Raymond and Jasmine

Hey, hey RAYMOND WEIL Angelus Del tiempo

 Whose hands crafted the speedy second, hurrying minute,

 Witching hour and lurking the date to month.

There in your nimble fingers synthesize

 Them all the spinning and orbiting particles

 of cosmos once appointed by God

 Now by the divine fiat they fall in

To your cushioned lap gazed by punctilious

 eyes the time never have a time to

 Flee from its turn or circle or by when

 Chance offers from its orbit or Revo

lution since accuracy fastens it

 Down, away from black holes o such spring of

 Ingenuity and patient genius sun

up smiles in time thereafter sundown sings

Despedida Hymn for the next smile

‘Till the petite hourglass is brimming with sand

With the candy-melody of strings of

 Winds of breeze of electronics in Mic

 The moon the sun the stellar dance synchro with

 The music sticks weaving tic-Tac-tic-Tac.



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Jasmine

Jasmine, jasmine snowy bud of time

Stand erect 5 or 9 lily-white tongues,

Now in lieu are arms and face

Of 29 diamonds forever precise;

Be it nightorday, snowyorsunny, dryorwet

The fail safe timings are forever in tic Tac to

The euphonies chimed from the music sheet.

Sweet Dream Pacifica

Death is real happiness. In it, a true rest rests. By it, one draws closer to God.

 

 Twilight closed the wearying Cyclops’ eye

What vision spread in the silent darkness?

Spasm-covered skin stretched over the lightless

Damp cubicle, capped by the looming sky.

Could happy song then quench nocturnal sigh?

Nay, Waves waft eternal in the vastness

Of grains of dreams, the eyes are colorless

In your long deep sleep—the heaven so nigh.

 

But, wailing now ceases in Lethean slumber

In cold, December night miseries asleep.

 Forget the day or night constant sighing

For yours, is sweet repose; not found in number?

Adieu, adieu the faith in you have kept

A happiness smiles not found in paining.

Rejuvenation Happens Whether You Like It or Not: The Greening.

Wings of emerald gem keep on plunging

 With the breeze, alight on the toothed-bosom

 Of loamy mass and moist puddle as

The sun sleeps and wakes--fondles the passage

 Of time and landings, still more landings, still crackle

 In the big magnet in silent crunch toothed-

Bosom tenaciously grinding and synthesizing

It colored the wings not with yellowredwhitebluepurple or what!

But of brownecrugreyblackchocolate milk for underneath hairs

Just for rebirth of hilarious emerald-babies

 Of the same and wings where the slight digits

 Of WrensThrushesWarblersandHummingbirds

Softly firmly clasp the moldy hanger hanging

 Bearing reborn fluting-fluttering wings

One time again, they pop melodies of

dLovesongddelightsdamusingsdNatalsongs.

MyOnlyCandyLove

Cyclope peep through the silent golden Trace

Lift upwards its sight to woe cool cottons

Below the lovable screen of eternity

When unwilling plural ‘come singular

Cycling with us ensync by fate or choice?

Both intense a searing loves a kindling ember

Unbearable to desert Gobi skies

Eternal cycling slaves in slavery

When Hugeness is in power so far and

 Soul is to spirit ours Is what it means

  The nimbus is to downpour and bee to blossom.

Therefore, disappearing tells appearing

With thoughts so in deeds Imagery and

 Reality tangible and intangible

 Coarseness And fineness: All thise shits are only shits

 To Love just becomes our slaves to our love

That their sir wakes up in endless cycles

 Bends Its head To the yawning west unbends to

 stretching east for itself (as it finds itself)

More slave to its cycling “for all time Come”

 Than Birds’ hilariously Atop each other

 In the offshoot of tall emerald gem

 THAN You with me to bed in nightly dream

 SidehuggingMoaningWhininggroaningshriekingpainingenjoying

Below the deepest called ecstasy  Seems forever (yes it’s, know it)

 As We enjoin our soul and spirit in search yes we lie down there

Dreaming And muttering dformdsilhouettedsubstanceessence about The terrible slave driver

                                                                   Called

                                                                  “L’UV”. 

                                   Happy Birthday to you

                                                                 My LUV

                                                     My Only Candy LOVE!

Valentine’s Day Am bay!

