Long Farewell Poems
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What wounds me, sweet tormentor, is not thy leaving...
but the indecent haste with which thou didst adorn another’s arm.
I beheld thee in those painted illusions of joy,
thy visage aglow with the mockery of tenderness,
thy laughter nestled in the hollow where my name once dwelt.
And there I stood...spectator to my own erasure...
as thou didst rehearse love’s charade
upon another stage, beneath an unpitying sun.
Ah, how swiftly didst thou barter eternity for novelty!
The grave of our affection scarce had cooled,
yet already thy heart had donned new raiment,
as though fidelity were but a costume for the fickle.
I, meanwhile, lingered amidst the ruins...
a ghost condemned to haunt
the echo of a promise never meant.
Those cursed portraits,
paraded through the cruel gallery of the world...
each smile a blade,
each tender word a bell tolling my demise.
The sight of thee, entwined with him,
was agony refined...
a theatre of delight built upon the bones of my devotion.
And still, I envied not thy gaiety;
for laughter so swift is seldom pure,
and hearts that heal too soon were never truly broken.
So yes, I confess it...I hate thee.
I hate thee with a passion both divine and diseased,
a fever that consumes yet grants no death.
But even in hate, I shall not wish thee ruin;
for to love such as thou art is punishment enough.
Go, then...
seek thy solace in shallow waters,
and let my memory drown in peace.
I shall withdraw from thy orbit,
from the sun that burned too bright to warm.
And in that silence,
perhaps I shall find a gentler truth:
that deliverance often wears the face of loss,
and not ending up with thee
was the kindest fate the heavens could bestow.
I breathe in the pungent flavor of pain,
the bitter taste in nightfall's weeping
as stars hide behind gray- washed posts , rain suffocating a prayer
for comfort, a sorrowful litany
echoing among drained dew...
Lost, alone in melange of grieving
thoughts of fragile child ,
lost and thiefed by dark virus from cell's weakened body--
I clutch babe's pashima until
silence breaks the spell
of another morn,
raw and stained from unrequited dreams, from
a mother's fervor locked in chains
never to be caressed with care...
Into frozen cuddle disarranged by lacerated dreams, oh infant falls
asleep innocent of pale slumber
somewhere...where?
While I, a woman drenched
by restless agony lay among grasses
coiled with a box of lullabies
only to drown and spill my being,
as I breathe in
the bitter scream of farewell.
You loved and cared,
Cooked and fed,
Never asking for a coin but for the sake of love...
The poet in me writes your praises,
Yet, the Mathematics in me can't even quantify your immense love for us.
Rest well Mami Margaret,
Tell grand mum I am OK but in the midst of another Pure Mathematics survival challenge.
Tell dad we missed him
and that I wish he was here to disprove my countless concepts in physics,
Tell him I still write poems and listen to the BBC,
Tell him I still look forward to have his twin grandsons despite countless failing proposals.
Tell grand-pa I didn't do political science nor joined politics
But from what I see, he for told our happenings-now.
Tell our forefathers, that we have desecrated the shrines, sold out sacred traditional works of arts for greed and money.
Tell them of the arm conflict and how we've soiled the land with blood,
and divided among ourselves our yet to be homeland.
Farewell Mami Mar!
The poet in me pays you tribute,
As the Mathematics in me confirms your convergence in The Lord,
You're now in the abodes of the Father,
Farewell, Farewell
À Dieu Mami Margaret
Until we meet again.
Your son,
#DePoetHaus 2020
Can I return all that I owe to
Persons who gave birth
Persons who showed love
Persons who taught good
Persons who appreciated
Persons who protected
Persons who employed
Persons who supported
Persons who recognized
Can I return all that I owe?
I must say nay; to be true
The love received from mom, dad, all brothers and sisters
The special relationship and moments cherished with spouse
For education from teachers
For encouragement from friends Cousins, uncles, aunts, relatives
Support from kith and kin,
in-laws, employers, well wishers
Can I return all that I owe to:
School and university mates Career and professional colleagues
Clubs and community buddies
Friends of family and friends of children
Godsend strangers and co-travelers
Co-players and residential cohabitants
Relations by marriages; other ties
Local communities and Temples
Good Samaritans at airports, bus and train stations
Helping hand at the pool or gym or a game
By mishaps and hospital stays
At musicals and restaurants!
Can I return what I owe?
May be yes; may be no
We owe it to parents for birth
We owe it to ourselves
To owe nothing to anyone
Be it love, money, apology, service
Before we call it a day!
A Right To Swear
by
Lem Griffiths
July, 2016.
Young gulls - love.,
How that fickle wind blows,
Soaring, dive bombing.,
As their fancy takes, not a 'blue sky' care -
O'er the chaos below-screeching of laughter,
They've earned the right to wail and cry and swear.
I looked down from my window,
In the nano second of a beat,
Yes., he'd once soared higher.., higher-
Or balanced above all the recklessness.,
Life's precarious bird on a wire.
In the late Autumn's heat.
