Saturday, August 4, 2012

Thank You!


Dear readers,

My goal of publishing 85 poems for the Clarion Write-a-Thon 2012 is accomplished. Thank you for all for reading my blog, sending me messages, and giving feedback. Your support is very much appreciated. Now, I shall move on to Different Types of Poems from Charlene Delfin, and another writing project. Good luck on your jobs and your schools, and lots of thanks.

Sincerely,
Charlene

The End


Long ago, there was a nice princess.
She was beautiful: green-eyed … red-haired …
She began writing with an old pen.
A story to inspire the whole world.

“I’m from the stone tower of Eleen.
The only daughter of the great king.
You probably saw me, maybe.
I’m very good at starts; beginnings,
But, here’s something you don’t know ‘bout me:
I fail at, if I don’t reach, endings.
But I have to overcome this thing.
Once and for all, I will finish this.”

And she kept writing the parts del fin.


Clarion Write-a-Thon 2012 

Climax


If you could return, where would it be?
Where you saw your life’s new beginning.
Where you’d spent your last days as a kid.
The sun set near the coconut tree.
Where you worked hard, and pushed your limits.
You began to make the world agree.
You’d return only if this won’t be,
If this won’t end, if this won’t exist.

As time stands still, winds refuse to blow.
On the quiet street corners, you go.
The place of climax sets spirits free.


Near Fort Santiago


Buildings, buildings; both old and new.
See the ruins near Fort Santiago.
Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila roof
Near the Manila Bulletin news,
And don’t forget the huge Rizal Park;
I think that it’s bigger than an ark.

There’s something about all of the buildings
That is classy, no matter how fierce.
Sleek sidewalks without debris falling.
From Manila Bay come salty winds.
The city of the Golden Sunset.
Here is where many strangers have met.

As you travel below F.E.U.,
The diverse city seems so alive.
Clerks and Kamineras near the schools.
Everyone is trying to survive.
On the long road that is Ermita.
Beside the barges near Escolta.

The past stays in the historic ruins,
The future belongs to the money;
We have the present to work; we will.


Friday, August 3, 2012

Good Things

A huge, complicated radio.
Amplifiers and good reception.
Shaking with each beat like stereo.
Introducing art to depression.
It is our only escape,
For artistic music is a way.

Rock all the slippery, muddy streets.
Call the people in the filthy clothes.
The ones to rich places haven’t been,
Haven’t owned a radio before.
Good things are nothing if you keep them.
Share the good things as much as you can.

Go, escape from this place that’s so sick,
No matter how weary, and how weak,
On the inspiring waves of music.


Empty Space


Opportunities.
Take them when they’re these,
So that you won’t miss.

I saw my fave book on the shelf.
The best one in that library.
But it was lunch break, so I left.
When I came back, it can’t be seen.
Empty space where it used to sit.
Book’s gone; I wonder who took it …


Pictures


Every person here has pictures.
Pictures of families and friends,
Of losses, and triumphs of pure.
They make us learn, love, and hate ends.
They’re important in our lives.
They make us who we are, and wise.

What if we didn’t have pictures?
We would forget all the bad thing:
Embarrassments, problems, fractures.
The world would stop remembering …
There would be no fears or revenge;
Not even trauma and grudges.

Pictures contain our best skills.
They are the proofs of experience.
Their presence gives our strong will.
Knowing what we learned’s no expense.
The past is in our pictures,
Helping present build the future.


Thursday, August 2, 2012

Four Wheels


Can’t I get what’s a bus with great seats?
Four wheels to go to mountains that chill.
There’ll be cotton buttons on cushion.
A driver who’ll take us over there …

Where pineapples rule each field of land;
Where sunflowers greet every tourist.
Band of brand is fond with the grand sun
From where tourists meet the great summit.

If I could stay there to hear the near,
I won’t get away on way each day.


Patient #222


If he could go to school, he’d study.
If he could eat dinner, he would pray.
If he could go home, he’d be happy.
If he had somebody here, he’d say …

How much he fears, and how hard this is.
All of his worries and confusions.
Somebody, who would listen to these,
Even though these sound like delusions.

But he feels cold, and he’s almost dead;
Waiting for the door, but there’s no friend.
Forced to accept weirdest fate ever:
Left by time in this room; forgotten.

He is in pain, and he is betrayed.
He’d rather keep reading the pages
Of a book about some other place.
Absorb every word to the edges.

He’ll put himself in that other world.
He closes his eyes to endless sleep.
See the author’s imagination;
The last thing he’ll see; he won’t wake up.


Wednesday, August 1, 2012

A Very Low Fence


This is a two-storey house with trees.
Brick-red gates with a very low fence.
Green, tamarind trees standing amidst.
The front lawn got flooded: it’s widened.

There isn’t plenty of light inside.
Old furniture and lots of heirloom.
Books for nights of the wise, nice, and mild.
The books from the blue, cool shelf in wood.

At night, something intrudes through the door.
Others will go through the floor; they can.
Its cold cousin walks through the window.
Some devil slithers up our stairs.

They are in the kitchen when we’re here.
We can stop one, but we can’t stop all.
Freedom and peace a little house gives
For we can’t protect this from the fall.


The Letters


We are just humans, who try to live,
Trying to tame the wild, selfish world
For our vulnerabilities.
Just what do you mean with what you do?

You are black, you’re heavy, and you’re fast.
You fly above us quicker than dust.

You wet our small streets, and make mud.
You visited me through the window,
And erased the letters I had done.
You are uninvited, don’t you know?

I know, you hate being locked outside.
You’ve taken our roofs, and threw them off.
Now, you pour water to where we hide.
You’re making us care when you’re pissed off.

You’ll pay for this, storm; here is a clue:
Your day will come; the sun will catch you.