Long Old times Poems
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I didn’t pay much attention to what was said about her; it felt as if I had discovered a lost star. We talked at length, and the past played out like a movie, with memories of old times flowing like a river. I listened with rapt attention. She had been diligent and dutiful in her prime. I heard stories about her that made me long to see her. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t visit her during my younger years. Although she sent gifts to my siblings and me, we still wished to see her in person, not just smile at her portrait. As she spoke, I smiled and recalled that my brother and I were supposed to see her a few years ago. I remembered the drama that ensued, particularly my uncle's lingering anger about their nonchalant attitude when my father went beyond. I remembered that she left heartbroken. We received her gifts but missed out on her warm embrace. I felt pained by those memories, yet I still wore my smile. It was an enjoyable moment with her as we drove back home. She showed me the places where she had lived, where her friends and siblings had lived. She marvelled at how much those places had changed and smiled as she reminisced. When I returned home, she travelled back after three days. Soon, the gloomy days fell upon us. A stranger who held her captive entered her life. Gradually, she lost her grip on her world. What wasn’t obvious to me at the time now seemed clear: she struggled with a monster, fighting against the darkness until it cloaked her. She was the last of her siblings, bruised by the loss of two of her children but brave enough to rise and continue. She found hope in the twilight places and fought the good fight. Her meadow bloomed, but eventually, it was shrivelled by the unseen.
Memories are fiery stars
The mind is the sky
Bruised by their arrival
August 24, 2025.
(Dedication: For Ann, Kerri, Ramona and LeeNa.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear friends from days gone by,
Gather to share a meal;
We talk and soon time flies,
Exchange wit and goodwill.
How the years have brought change,
To each a path to walk;
Yet years hurled good and strange,
Now we can fill our talk.
In between our food fare,
Share some journey insights;
Cite trials and pains and cares,
Succeed to share delight.
It seems like yesterday
When we were young and fair;
But look at us today:
Sparks of life's grand affairs.
Each to a pathway poise,
To love and live and play;
Each to a fate and choice
That make sense of each day.
Our meeting springs new joy
In touching old friends here;
We lift the veils of ploy
To celebrate good cheer.
So till the next meeting,
May love and laughter bind;
Let each heart find meaning
In love and hope most kind.
This get-to-gather feast
Is a scene from old times;
Fate and time can at least
Surround with lovely chimes.
As we go away then,
Let joy and peace align;
Dear friends just where and when
To live fond quest and mind.
Let each heart feel delight
In shared moments here;
Let love give heart true sight
To live the way of cheer.
Leon Enriquez
02 February 2015
Singapore
The gale of time has snapped the bonds
The generations don’t connect anymore
They grow as shadeless trees in isolation
And don’t make a cool garden anymore.
They are stories divided in incongruent chapters
But don’t make a readable book anymore.
I don’t understand your language of emotion
Nor do you mine
If my times could be nearer to yours
And yours to mine
We can bring the generations drifting apart
A bit closer
If we build a bridge together.
You can cross the bridge
And come in my heart to be in my times
The times when the values are still valued
Come to my home
The bare walls collapsing, the doors cracking
But it standing strong on foundation of faith
I’ll show you my garden
The flowers wilting desolate
But they preserve the fragrance of good old times
I’ll show you the faded picture of my little son
Walking by my side, holding my hand
He remembers no longer.
I can cross the bridge
And travel to your times you’re treading
You’ll show me your house
The walls decorated with abstract paintings
But the windows don’t open to the sky
You’ll show me the faraway garden
Where people throng to pluck odorless flowers
You’ll show me the picture of your little son in color
Holding your sleeve, looking away
Not knowing perhaps who you really are.
Let us build a bridge together
And on the bridge
I’ll take a step forward
You’ll take a step backward
I’ll hold your hand with love
And you’ll hold mine with care
We’ll let the generations relate.
