The gigantic acacia tree would testify
Were it not for savage ravages of rot
That erase feeble living things that die
After decades under sun’s missiles hot.
And the birds that chirruped and flew
About as he trudged over hill and bend
Long went like all weak beings of flight,
And no more can lasting credence lend.
If old baobab trunks had tongues that turn
Methinks they would solid testimony avail,
Of how devoutly he toiled in dews and sun
And never refrained from heaven-sent toils.
But since baobab trunks unspeaking are
And birds such fleeting breaths have they,
Can cold unfeeling stones their version say:
Tell how over them hopped he on his way?
Though villainous eyes those labors saw,
Witnessing their tireless winds and turns;
None would ranks of vile ignominy break
And end this betrayal that achingly burns.
And for want of witness this sobbing soul
Perishes and dissolves like a soaking loaf
Amid bootless heavens’ amnesic lethargy,
As cruel decades to a rude century morph.
Light withdrawn
Expands again
approaches dawn
clucks the hen
Constellations fade
Skies o’erspread
glory arrayed
chickens fed
Rising sun
Prayers bespake
omelets done
tastebuds awake
Entry in 'Embodying the Light' contest
Sponsor: Unspeaking Speaker
January 27, 2025
There’s no time for poverty
When there’s magic in the air
So long as there’s food
There’s no need to care,
And a watertight roof
Over a persons head
And the music of trees as
He lies there in bed.
A soft sweet lullaby that
Continues through the night
Then accompanies the birds
As they greet day’s first light.
The magic majesty of trees
Dominating the scene
Unspeaking witness to
Many things that have been.
Their leaves flutter and whisper
Branches sway and creak
As if talking to themselves
Passing the news of the week.
In my little Yorkshire village
There was magic in the air
And I was so lucky to have
Spent youth and childhood there.
Knowledge comes with age
So eventually a person knows
With no longer a future there
He packs his bags and goes.
The bad things forgotten
His memory erasing the past
Ensuring that only selected
And treasured ones last.
I no longer know my village
It has quietly set me free.
But there’s that special gift
My village life gave to me
To this very day I can still
Be totally at my ease
Sitting anywhere on my own
Under magic whispering trees.
Candlelight dinner just you and I
Romantic music in ample supply
I pull out your chair so you can sit down
I in a tux, you in a gown
Your sparkling eyes, lit up by the flame
Translucent sapphires calling my name
I look deep within them and lost in their blue
Profess profound feelings and my love for you
You smile unspeaking, your eyes say it all
I rise from my chair to answer their call
And what happens next is the subject of dreams
A kiss under stars among dancing moonbeams
I’ll exit in quiet and angst-hastened steps
Over the sanded dust on that jinxing floor;
And with well-metered gait soon shoot out
Into a sea of blank faces beyond the door.
I own I must pity each unspeaking grain
Of sad earth asleep under my agile feet,
Unaware of those heavy strides of pain,
Resolute where tears and anxiety meet.
I nurse a weird thought that I’ll encounter
An intolerably inquisitive eye as I saunter
Past every low stretch of panicky ground,
Curious whereto my swift legs are bound.
It will be a hastily embarked on walk to far
Climes cast between two impossible walls:
Meanest Fate on dim life's left-handed end,
Luck posted on shinier side of such fracas.
At seven-thirty in the chilly morn’s breeze,
I’ll roam wherever Destiny’s winds please!
Uncharmed by the bloom of fresh roses white,
I shall with the mute prop of unspeaking sticks,
Like a bored mollusk loathe my slowing walks;
And pine for eternal still with wee cursing clicks.
Uninspired by thrills of chart-topping songs,
And no longer revived by their lisping beats,
And aided by sad hammers and rioting tongs,
I soon shall fault all Earth and her tepid treats.
Not fresh world's trending fashion’s catalogues,
Nor its luring vogues in their cyclic monologues,
Shall this last pilgrim's going even slightly delay;
All men’s warmth unwanted obstacle in my way.
Thievish night's erstwhile dreaded gloom
Shan’t prove such a feared quieting tomb,
For her dusky shroud may better warmth
Spell than all sluttish breath's jaded cloth.
I’ll gradually disdain these slow-turning rounds,
And slowly uninterestedly rise to stiller grounds.
UNKNOWN STILLNESS 9
To know for the first time
Stillness beyond mere silence
And deeper silence manifest in stillness
And to know for the first moment
That all will be well
All is well
And to realise the secret self
Always aware yet unspeaking
Yet all-knowing without knowing
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
01 October 2019
Singapore
Great poetry is spoilt in heroic times
That go unsung on emotional climes,
In rhythm-laden occurrences in life's
Countless merrymakings and strifes.
And so why do we say crisp verse
Comes rarer than the bluest rose?
Is not your deep-piercing tear of woe
Full of as much rhyme as its source?
But there's painful absence of a patient pen
Ready to immortalise varying deeds of men
In freshest tones and in fine-metred lines,
In memorable turns and high-troped signs.
A thousand sweet odes unspeaking lie
In your sorrow-filled text to a lost friend;
And millions of muted epics sadly sigh
In killing failures into successes turned.
Every raw impulse of life and fleeting breath
Sings one trillion sonnets on love and death.
Great poetry is spoilt in heroic times
That go unsung on emotional climes,
In rhythm-laden occurrences in life's
Countless merrymakings and strifes.
And so why do we say crisp verse
Comes rarer than the bluest rose?
Is not your deep-piercing tear of woe
Full of as much rhyme as its source?
But there's painful absence of a patient pen
Ready to immortalise varying deeds of men
In freshest tones and in fine-metred lines,
In memorable turns and high-troped signs.
A thousand sweet odes unspeaking lie
In your sorrow-filled text to a lost friend;
And millions of muted epics sadly sigh
In killing failures into successes turned.
Every raw impulse of life and fleeting breath
Sings one trillion sonnets on love and death.
PALADIN
Expert but understated taciturn lone hero
Sherlock Holmes fiddling with a violin solo
Then James Bond then Richard Boone
Then Terminator and Bruce Lee (died too soon)
But today’s hero is the computer guy
Who can fix your machine easy as pie.
Unspeaking, he arrives in casual jeans, with pliers
Small screwdrivers and a pocketful of wires.
Wants no chit chat, just fiddles with motherboard
And such for a half hour without a word.
Then he disappears in a white van -
Say. . . who was that silent man?
Your problem he can unravel :
Have mouse will travel.
Truth lies in these eyes of mine.
You won't look into,
Cannot immerse yourself in...
What's real.
I'm not trying,
Fear of failure or something wicked,
Do only morose things come out of feeling?
A mouth unspeaking,
Potential upbringing,
Sway me in your direction.
It could be easy,
This intertwining of old wires,
Chewed apart by this beast of heart,
This lych of adoration,
Breathing and beating and reeling.
I'm unconcious and on fire.
You are immovable,
Striken by ice.
At the pivitol parts of this world,
We need eachother most...
And we could very well kill eachother.
Maybe we have,
And what was once..
Shant be forgotten..
For if fire and ice were to combine,
I wouldn't be lost,
Nor would we be without the sun..
This love in my eyes,
Would truly be mine.
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