Long Coagulates Poems
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the choking beat of conformity
coagulates internment in the minds
of fascist marches measuring time
shoving tubes filled with dictates
down the gullet of my spirit
wishing to be at least severed
from the instance of alignment
inherent in the laughing dream
which destroys ambitions of rain
-bows arching toward constellations
(a distorted and twisted version of the uni
-verse is still wavering alternative…
…dimensions into the crevice of an animal
eyeing and praying for nothing save rain
and prey to be plentiful despite their screams…)
must keeps the string extending
into nuclear holocaustic burns freezing
specters of old films dissolving
bubbles of arteries swelling grand
-father gasping at the why dangling
in the sky…stratospheric metaphors
…and off-key colors spill like incense
into the flame of creation harkening
dances of concubines combining
their hair like an enigma
lost in the tip of a hum
life splits the secret of the tongue
a hue reflecting djinns of you
releases peace in a white explosion
swimming a thousand curses in sand
blinding in the storm of suffering
until the palliating confusion tears
and the witnesses remain in the caesarian
-section of divided moons of elliptical doubt
orbiting the cloud of world-leaders
scratching the chin of sin smirking…
(In the 17th century, when thinkers
were first getting to grips with gravity,
they named it "kindly inclining".)
Seeds adrift on water
coalesce:
fueled by affinity,
they form a community.
Last pearls of wine
combine:
electing against space,
they cling to the curve of the glass.
Berries stain the fingers
that rupture them,
their plasma clasping the hand,
rather than leave unthanked.
We scraps of matter
are emboli,
swimming in Not-Being.
An impulse in the void
coagulates our Something.
Swathes of stellar gas contorting,
slab on slab of basalt pressing,
horses on the hill cavorting,
algae in the swell fluorescing,
ospreys on a rock face nestling,
children tumbling and wrestling,
matter moves to matter.
We are starstuff all,
and motion is our purpose.
We are aided on our journey
by the steady pull
of starlight.
This, is where it began
A scream
Blood curdling
An amalgamation of acid and iron
Coagulates my blood
Mother
Instinct seizes
Heart racing
Legs race faster
Thoughts race out of hand
A gun to her head?
No time for weapons
Fists will do
Around the corner
My eyes catch glimpse
five golden corners
two solemn eyes
Mother
One word resounds
From shrieking lips
No
Over and over
Over
And
Over
That word
His badge
Her sobs
His gaze
Say one shrilling word
Her lover
My father
My father
Gone
Reflections are divergent
images composite
negatives of dreams
an alternate stream.
Calculations of precise reality reflected.
diverge and coalesce? In memories
Stacked as photographs fade…
Reflections are divergent
images composite
negatives of dreams
an alternate life
not all is at it seems.
Things unseen best left dismember
in the bloody history of my infancy!
Coagulates impressions like rusty blood…
As impression imperfect of pictures; vacations,
holidays, Christmases, and life images delineate
go fuzzy pale, fade, and blow away…lost in memory!
A story in the light of a bitter
sweet son a future left unseen
and in between shadow and reality.
Divergent reflections
composite perfect impressions
in alternant history
refract
retract
subtract & divide
impressions imperfect
feeling the suicide!
The shadows in all these photographs
burn in the light as future sons, diverged
impressions perfect
image compromise
comprehended
and surmised…
Here greets
Now glimpses;
This moment
~~~~~~~~~
Sacred glimpse
Haiku fragment;
In the moment
~~~~~~~~~
Watch what happens
Dewdrop on leaf;
Instant nirvana
~~~~~~~~~
Birdsong greeting
Balcony duet;
Dawn hymnal
~~~~~~~~~
Fruit vendor
Ready-to-eat;
Temptation thrills
~~~~~~~~~
Lovely beauty
Finesse charms;
Feisty sensations
~~~~~~~~~
Street corner
Lunchtime recital;
Musical interlude
~~~~~~~~~
Long bank queue
Monday transacts;
Credit and debit
~~~~~~~~~
In a quick splurge
Time slips away;
Age coagulates
~~~~~~~~~
Do you see:
When you see
Why you see?
~~~~~~~~~
Wake-up now
From wild dream;
Fall once again
~~~~~~~~~
Loitering here
Alleyway commotion;
Query other faces
~~~~~~~~~
Drooping willow
Heavy burdens hang;
Dawn escapade
~~~~~~~~~
Park walkway
Curious eyes meet;
Butterfly romance
~~~~~~~~~
Old dog barks
Learns new trick;
Fleeting frolic
~~~~~~~~~
Hot morning sun
Dehydrates flora;
Dewdrops disappear
~~~~~~~~~
Time oozes
Swift-flowing river;
Life beckons
~~~~~~~~~
Brisk words echo
Swift drowning here;
No one knows
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
28 May 2017
Singapore
A red sun, pooling like a drop of blood:
coagulates at the edge of darkness.
And ebony flows like a rising flood:
black as pitch, inking a seamless starkness.
A gilded moon, like a pitted gold coin,
beams in the sky as a beacon of light.
And twinkling like flashing fireflies, stars join
quasars and pulsars, lighting up the night.
Dawn frets like a nervous actor offstage,
while preparing to introduce the sun.
And as a gossamer breeze comes of age,
morning shimmers, like a web, freshly spun.
And Sol rises: as a golden balloon,
afloat in the air, like a songbird's tune.
Marooned, small life swims
in a rockpool flung up
and left high on the stretched
reach of last night's storm.
The world that holds them
has shrunk to a size
no bigger than a bucket.
The morning sun singles out
the forms and anoints each
with a dab of light.
I watch and swirl a finger
as if to stir the motion
of a running wave and break
the stagnating still
that has settled here.
This pool is too far away
from the normal wash
of tides to be replenished.
Cut off from the sea,
it will evaporate.
Each turn of a finger
through the water
seems to wind a thought
tighter around my head.
When I stop, an image
on the surface of the pool
slowly coagulates into me.
Just below the glaze,
life withdraws a little further
into its shrinking world,
separated from the sea.
Here
in the yuletide
season,
today’s
peace on earth
and good will…
lay hidden somewhere
in the attic of bygone days:
wrapped in cobwebs of time.
Once considered obsolete—
hopefully benign—
malignant war
has become
the trend today;
Our war sick world,
drunk on inebriating
negative wisdom,
has evolved into an oxy-
moronic society—hailing
war as a negative good.
Indeed the winter season
of peace on earth…
has become a warring
sales season
rather than the season
of giving peace.
The red, white
and green arrays
no longer signal
joyous of times
but have become
grievous reminders
of the bombings
of peaceful children
whose blood coagulates
in war’s putrid flotsam.
Pregnant mothers
in silence of death
beseech forgiveness—
aborting babes; wretched
deaths of brutal conflict:
In psalms of grief
mercy contemplates
the choices.
Despite it all,
as we struggle in faith
let us be ever mindful
that above us
is the attic of God—
where warmly wrapped
in swaddling love,
abides audacious hope:
the creative good will
towards all
echoing on the horizon—
Come, let us welcome
the new dawning
bringing the vitality
of God’s abiding peace—
moving us forever forward
to the day when evil war weapons
shall be mould into plowshares
and pruning hooks of grace.
The dream lives; the vision is;
the reality comes.