52.
My 9th Leaf
Got thee from small vase
Old décor replace
Host plant of 1st Leaf
Thrown away no grief
Diff'rent “fortune” plant
Planted by father
Installed there after
I was there when placed
A little so fazed
First leaf's host no more
Third day October
Sunset was nearer
While feeling not well
I'm under cold spell
Drinking I fruit juice
Just inside our house
Living room, oh browse
On vase first leaf was
‘Lil water still has
Buddhas adjacent
Simple day only
Not planned – truthfully
Just went to Passi
Withdrew some money
Wilted 1st Leaf host.
-10/03/2011
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection
Our nation’s like a runaway horse,
Galloping wild, no steady course.
Hearts divided, voices raised,
But deep inside, our hope’s not fazed.
Let’s bring it back, back to love,
To friends and family we’re thinking of.
Respect and kindness be our guide,
Together with love, we’ll turn the tide.
It takes us all—a hand to hold,
Community strong, heart and soul.
Listening closely, with open hands,
Building bridges across the lands.
One step, one voice, one caring heart,
Mending wounds, a brand new start.
In kindness, in truth, we find our way,
Healing together, day by day.
Runaway horse, slow your pace,
In love and respect, find your place.
Our nation will heal, with hearts aligned,
In friendship and love, a new day shines.
The Origin - Oloibiri
We all poise
ushering in
our plots, stage and play
ushering in the birth of a phase
Where all
have become fazed
A place of fame
now erased
a lurking abode
marrying a mirage into reality
smeared with a tainted face
faux words
and dangling puppets
rotating with the stale wind
The ocean, rivers and lakes.
All bring joy to me.
I live seaside, hear its call.
To be wet, wild, free.
Feeling so amazed.
To swim, fish, sail, gawk and walk,
With water I'm fazed.
Hourglass
The sun has become dimmed
with each step
the pathways seem endless
He is dazed
even as his mind is fazed
He loafs
as a floating leaf
romancing the breezy wind
He is immersed in simmering waters
doused with flickering hopes
drums to the echoes of yesterday
dances to the clanging fetters
beckons to the fastened doors
staggers through the mocking maze
He fidgets, longing,
watching for the hourglass.
He fidgets, longing,
watching for the hourglass.
Buxom Barbara burned her bra
never again lift and separate
or cross your heart to contemplate
she likes to feel her bosom counts
when flouncing down the boulevard
Barb now snags more bounce to the ounce
abroad in the world without a single care
it never fazed her one bit nor a whit
when this would jounce most men to stop and stare
as if they'd not seen such before
and she'd trounce 'em should they dare to pounce
a crystal-clear case of less is more
What have I created?
I look in the eyes of the devils kin everyday,
yet it has not fazed me until that day.
This man,
who claims to love and care for me,
Has brought me to tears more than I can count
But you see,
I’ve made him this way
he claims.
I am ungrateful.
I am selfish.
I am rude.
I am a dishonorable person.
I am untrustworthy.
I am narcissistic.
I am unclean.
But you see,
this man has sinned more than me.
This man speaks of stories that
are far to gruesome for anyone to hear.
I’ve made him this way,
he claims.
Yet he speaks that he was like this
before I was a thought.
It was as if the devil came to his hospital room and claimed him as his own.
This man,
who I cannot seem to understand.
Seems to not understand me as well.
What have I created.
Cross landscape high and low,
light candle of hope, walk fazed life through darkness grime,
let it glow.
New sun will rise,
show path of success at right time…
surprise.
Derive
pleasure sublime…
thrive.
Cross landscape high and low,
new sun will rise…
thrive.
Teresa of Ávila
Dreamt the passion of God.
A physical fire
Burned an image of his power.
An image I envisioned was one so dull
Full of pain
A nightmare stabbing my mind's eye.
A frail image of my mother
Some quivering voice I remember
In my dimension of inception
That my mother was at her end.
A disruptive anxiety burdens a peace
But that day, it was at bay.
Paralysed by a hidden sight that I couldn't bear
Petrified by a dream, one that was so rare.
This despicable numbness I endure
Sympathises the fools of fiction.
As reality shapes its needle
To fill with its anaesthesia of truth
And inject into those who walk in wonder.
Today, I trudged through that trail
Of some twenty-fourth year
My Lucky Strike ablaze
And my hands on the balcony window.
Experiencing no sore throat
That I remembered from youth,
Only a deep sensation of numbed limbs
Suffering this cold spring night.
Even the cigarette wasn't fazed
Of the wind’s devouring passion
Blowing its burning ashes.
There is a darkness that light cannot find
Perhaps neurological: all in the mind
nevertheless, it's a most spooky place
housing strange shapes of forgotten disgrace.
Yet, once in a while, I will journey there
often to disarm an ugly new scare.
The last time I went there, I met a man
who dwells in the darkness by his own plan
The light hurts his eyes; it should hurt our''s, too
it shows the wrongs we can never undo
It's best, he says, to avoid all the light
and keep our demons safely out of sight
You now know my story (I might be dazed)
because by the dark, I'm no longer fazed
If I've wronged someone, please accept my shame
I didn't do it, my mind is to blame.
I looked out my window,
At the gloomy grey sky.
When I saw a butterfly,
Flitting blissfully by.
Unfettered by worries,
Not shackled by woe,
A blithe Lepidoptera,
And its aerial show.
The patter of raindrops,
Fazed it not a bit,
Blithely it glided,
On my window did sit.
Ever so nonchalantly,
It fluttered its wings.
Not a care in the world,
What a fortunate thing!
If only my soul,
Could a butterfly be.
Gallivant in my small world,
Unburdened and free!
Act 1
A woman is walking down the street
After working a long day’s shift, she is exhausted
She reaches her house door and pulls out her keys
But they fall out of her hands
Frustrated, she bends down to pick them up
When she hears ‘ Nice view, lets recreate that someday mama’
She’s not fazed
That man told her she looks nice
She smiles it off and enters her home
END SCENE
My heart at each breathe pace,
Is a rhythm which made it fazed .
what does it desire ? I ask.
Alas! No answer .
Is it that which the Giver didn't give?
Is it that which if given silences the heart?
Is it that which a whole life spam has been given to find?
That which is not a star but far.
That which we represent with a white flag ?
But no where to be found.
The heart of every man desires peace,
But that which the giver has seized.
The past cannot be turned innocent-
Pain will always be acknowledged in moments of solitude.
I can pretend that the present is not part of the aftermath.
Grasping reality as if it is still trying to let go.
At times turning around, expecting voices to guide me.
Fazed more by their absence than their old presence.
The candle was lit, as it’s wick turned black,
To light up the room, of a dark old shack.
Flickers and embers, would leave the wick,
Wax oozed down sides, the candle went thick.
The embers of gold, would spark in the air,
As mesmerised eyes, would stop and stare.
Fireflies of red, of golden and white,
Would begin the flame, that lit up the night.
The flame would dance, with twists and twirl,
With slight fresh breeze, the flame would curl.
It’s dance of energy, the light in the dark,
As it flickered and crackled, it’s body would arc.
The wax would pour, as the candle would shine,
Creating wax legs, so delicate and fine,
As it pooled on a plate, and the candle grew small,
The light still shone, upon stone wall.
A man came by, to say good night,
To the red, and golden, flickering light.
He blew the candle, and a stream of grey,
Would leave the wick, with no delay.
Light fazed out, and darkness crept in,
The candle would stand, it’s body grew thin.
The wax had set, upon its side,
The man said goodnight, on his bed he lied.
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