I stood stock-stilled in the forepart of a half-size, decrepit mirror in our household.  I opened my eyes wide, forehead wrinkled and then dragged by an immediate right-eye-close wink. How many times I did this - I was unaware, and how long I looked my image in the mirror, I was oblivious. I estimated the frequency of this ridiculous action five, eight, ten, thirteen...  more, many a time more, and that piece of feeble reflector looked murky as the sun outside gradually went down. I raised my left hand, mopped the mirror dry with my palm, and hoped that clarity comes back. It did no good; instead, darkness overpowered the light all over the room.

 I switched the light on and continued my dogged practice. It was the most important sign I must master repeatedly and again, in my noiseless room. Still in front of the old scruffy, looking glass, I strove hard and made the sign perfect... once more, and two days before the significant date.

Unconsciously, I performed the ritual half-naked, my six-year-old nephew giggled as he sneaked in my spine. He saw my toothbrush and toothpaste carelessly slipped in the left back pocket of my pants. The toothpaste was almost empty; the paste oozed out and fell down flat to the floor. Accidentally I capped it loose when I got out of the lavatory and the tube nearly went flat in my pocket.

"What’s in your eyes Uncle Mel?" Emman asked. His snigger stopped.

"Nothing." I replied. I swung my hand like a pendulum at my back pocket and made it look neat again. 

"I saw your eyes winked shoo... many times, something... caught up your eyes, uncle? I will look...,“ he insisted. He winked his eyes as I did a copycat one.

"It’s nothing," I said. "I will tell you about it when the right time comes but I assure you nothing hurt my eyes." I said gently.

"It ne...Ver. Hurt?

"No. Go now! Find your picture books and read."

"Yes uncle," Emman responded. " 

I felt no better on following morning. It was February 13, 1995.  The memory I got three weeks ago agitated my head in a tailspin. I felt giddy. I took a seat in a divan at the back of the divider. It was near the front window overlooking at the sharp curve of the main road. There, I whispered a sigh and I hardly controlled a tear shed from my eyes. That niggling squabble was surely to blame. It never occurred even once since a couple of years we met in a kitchenette a few meters from the seaside.

Two years went by; I stomped my way to the vacant table with the heavy bag dangling in my left hand. She noshed with her friends. Accidentally I trod on her right foot. I sensed she was badly hurt, but then, still she looked amiable. I did not give her time to open up.

“Oooops! I am so sorry of my recklessness...miss, I did not see that foot out of the table legs," I said in a low tone conscious of sudden sparks might fly.

"Never mind, it took like this to happen and we realized were younger than anyone else around." her words were thought provoking. "By the by...sir, why not we reverse the situation. Is not my foot improperly placed?"

 She talked with a philosophical flair, though lenient enough. I was not overly attentive to some of her words. Her curvy naked lips, her a glowing intelligence nailed me wordless before I fixed things in proper perspective.

"Uhurm, shall I say sorry again miss?" I said in a tone of deep respect. I stoop low....

"No, no please-never mind that, it is all okay." she said and blushed.

The situation worthy of reproach became an environment of praise.

My senses abruptly returned by the quick dive of chasing cats in the roof. I grabbed the phone frantically- this was my second call one week past.

"Hello, good morning! Madz?" I talked with excitement. "How was that...?"

I felt suspended in the cloud of uncertainty though a good chance flickered to me. I gathered all hopes and threw away all fears. This was my chance, nonetheless, not the last- but a gambled one.

A few seconds after the call, I made haste for an all-out preparation. Face and bath towels, bath soaps, shampoos, conditioners, a set of underwear and new attire, all dumped into a convenient place. Soon as necessary, I could choose fast. I called up my favorite flower shop and made reservation order for a bouquet. I placed the phone in a nearby nook where I could readily grab the handle. In addition, I did not mind anybody talked to me.

Ten minutes before nine in the morning, I took a bath in haste and enjoyed the superb music as my dreadful voice blended with the hissing sound of water.  It did not take one minute when the thick lather from a foul smelling soap plastered my entire body, and there followed,  Krin… mg, Krin…. nnng, Kri… ng. The soap suddenly slipped out my hand and it briskly rolled around before it peaceably settled at the drain. I carefully grabbed the phone’s handle and greeted tenderly the other end. “I’m… still here.” “Taking shower… thirty minutes before I think.” “Bye.” That was the date. I gambled in the winning side.  The investment I have bloomed.

 Contingency squeezed all things and rituals in just a less than an hour. When for the final moment I found myself like a stump watching the copycat in the front of mimicking mirror. I opened my eyes wide; forehead wrinkled and then trailed by a quick right-eye-close wink then, walked out the door.

Then,   I greeted my mother, siblings and Emman.

