I carry the ark of my heart
Upon Your tabernacle
As open as ocean does part
I leave it to your tackle
To redeem the rainbow's pledge
Before time comes to its edge
Almighty God the father
With You, I gat no bother
I lift up with grace, Your prominence
Upon Your tabernacle
As melting as honey milks eminence
Incomparable to spackle
Unlike men whose prominence fade
Over time but Thou can't be weighed
Loving God the son
With You, I do won
I rest my worries cum Your shining glory
Upon Your tabernacle
For my anxiety can't sustain this life lorry
When troubles shackle
All efforts gearing victory against defeats
For retreating fear that fairs to beat deceits
Comforting God the Spirit
With You, I got an advocate.
1. Bereft
Parents in the Beyond
2. Tear
The Sweat of Consciousness
3. Memory
A Sentient Fossil
4. Joy
The Prologue to Suffering
5. Power
Aurangzeb Incarnate
6. Hate
Love Defeated
7. Waiting
The Weight of Guilt
8. God
A Spiritual Refuge
9. Vote
Signature of the Majority
10. Solitude
An Unseen Walk
11. Freedom
The Shackle of Liberation
12. Life
A Blind Alley of Dreams!
13. Ego
A Spiritual Void
14. Time
An Endless Epic
15. Politics
A Silent Circus
16. Conscience
The Voice of the Soul
17. Nature
Mother’s Lap
18. Stillness
Meditation
19. End
The Beginning
20. Greed
Insatiable Weakness
21. Death
The Subconscious Clamor!
22. Love
Your Face!
23. Dream
A Silent Cinema
24. Shame
The Chain of Inertia
25. Darkness
The Shame of Ignorance
26. Sex
Blissful Fulfillment
27. Faith
Inherited Imprint
28. Vision
Light Within Darkness
29. Nation
A Fragment of the World!
30. Poem
Resonance…
119.
Leaf on Water
Gracefully descending
Downward it's coming
Southward it's going
Lowering, lowering
Thin and subtle
Light and gentle
Now on the shackle
Of water level
Chlorophyll coloring
In water it's brewing
White clam is opening
Tasting, tasting.
-04/24/2012
(Dumarao)
*for Vet.Med. poem in Salingsing Issue of 1st Sem., AY 2011-12
Issue of 1st Sem., AY 2011-12
The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." - Eleanor Roosevelt
Success is a deep urge of every fellow man
Do people really strive and properly plan?
Not essential to seek answers for this question
How best you trigger is left to your discretion
Move on crossing one after another threshold
Don't try to evade from obstacles but behold
Charismatic distractions may misguide and tempt
Shackle all looming hurdles and make an attempt
It's better try and fail, than not to try at all."
None has become a stalwart without a downfall
Realize your potential and set perfect goals
Convert your beautiful dreams into real roles
Setting goal isn't enough to catch the glowing stars
Instead of building air castles, strive with no bars.
Place: 1st
Rare should Nature come to my house
I would go, my dream fires to douse.
Rivers can’t come to me,
I’ll go there them to see,
Swim if I can or not, no grouse.
Mountains high, small hills, lakes, meadows,
Countless trees and sun and shadows…
Farmers in nature’s care,
Fragrant forests so fair,
None will come in care of my cause.
They work hard in natural rhyme,
I’ll go, for I respect their time
And will keep going there
My diffidence to dare,
Not in spare time, in time so prime.
If Nature can’t come to my house,
I’ll have to go-- this home-held mouse
Pay homage as it were
And clear years of false air,
Call ‘tis of heart, of head nor nous.
_________________________
Musings | 02.12.2025 | adventure, freedom, house, nature, limerick
Note: Watching a river water filled in a bottle is no substitute to going out to a freely flowing river amidst nature. Man seems to have castled him in a bottle of circumstances, still pretending to sing a song of freedom. To snap this imagined shackle with which man ties him in knots, he must go out to meet Nature. Here is that song of freedom. Only when man learns to be with Nature, he will learn to respect it.
Hot beauty
Like a rattling dove
Whirling cocooned in a flood
Like thirst dripped
Onto the furnace
Of hot galloping wax
Into my tingling
Expanding fibers
On that balm-coated
Trembling cloth of canvas
In that moment when the flame
Flares up with a great heat
As a bomb exploding
Drop of wax is pounding
Sensuous broth is boiling
I am covering you up
With beeswax
With the honeycomb
This glaze of love
Wrapping you like a shroud
A spoiled brat in a raging heather
Prince on board
With his bluish temper
With his depraved rampant
In Perverse abundance
Lid on the lid of lids
This ark of passions
Tavern decays
Delusional Grieving
Monastery of Struggling
Sine Diagram Cosine Graphs
In contemptuous arrogance
In the flight of excitement
Shackle stick me to the ground
The unsurpassable ratio
The Unstoppable Quotient
Horizontal constant eight
Let out a giggle,
In the delirium of
Snickering laugh
The sand is pouring,
The alarm is beeping
Time is running a race,
Can’t keep up with pace
My relentless robotic
Endurance overtakes
We are finite creations in an ever-expanding universe,
Kissed by the calcified stardust of epochs gone by.
Seized by trepidation and insecurities that stagger our growth,
Engrossed by a yearning to fit into societals manufactured boxes
Which consume creativity and individuality.
Incapacitated by force-fed paranoia,
Tormenting our artificially pristine panoramas with mangled wraiths —
Regurgitated pleasantries scribbled upon mass-produced pulp,
Courage stamped out by mass hysteria.