Disclaimer: this is based off of a personal experience and not meant to conflict it’s anyone’s views on the matter. Just my personal experience.
Got a visit from a friend
Who must have wondered how I’d been
Out of nowhere he said hello
Then I miss you man
There were pictures on the wall
His Smiling face and beer in hand
Just like the old times here
And how I remembered them
Then I asked him....how is Heaven
He said.....
I don’t understand the question
It was then and there I knew
He had come to warn about the things
I was going thru
I heard without a word
If you plan to see the light
You gotta stay and find a way
To make things right
So you won’t question....
How is Heaven
I woke with up with a new vision
A little clearer line of sight
Like a prophet from my past
Spoke to me last tonight
Was it love or a warning
I prayed as if to say
Lord if he still wanders
May he find his way....
So he won’t question...
How is Heaven
He said;
I don’t understand the question
It was then and there I knew
He had come to warn about the things
I was going thru
I heard without a word
If you plan to see the light
You gotta stay and find a way
To make things right
So you won’t question....
How is Heaven
Is this his way at redemption
Or a way to change his fate
Could his Heaven be granted
For each soul he saves....
May he find the answer....
To how is Heaven
Got a visit from a friend
Who must have wondered how I’d been
Out of nowhere he said hello
Then I miss you man....
In the fifties, my sister and I would play store;
selling ice cream and candy just like our grandpaw.
Granny let us delve into her spare button box
where we found the coins for our special cash drawer.
We sorted them all out by size and by color
marking some as quarters, nickels, pennies or dimes.
Imagination was the best of our playmates;
we even had half-dollars, the rarest of finds.
Last year we two met to go shopping just for fun;
can you guess what awaited me and my sister?
Brand-new buttons made of honest-to-God live coins.
We found all the reg’lar ones, but no half-dollar.
We giggled as we shopped, pretending like old times.
Strangest thing we discovered along with this find -
the penny buttons? no cheaper than the quarters.
The cost of the buttons did not match with their kind!
The turning wheels of the fleeting transient time
rotate enduringly with life’s rhapsodic kaleidoscope,
creates the enchanting picturesque patterns prime,
crafted by the mélange of flashing mesmeric hope.
All the contrived chameleon colors transform
the visage of mind’s vast undulating topography
into an ashen wasteland ravaged by discord storm,
or into a tortuous glistening emerald valley.
I am flying beguiled on the butterfly wing,
flittering in the rippling air out of distress,
before it flies away beyond the spell of spring,
forms for me the tapestry of happiness.
My mind’s canvas turns into memory montage,
as the receptive consciousness free of strife,
configures bliss in the kaleidoscopic collage,
I see the reflection of joy in the mirror of life.
You came on the wings of zooming breeze,
blew a sensuous storm of fervor through me.
I held the petals of love in my heart to appease,
lest they flew away to the wilderness of obscurity.
The transitory flame of the trajectory of crave
furrowed in my mind a blazing trail of yearning.
I traced its amorous track with ardor to engrave,
even if like the flicker of your love it was fading.
Losing the longing in the darkness of desolation,
I ambled on sea-shore of sorrow, eyes full of brine,
swirled like the dislodged sands with split emotion
in the tide of remote times when you were mine.
Sleeping on the desolate edge of the lonely night,
I see you as a star in my dream sky in times tough
when it sparkles for a while to disappear out of sight,
and in despair I regret I didn’t dream of you enough.
As the winters of the old times get lost, to me it’s clear
in the life that awaits me what I could wish for as new.
I look forward to the future that’ll unfold year after year
with the changing vista of fulfillment for me and for you.
I’ll walk mesmerized in the blooming garden of glee
where I haven’t gone awhile though it’s just next door.
In the twilight gleam how the new leaves glisten, I’ll see,
observe the surreal patina of spring I haven’t seen before.
Sitting by the window open to enticing nature at sunset
I’ll see in splendorous autumn the trees gilded galore,
read the poems of love of an unknown romantic poet,
feel the passion of lingering youth I haven’t felt before.