Just yards, at a junction, prized from his weapon,
'Lamp post lynching seemed nigh,
Til a uniform, roughly plucked him,
To give account..,
To the young school gang., crying ., 'Why?'.
An interview, he can't be late -
He never got the job,
The 'mort'-gauge, a leaky roof,
All meant nothing to the mob.
Whilst back down my road, in solemn silence we stood,
His wings broken asunder,
Mrs lollipop closed his eyes,
As a gust ruffled his hair.,
And in the distance -
A deep rumble of thunder.
So..., so long, young sea gull from number 28,
The homework chasing - no more,
The years and the town - all seem to stem from that day,
There ought to be a law.....,
Damn it, Dad.., there ought to be a law.
669.
The 4th Period of the Independent Era of Philippine History:
The Majority
From Aguinaldo to Magsaysay our Bronze Age
From Garcia to Arroyo our Silver Age
Our Golden Age is from PNoy of Liberal Party
The rule, regime & reign of Yellow Majority
Farewell Yellow Majority, Welcome Red Super Majority
From a rule that's sunny to a rule that's bloody
As our nation undergoes a process of purging
A dramatic transformation our country is undergoing
Farewell Red Super Majority, Welcome Blue Ultra Majority
From a regime of blood to a regime of tranquility
As our nation undergoes a process of healing
A peaceful reformation our country is undertaking
Farewell Blue Ultra Majority, Welcome White Mega Majority
From a reign of peace to a reign of spirituality
As our nation undergoes a process of soul-searching
A spiritual revolution our country is uncovering
This is the 4th Period of Independent Era – The Majority
Yellow, Red, Blue & White – the colors of the flag of our country
This is just a vision of our country's tomorrow
God still knows exactly what is for the Philippines than what we now know.
-05/30/2019
*Periods on the Eras of the Philippine History
I'm finally forgetting
How you took your tea
Which side your hair was parted
Where you hid your extra key
I simply can't remember
The way you used to smell
Was it musk or soap and water?
I used to know it well
I don't recall your favorite song
The ring tone on your phone
Was that dimple on your right cheek?
Vanilla cup or cone?
Did your skin taste sweet or salty?
Did your lips feel soft to kiss?
Would you run your fingers through my hair?
I remember none of this
I've finally turned a corner
Though it was hard to do
I'm finally forgetting
Because I'm getting over you
You're not my first thought anymore
You don't haunt me in my sleep
Don't miss you like I used to
The pain is not as deep
Yet still I feel some sadness
In a melancholy way
That my mind will make you disappear
Just simply fade away
But the only way to heal me
Is to erase your memory
Every single piece of you
Then I'll finally be free
They shoved Lady Justice to the ground.
He tried to help her up.
He warned them not to touch her.
And in his last breath,
he asked her if she was okay.
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
They said he brandished a gun,
but everyone could see it was a phone.
They said he was a violent terrorist.
officers attempted to disarm him.
Why won’t they release that video?
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
His extrajudicial execution?
The way they pinned him to the ground?
The way they pumped ten bullets
into his mortal form even after he lay lifeless?
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
An American intensive care nurse,
working for the Dept of Veterans Affairs,
living a life devoted to the care of others.
or a friendly neighbor always helping
those in need?
How should we remember him?
I will remember how he gave his life to help
Lady Justice to her feet.
I looked high and low to find Becca's muse
I searched in the barn looked under a goose
For that strange fellow with long flowing hair
He wears interesting clothes and has great flare
In his pocket inspiration is kept
He sprinkled magic whenever she slept
We are sad she hasn't written in days
No more poetry to read and to praise
I keep up my searching, him I must find
Without her verse I'll go out of my mind
My search ends after I look every place
He hoots and hollers he so loved the chase
"Go back to my friend she misses you bad,
if you rush back she will truly be glad."
He smiled a broad smile and bid me farewell
"It won't be long, she'll have stories to tell."
Sometimes a muse must gather inspiration
Running from me his little vacation
So now he's back with her where he belongs
Soon we'll read poetry and lovely songs
Dedicated to my friend Becca.
Work in progress
Words in the journey
Sentences the narration
Distinction with a twist
Emotions add to all of this
Transactional approach
Ernest Hemingway, Famous Writer/Novelist
Some of his works, “For Whom the Bell Tolls, Old Man and the Sea and Farewell to Arms”
Venturing into reader’s hearts and minds exploration
Expectations into what the reader thought only a gesture
From land to the shores being the awareness of breezes circulating the human senses
Aroma of fresh wander, hope and idealistic values
Mr. Hemingway often wrote what he saw and felt
The theory came about as he would travel from Key West to Miami, Florida
He lived in Key West, Florida
4 hours ride from time to time
It would be the Greyhound Bus, and while reclining back in his seat
A Novel that became complete
From the good Earth
Novelist words and sentences connecting the here and there
Revolutionizing extraction
Detail having an awareness factor
Mind and paper of anticipation
Novelist Brew
Greyhound Bus in pursue destination bound.