Revolving chains shackle dying hearts turning to stone;
Humanity hardens while heaven becomes further out of reach.
For every action has, even if unintentional, consequences.
We have silenced our own tongues,
Watched in desensitised horror as the world burns,
And now we stand frozen
As the earth cleanses itself of our parasitic invasion.
Property
Should an inmate of operations in correction be elected post haste to representative of delegation proceed as resignation is declared prior, and during trials of law
Military justice is also the same.
What say you on your auction
Assemblyman Irwin?
You will say post haste
As now you are a draft
Not being able bodied and male of remarkable age and criteria the auction
Continues
To degrade not grade an otherwise statement
of use to liberty for we have found a new war we have not the ability to create against
As we remain shackle we will not allow further questions.
We have been defeated
#asmirwin #mayorofla #cagovernor #realdonaldtrump #tonybiasotti #aoc #elizabethwarren #berniesanders #nytimes #bbcnews
The waters no longer hot, just a cold depthless sea.
The young girls shackle was a perfect miraculous fit.
dragging her to the depths of the shallow box;
the anchor that would sit.
Her locks of hair were dripping-
a drip for all her anguish,
that would send the box spilling.
Thus she stayed silent,
pop, bam, bang for every bubble that popped-
a new batch would flock.
Lifting up her arms in despair,
she looked at the radiant circle.
It wasn't fair.
The circle bulged created by man,
but she couldnt even use her hand-
to get out of the cell, it would be a bore.
For she had the capacity for no more,
She wailed and cried and still couldn't thrive.
For her smile was deprived.
Was the bath ever even hot?
or had she forgot-
to turn the tap and make it hot.
Imagine!
" Kind Words", revealed as piercing bands
of sunlight gently melting mist of morning dew.
Shredded strands of light appear blazing
through leaves blanketing forest deep.
Restrain bitter words that deny
the flourishing seed to yield its return.
Observe, we are better
when "Kind Words" are spoken.
When, from a painful sobering voice,
the soul beckons for repose.
No respect returned to break the moment in.
for where is the glory in it?
"Kind Words" cleanse!
Glory won in a word of kindness spoken.
Life, though as short as a breath,
needs no hand to uproot or wrest.
To labor upon ones crowded faults,
proves a shackle to blissful results.
"Kind Words", a gift for thee!
She scrubs the floors with hands that bleed,
her heart, a brittle thing beneath her chest—
a reflection of the shattered glass
she once danced on,
believing love was a crown
meant to fit anyone.
The prince's ring,
so smooth,
is a shackle,
and his kiss—
not a promise,
but a contract with the devil’s own whisper.
Her stepsisters wear their cruelty
like fine silk,
while her smile fades
into the dust of her cinders.
The carriage,
once golden,
is a cage
that rattles down the path
toward a ball
that was never hers to begin with.
The clock does not strike midnight.
It grinds her bones to powder,
and she is left standing
in the ruins of her own dreams,
the glass slipper cutting into her flesh
as if it always knew
it was meant to break her.
She wears her silence like a veil
Stitched with echoes of nights unseen,
Where shadows whisper fractured tales,
Of love that turned to something mean,
A heart once full, now torn between.
His voice, a storm that splits the sky,
His hands, a thunderclap of pain
Apologies like fleeting sighs
Washed away yet fall again
A cycle spun in endless chain.
Behind closed doors, the world is blind,
To screams that never reach the light,
She paints her face, she speaks in kind
Hides the bruises out of sight,
Convinced that love should feel this tight
But love should never be a cage
Nor hands a shackle to endure
No kiss should ever taste of rage
Nor words be blades that cut impure
Love is not a wound to cure
One day the silence cracks apart
She finds her voice, she dares to breathe,
Steps beyond the past so dark
Where fists no longer weave her grief,
Where love is kind and love is free
There are some birds I'd like to talk about today -
a cardinal, hummingbird, robin, and blue jay;
but, put me on a chain, put me in a shackle,
you can never spoil my fun. I'm saying "grackle".
My Valentine has a ticket to ride;
So London town beware!
New wings will carry her up north;
A pass to Leicester Square.
Let Big Ben toll and chime aloud;
St James's Park prepare;
The hustle of the Covent calls;
For her to stop and glare.
Our Festival halls a singing show;
But not a stage needs she;
For Shakespeare wets her rosy lips;
Or a lovely cup of tea.
A winking Thames will guide her way,
Along a South Bank charming;
For knowing swans will nod and sway;
To see again their darling.
And she indeed is friend in kind;
To changing guards and steads;
A wine bar to intrigue her sense;
But a wooden hut to feast!
She rides the tube - this surfing queen;
No palace holds her bound;
No chains to shackle regal wrists;
In no tower is she found.
Free as the wind, sweet honey bee;
She feeds my love in rations;
My desire for her will never fade;
But London is her passion!
If you thrust a dagger into my heart
Lay me on a bed of thorns
Give me a chalice of hemlock
Thrash me with a flail
Haul me over the smoldering coals
Hang me over a precipice by
the skin of my teeth,
Shackle me, impale me, crucify me…
But I will only smile,
Why?
Because I am in Love!
It was so written on the
sheaves of the stars
on the wings of the wind
on the waves of the seas
on the cool mist of the dawn
on every breath and every smile
on flowers, leaves and grains of sand,
like etched into the stone…
I Love You.
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