The Unpredictable Future
Never has our future been more unpredictable than in this cosmic vortex swirling,
never have we depended on political forces woven from illusion and pure madness,
forces that don't follow common sense like a shining and sacred compass guiding,
but appear as collective delirium to the eyes of centuries sunken in eternal oblivion.
We've come to float in an ocean where the waves are chaotic and crude thoughts crashing,
where our hands don't touch a solid tomorrow but only vibrant multicolored mist,
we depend on powers that dance on the edge of the abyss with hypnotic smiles,
defying the sacred logic that our ancestors wore like a crown upon their heads.
The future is a map written with invisible ink on paper that slowly burns away,
never have we been exposed to the whims of forces that speak in dead languages lost,
political forces ignore common sense like a forgotten religion in burned libraries,
forces that seem like madness to the illuminated spirits of epochs past in glory.
We've become prisoners of the liquid present that flows through our empty fingers,
dependent on leaders throwing cosmic dice with our collective destinies at stake,
the standards of old times look at us from portraits and find us completely delirious,
we continue to walk blind on roads that lead into deep psychedelic abysses below.
Never has the future been more obscure than in this era of fractal and organized chaos,
never have we depended on forces that don't respect the gravity of classical reason,
forces that appear as hypnotic madness to those from the golden centuries past,
we remain prisoners of the unpredictable present that transforms into colored smoke.
well this week i can say is starting out great
i leave for Las vegas today to go see my daughter graduate
and while im there i might as well have some fun
hitting up the casinos and walking the strip in the Nevada sun
it will be like old times check out my old stumping grounds
cause there are a lot of new things that's changed since i left town
im sitting here now thinking of all the things i want to do
maybe a night on the town just me and my boo
hitting all the hot eatery maybe a show or two
hell we're talking about Las Vegas it's worth it just to view
adios Mississippi for a week and i leave you with all my cares
headed back to the west coast to enjoy that hot sunny air
i might get a little homesick cause a week can be hard to bare
although i love visiting Nevada i'm glad i am not still living there
Sadly I am still here but you are gone,
so all things must pass my loyal friend -
true the proud breast filled and white coat shone
from youthful bedmate to old grizzled end.
I remember that day you followed me home
and wishful begged my heart that you stay,
but you belonged to a family of your own
until they gave you up and moved away.
I think of old times over hill and dale
and how fate or chance drew us together.
In my love for you in this a dog’s tale
you will, old friend, in my heart roam forever.
A scout, a hunter, and a rover cast -
the car chasing fool in outrageous youth,
yet in his lazy dotage I looked past
an endeared mischief too long in the tooth.
That you bettered me I do freely boast
and made less joyless this world unto me -
a playful spirit I remember most
and a tail and heart for dogwaggery.
I think of old times over hill and dale
and how fate or chance drew us together.
In my love for you in this a dog’s tale
you will, old friend, in my heart roam forever.
Written: May 1990
Old roads paved once again,
New patchwork paint meets rain,
New trace of ancient strains.
Old buildings in new bloom,
Urban landscape frames boom,
Old hues in modern gloom.
New patterns in old style,
So many facelifts pile,
Juxtapose such odd smiles.
New ways to use old times,
Ventures of some sort chime,
Money makes odd stuff rhyme.
Commerce and business lift,
Come buy for that Free Gift,
New faces tout in brief sift.
Old Chinatown can farm,
Vistas of ancient palms,
Mix and mingle new charms.
Hear the rustic roar speak,
Commotion piques new peaks,
Watch a new moments leak.
Old wares and new cares ply,
Side by side in odd cry,
Random poise frames new sighs.
Come by and take a look,
All sorts of stuff can hook,
New waves in strange new brooks.
See such quaint old arrays,
Modern dish of odd replay,
Urban facelift now strays.
Leon Enriquez
23 November 2017
Singapore