale pinks pellet,
lace sleeved adorned,
like a primrose she stands prominent
a gringo cigarette in one hand
Mexico’s flag in the other,
her country ‘tis of thee
like the contrafactum
of an earlier English anthem
God Save the King,
American democracy
she paints her de facto
her homeland in turmoil,
under an anthropomorphized sun
lest the moon’s clash in her own sky
Olmec ruins, laid foundation
stone heads, deep-rooted cacti
leaving behind the natural nation
she’ll advance athwart
contra the cold chicken coop
industrialization’s smokestacks,
the iconic River Rouge Plant
ugliness versus beauty
a glossy façade?
homesick for her pagan past
“self harm is often used as a form of control”
the first time i heard that it all seemed to click. all of the days in school hearing the taunts of other children and the mistakes that never seem to end. all of the nights that i felt the world spinning and the thoughts became too loud.
it was a trap disguised as a release. dragged you down deeper into the ocean while convincing you you were going to finally reach the shore.
but the ocean is only so deep. there are a finite number of miles downward that you can be dragged before you inevitably reach the bottom. and oxygen will only stay down low for so long before the pressure lifts you right back up. bumps along the way are inevitable, you were miles into darkness after all. eventually, though, you will reach the shore. and this time it won’t be a rouse or a façade.
the strength always returns. the shore will always be there for you to walk along, to feel the slight sinking of your toes in the sand like the comfort of a soft pillow. the sun always comes out again, the whisper of the wind in your ear like a long lost friend.
there is always an ocean of love around you, whether or not you’re able to see it.
I'm a boy, and I was raped.
You don't hear this a lot.
A child's youth is like a fresh apricot.
But that was taken from me.
As bitter as afternoon tea.
I'm a boy, and I was raped.
A huge scar, almost a scrape
People don't like to hear about these issues.
They say, “You're so strong, you're a survivor”. This isn't news.
Nasty people ask, “You're lying, such a snake.”
Their words hurt, and my muscles ache,
But not as much as it did that day.
Façade with the hope of connection, remember, such as yesterday.
I'm a boy, and I was raped.
If childhoods are so good, why must I be spared?
Thrown on the table without a care.
The rest of my life must be so bare.
Yet I keep my composure, stand tall, and write this poem
And while my hatred remains loathsome.
Sweet as an apricot, bitter as a dried grape.
Yes. I am a boy, and I was raped.
I am on the stage with masked faces
who play conceited life drama.
Smiles contoured by practiced act,
camouflaged pretension
I see through fake charm,
veiled sham façade.
I dislike
shrouded
truth.
I'm dying inside, a silent scream,
Masked by mirth, a façade's deceitful dream.
I laugh to conceal the anguish that gnaws,
A desperate attempt to shield my crumbling laws.
No pain, no gain, they say, but oh, the toll,
A heavy heart, a weight that makes me old.
I wear a cloak of calm, a disguise so fine,
A refuge from the prying eyes that mine.
I walk this tightrope, fragile and thin,
A balancing act, lest I succumb to the spin.
Pride's a shield, a flaky armor I don,
A temporary reprieve, till the storm is gone.
But oh, the ache, the desolate night,
When shadows whisper truths, and I'm forced to confront the fight.
No one sees the cracks, the fissures deep,
Just a façade, a pretence, a soul asleep.
I'm dying inside, a slow, suffocating demise,
A prisoner of pride, afraid to vocalize.
The pain is a tempest, wild and untamed,
But who can I tell, and ask, "Am I to blame?"
In this desolate landscape, I search for a spark,
A glimmer of hope, a reason to embark.
For in the darkness, I'll find my strength,
A phoenix rising, reborn, with a new length.
Sweet deafening space,
no words tether hearts,
deep secret breath.
Ring of un-tolling bell
resonates thought,
cadence of bliss.
Face enfolds weather,
frozen façade,
no forecast.
Thunderous inside, surface calm,
strategy for retreat,
cocoon built.
41.
Ode to the Flower of May 2011
Got thee on twentieth May
At town hall's façade you lay –
I planned this day to get you
Possible that we can do
For Summer Class Finale
Notable activity
Related to a lesson
The Church – Social Dimension
In white t-shirt we look neat
When we were almost complete
Under the shade while we wait
For others who seemed so late
And without hesitation
Proceeded I election
Little yellow bloom I picked
From green grasses where it sticked
So far it's the tiniest
And obviously the humblest
Then we went to town's parish
That moment we should cherish!
-05/20/2011
(Dumarao)
*Ode to the 7 Flowers of 2011
40.
Ode to the Flower of April 2011
Got thee at the façade
Of my father's stone abode –
This day in world history
Important for somebody
England's future king & queen
Just got their Royal Weddin'
While writing this poem of mine
They're in their reception shine
Just after watching TV
I got this white pen with me
To write this poem of this month
With flower that's not fragrant
Which I picked this afternoon
Knowing Royal Wedding's soon
That's ‘coz I'd no more reason
This month just went on and on
Without any occasion
Wherein I can attend on
So this fourth flora's unique
Like a lid, like a gimmick.
-04/29/2011
*Ode to the 7 Flowers of 2011
Flipping through the pictures
Memories on display
Radiant recollections of the forgotten
A shrine to the past
Pain in absentia
A domain for delirium
Not existing in the real world
A masquerade, a façade
I yearn to be like the pictures
Behind the cheap plastic screen
To live inside
Impossible
The sands of entropy in chaotic times,
settle on the shelf of the disorganized life.
In moments wafting with the dispersed dust,
the truth of belief in turmoil oscillates
in the ruffling surge of mayhem.
In the efflux of errant disarray,
everything changes in nonplussed instants.
The mystifying alchemy of metamorphosis
reveals the real façade of intuition,
reflectively masked.
In the squall of divesting consternation,
the disheveled mind in a state of confusion
splinters the leitmotif of emotions.
The confounded cascade of disquiet
drifts them to the misty oblivion.
Yet, when the palace of sands
on the shore of yearning tumbles down,
the psychic waves of feelings
break with the tune of fading ecstasy,
composing the music for the memory,
partly cloudy.
I am the sacred bodhi tree, no one is as wise as me,
since ages I have bestowed - enlightenment, wisdom and vision,
I embody traditions and spirituality, ushering the humanity towards vitality,
within me reside the powerful gods, for I am their earthly abode,
my one pious touch can heal a heart, hurt so much,
the blessings I shower give life an unending power,
saints meditate beneath my shade,
achieving nirvana, leaving this worldly façade,
I am the king of trees,
like the pole star among all the stars.
Placed third
26/September/2025
I Am a Tree Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
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