“Will you now tell me about… d eyes uncle,” Emman said  

"I will tell you about it when the right time comes but I assure you nothing hurt my eyes." I said gently.

 I bade good-bye to all and took leave.

With only twenty-five minutes before our date, I trotted along the sidewalk where a friend of mine displayed his craft as a florist. In time, he handed to me a stunning bunch of handsome, multi- colored of his masterpiece. It comprised of red, orange, pink arranged with a pack of chocolate.

“She’s so precious, Mel.” My friend said.

I looked at him intently.

 “No, no I mean your Valentina, precisely.”

“Yes she is.” I beamed at him warmly and took leave.

I took off from the taxi exactly four minutes before ten in the morning. I sauntered along the curving driveway of the Fort San Pedro kitchenette. The flowers in my right hand were lively and they flapped as if they greeted everyone I met.

The establishment was a few meters from the seaside and about four blocks from the then famous Rotary Park. I was surprised as I approached to the kitchenette.

The vivid scene of two years ago still existed when that accident happened. The color of the dress and the style of cut it was sawn, except for some features that was modified; the right leg that was out of place. They were there not a mere flashback of memory.  She looked beautiful and her manners desirable. She noticed I stood with her back, when slowly… I stepped on her right foot.

"Uhurm, shall I say sorry again miss?" I said in a tone of deep respect. I stoop low and tenderly touched the part in her foot, once painful. I did not hear a word from her as two years ago did. Moreover, as I rise, I gave to her the Love Bloom with Fererro and she gently took it from my hands. She looked straight into my eyes and grinned. I prepared to do the sign but she opened her wide, forehead wrinkled and then followed by a quick right-eye-close wink

Bongkoy (Ongkoy)

I show this what I feel, for this Special day. Past to present, I have never prayed anyone to take your place as you are enshrine within the altar of my soul and I'm never was such so happy that mother got a ticket to be with you after you departed 37 yrs. passed by. My unfinished words are so simple. I dedicate this to you. And I beg the 'Most Supreme' that they may echo among the stellar entities and spaces. Vibrate among the inconceivable galaxies of the cosmos to the great and small and will reach the ears clear and not garbled. That may ‘The all Conceiving Consciousness’ shall find a little pleasure in what we do and did in the past, present or coming infinite moments. Happy Father’s Day to you father, and to all fathers who excellently managed to set apart themselves from the ones who do not deserved the title. Thank you for leaving behind your pen to me, it is intensely explosive and mystically beautiful.

Depart from good night’s dream before sunup— 

Move up; squeeze the heavy lids in the dark

Mutter silent lines in appeal to let up

In God’s ears, wide open to pains, to hark.

Kissed the kids’ cheeks and so, the former bride’s.

Kissed the solemn peace and slumbering eyes.

Bid goodbye to the playful onetime bride

Adieu to the placid, slumbering eyes.

Count 30 paces in winding, dirty path.

 Stops in the raspy mouth and stands static

 A moment or two—grabs the squeaky latch

Softly clears the old lip in hoary shriek.  

Still, still eyes are heavy. The sight's dreamy.

 Motions are clumsy as the soft piping

Of crickets, of Ortoptherons, still zesty

In their lighter hymns after a night cadging. 

Grasps the arms of four pound er coffee sieve

Bath it in frigid pool, senseless and dead;  

 Watch the wavy tongues, now and again, gave

A drowsy look over the blackly beads...

 

The Palm, The Pond and The Rose

Melancholy pierce the consciousness. Encompasses the whole being, tortures the soul, grab the only hope of being happy--later on, shrinks the soul into a dark pit--of pity, of despair.

Then it vents all its hopelessness in the lake of tears, brims it, as if downpour passed by, in a moment of time, to the point of asking justice.

Swarms of thick nimbus are heavy and drifting 

Conspire with grave Russian winds; fiercely cool

Caressing winds, the morning clouds in mourn

As though, when obsessed to dribble ‘pon pool.

 

The stupor pool breath bits of chilled water

The droplets wildly swelled went on gushing.

Weary eyes and achy breasts in pool linger—

Wailing, sobbing flash’ beside flirty spring.

 

Blue moment: gushy brooks, drowsy lakes

 And dopey pool, mingle in the pale palm;

The mid-curve, a pond—a rose sobs and shakes

Nay, Faun's soft euphonies ever becalm. 

Who, in this planet got stout courage ever?

Herculean strength he has, to pluck the   gloom

And tearing grief, of lonesome soul by mere

Whisper to rose’ ears, for next rosy bloom.