Friday, January 30, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Quote for the Day
E.K. trip
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The Villanelle
(Note: A villanelle follows a certain end-rhyme scheme of aba with its first and third lines repeated via a pattern in the verses following the first one.)
Moments fading into bittersweet memory
In the course of life, time does not wait
All that remains are pages in history
Each person has his own special story
Bits and pieces running out of date
Moments fading into bittersweet memory
Even kings and princes in all their glory
Are reduced to figures that stories create
All that remains are pages in history
Unforgettable experiences become blurry
When we grow old, it becomes hard to relate
Moments fading into bittersweet memory
Let’s just live life as a wonderful journey
One moment will pass, while two more await
All that remains are pages in history
There is really no need for anyone to worry
It’s just the way it works with fate
Moments fading into bittersweet memory
All that remains are pages in history
Emo (by klasmeyt April)
2 Hemorrhage of blunt emotion from bands with forty-five-letter names. (His Lullaby of a Last romance That First Died In Autumn)
3 Eyeliners, excessive black rubber bangles, and one-sided haircuts with bangs to obscure vision from one eye. Hoping that they won't be seen if they refuse to see. But their vandalized shoes scream heartache. (On his sneakers: How can I say I love you back, you never made me happy.)
4 Depression at the slightest provocation. Failure to recover from a major catastrophe. Self-destruction. (You need to be a fake to understand the way I feel. You left. And then: xxpaoisdeadxx signed out)
Ang Iyong Kalungkutan (ni Mark Angeles)
Ang iyong kalungkuta'y
umaagos saking katauhan
tulad ng isang malinaw na tubig
humuhugas sa batong apog
nangingisap na itim
sa iyong mga mata.
Pinagmasdan kita.
Piliin mo mang iwan
ang mala-paraisong ilog
na bilad sa lamyos ng buwan
ay hayaan akong maging kwerdas
na sabay mong yuyukod
sa talon na pinananabikan.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Tonight (Not Again) by Jason Mraz
The night.
She brushed her hands upon my flushed cheek
Smelled of childhood remnants of a dusty weeping willow
Clouds soothe, Shredded by the calico
Were oh so vast and quick as I was on my own now.
This time like every other time I believe that I never find
Another sweet little girl with sequined sea foam eyes
Ocean lapping voice smile coy as the brightest quiet span of sky
And I’m all alone again tonight not again, not again, not again.
And don’t it feel alright. and don’t it feel so nice. Lovely.
Still I’m unable to inhale all the riches
As I’m awkward as a wound on my bones
Still I’ve got cobblestone joints and plate glass points
As I’m all by myself tonight not again not again.
And don’t it feel alright. and don‘t it feel so nice. Lovely.
Well if you should nervously break down
When its time for the shakedown would you take it
It’s when you cry just a little but you laugh in the middle that you’ve made it
And don’t it feel alright. and don’t it feel so nice. Lovely.
xvii
i find it really sweet.
XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
istarbaks
i got this poem from my old friendster blog.
i wrote it last 2005 on a piece of tissue paper.
hehehe
two cups of water
small coffee
bits and crumbs of croissant
eaten fastly
folded tissues with poems
written all over
melted butter on a saucer
people talking
minding their own businesses
old men with their wives
some with their mistresses
clearing up
dirty tables, empty chairs
washing dishes, cleaning wares
photographs on black and white
painted walls
a flickering light
no one here
everybody’s gone
all alone now
coffee, anyone?
A Ma Mort
Comme la couleur s'effacant d'une belle peinture
Comme des feuilles d'automne soufflees parties
Dans un tourbillon de brilliant rouge et orange
Par approcher hiver froid vents
Un plus de souffle...
Un plus de soupir...
Il est etonnant comment vie pourrait exister
Avec la lenteur tendre et faisante mal
Toute sa beaute battage dans ma poitrine douloureux...
Parfois j'oublie comment respirer
Alors je pense -- de comment heureux je suis
Tous mes jeux de solitaire
J'avais conquis et avais gagne
Je dois avoir gagne ces derniers souffles
Ces derniers soupirs
Ces dernieres sensations
Ma vie a longtemps ete complete;
Et ces moments sont faits a temoignages de beau silence
Si je peux entendre mon battement de coeur
Et sentez la terre sous mes pieds
pour la derniere fois...