poetry blog, this is an invitation from Gerson

Hi poetry blog,

I'm now part of Bro. Bo Sanchez' Membership Club and it's wonderful.

It has blessed me so much.

Click here to visit Bro. Bo's Membership Clubs.

Joining Bro Bo's Group Truly Rich Club (TRC), you will be able to receive materials (audio, books, e-books, emails and newsletters) that will help your spiritual and financial growth. <br />
<br />
He will also help and guide you with financial literacy program and investment in the stock market in order to gain financial freedom.<br />
<br />
CHECK TRC HERE: http://elmot214.trulyrichclub.com<br />
<br />
Since I joined last November, my stock market portfolio is up 18%! Certainly way better than making my money sleep in a savings bank account.<br />
<br />
Sharing this good opportunity with you. :D<br />


Best regards,
Gerson

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Old Pair of Jeans

They were once as blue as
The sky, its deep hue as
Lazy oceans. Well-pressed,
Smells like factory, right
Fit to draw the curves, straights
And bulge of lanky bargain hunter.

Flexed by days and years, like
Mom’s mission to stretch Dad’s
Undersized pay.
Loosened buttons, wretched ends
And paled skin, these pair of
Jeans found its perfect home:
In the vein of underpaid contractual
Bagger on a cashier’s end.

While the passenger grows,
Horizontally, what can my now
Old pair of jeans but accept
The fact that he needs to
Understand me; be with me,
Grow with me, be patient
With me. Grow old
With me.

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Listen to Me

I opened up,

Listen to me…

Closed.

Done.

Silence.


Type rest of the post here

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Sumpang Isinusumpa

Dinuyan ng pangako ng isang
Lupa ng pulo’t at sagana, habang
Nakatayo sa entabladong puno
Ng lura’y ng banderitas at
Mga nagkakantahang bayaran.

Hingi’y pagtitiwala sa mga
Kasinungalingan tulad ng isang
Salawahang baboy-ramo na
Tinatanggap pa rin ng kanyang
May-bahay.

Pagtapos mong ibigay ang matamis
mong oo at tumanggap ng
pampalubag-loob, patay kang
bata ka, mga hinayupak limot
na ang sumpaaang sinumpa.

Sa gitna ng parang ng kasinungalingan,
Ika’y tatayo na mamalimos ng
Konting pag-asa sa langit, habang
Ang lupa ay tigang at sa bitak
Nilibing ang butil ng bukas.

Ano pa ang kayang gawin sa
Paglapastangan sa bayan, ng
Mga buwayang hayok sa kapangyarihan ?
Ipikit ang mata at kamutin ang sugat ?

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Pusang Gala Ka Gloria!

Gloria, gloria, awit sa pagsamba
Gloria, Gloria, pighati ng maralita.

Sa bansa na ang sinungaling ay
Nagiging presidente; ang magnanakaw
Ay naghahapunan sa hapag ng banyaga;
Ang mandaraya ay nagkakaroon ng
Siyam na buhay tulad ng pusang gala; at
Ang mga mamamatay-tao’y mas malaya
Pa sa mga tapat sa batas
Pusang gala nga naman!

Anong gloria pa ang maasahan?

Mabuti pa ang pusang gala, marunong
Dumila at luminis ng dumi sa katawan,
Gloriang may siyam na buhay ay di
Man lang nakita ang putik ng kanyang
Pandaraya at pagnanakaw sa mga aba.

Mabuti pa ang pusang gala, inaamo ang
Siyang nagbibigay ng pagkain sa kanya,
Gloriang siyam na taon na sa Malakanyang
Inamo ang mga heneral binusog ang
Mga bundat nilang tiyan.

Sana naman, ay hanggang siyam na
Lang talaga ang buhay ng Gloriang ito,
Kundi ay mabuti pang gawin na lang
Siopao na asado ng magka-gloria
Na ang bansang nakuba ng panahon.

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The Pianist is a Murderer

The pianist is a murderer, each
Key caressed on its black
And white skins, existing on
A most uncertain life as
The maestro kills him at
Each loving stroke.

Different black shapes of
Circled head, emanate
From the keys and fingers,
Floating in the air to
Dance with one another.
Like the vapors from steaming
Lakes, they fly and soon whisper
Their last.

The pianist is a murderer.
Kills each black balloon as
Soon as they whispered or
Shouted their presence; but
Each individual creative
death and undercurrent of
creative violence, gives birth
To a musical piece.

The pianist murderers,
To become a master creator.

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Farewell Black Shoes and French Kisses

You have walked with me, on
Damp avenues, rusted pavements
And daily sunshine, as you
Whole-heartedly housed my tired
Journeying on your limited
Darkened twin rooms.


But I have seen lately that shining
Blackness of your skin and
Forehead, faded as those Levi’s
jeans I wear three times a week.
Your tongue tied on the silent
Opening of your wide mouth has
Grown quite tired from our
Constant French kisses in the morning.
Your embrace on my dependence is now
cold, arms loosened like the button
of my favourite old green polo
shirt, exploring that little
universe of its sole existence.

I still love you for Christ’s sake! Though
I can see that you are already growing
tired of the weight of my love. But
I have to let you go: let go even
Of our French kisses; goodbye to
Strolling on romantics boulevards
During boring afternoons. Because
You are now gone, stolen by the
Darkness from my embrace; while
I was fast asleep in confidence that
I Will have you forever.

Farewell to you black shoes,
I must move on now.

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