A Love More Than Love

What arises from the dust 
when two people collide 
purely unintentionally 
is a love so tangible, 
insomuch that methinks 
that it must have been more 
than that, yet what could that be? 
What moves to love similarly? 
What thing like love explores 
the dark depths, the strange things? 
What feeling unfathomable 
in unknown a degree 
overpowers, sets aside 
that strength which love has?

The Voyager

As the navigator of the seas—
who leadeth voyages 
into lands yet untouched—
I goeth yonder into the fray 
in search of the light of day, 
wherein the light is thee.

Stop

Stop 

Look at the      stars! 
Revel           at the stars!

Wonder not, doubt    not 
Believe that stars are 
Believe      what is is 
Wonder not, and      look 

Look at the 
stars! 

Look at what    is 
Believe what is is 

In time, all shall be shown 
unto the world—
everything will be known. 
If we only look at what is. 
If we only believe what is. 
If we only wonder not. 
If we only doubt not: 
all shall be shown 
all shall be known.

Sonnet 4: Ode to the Motherland

Coconut trees and dying children;
Lotto tickets, the Black Nazarene;
Carabaos, tarsiers, stolen car plates;
Governors and low employment rates;

Underground rivers, frogs for dinner;
Islamic states and discounted fares;
Illegal logging, drug syndicates;
Dengue and girls that are hard to get;

Budget strippers and democracy;
No smoking laws, workers overseas;
Cringeworthy songs, filmography gold;
Expired goods at low prices sold;

Beaches, corruption and false heroes;
The unsung truths of Filipinos.

Desire

A flower blooms too late
the year fears cold winters
blizzards running rampant
like wildfire eats dry forests
the flower blooms but very soon
the fearful winter winds
arriving without notice
halts the flower's further growth

100th Post: Free

Freer than before;
My breaths escaping 
A world adorned 
By pillars unseen.

Lightning striking 
The young earth;
My breaths escaping 
The cruelly absurd.

The puritan lovebird 
Flies freer than 
She once did—
She flies wanton.

Loving

What is the beauty in loving? In loving we are hurt though it is stressed that in loving we are healed. What is the beauty in loving?

To love is to risk one's inner self. Love for the sole purpose of loving and not to please another. Others love to make another happy; they forget to make themselves as so. Others love for the sake of others, then that love is in vain and forced.

Love for the sole purpose of loving; in it one discovers the true essence of loving. To love is not to create anything abstract or concrete. To love is to act and nothing comes out of this action. What then is the beauty of loving?

To love is not to care or say, to express genuine concern, nor  are they connected in any way to loving. To love is neither to express mutual feeling for this is responding and not loving. To love is to love, and nothing more or less. To love is to love, no need for more words.

What then is the beauty in loving?

SONNET 3: Night's Coming

Come eve, frustrated winds doth blow 
leaves glide upon her tree's sorrow 
painted with a stroke of starlight 
they swim in the dark of the night 

A creature or two must witness 
he the beauty of it digest 
or altogether with a might 
turn away from its budding light 

Come eve howls slashing pierce the wind 
racing about the hills confined 
lambs afraid run with a might 
stepping on leaves with hooves a light 

Come eve exists no tomorrow 
come eve, dang'rous paths are narrow

Antonio's Mess

Sifting thru furniture, 
to and fro 
behind the TV set 
under Dad's couch 
racing like a wanted 
criminal chased by police 
in the unfortunate form 
of a rubber slipper 
from the sofa under - 

Eject, landing on the nightstand 
scurried to its bottom 
sprinted to the kitchen sink 
sirens blaring/mother screaming 
flinching, headed toward 
the dining table's leg 
wheels a`rolling 

SPLAT! 

You have the right
 to remain silent, 

Forensics arrive 
to sweep away 
the cockroachy mess