Thursday, May 17, 2007

Poetry in Motion

Since I am still on the recovery mode “mojo-wise” I’ll just post here some old published poems that I have written in the past while I am laboring for my latest post for this blog that I have been neglecting lately.

Actually I’ve been working on some stuffs that I have set aside for a long time. Just some old crazy stories from way back. I’ll let you take a peek of some of them here in the near future. But for now bear with me and my 'makata' side.

I have written these poems nearly after more than a decade of self- imposed hiatus which lasted from 1991 to 2002 when I finally emerged from my funk and got my groove again and began submitting poems for publication. Come to think of it, I lost more than a decade writing- wise, beat that!

Now, I thank the geeks and the Mighty One up above for the internet and computers for without them, I will not be able to write again ‘coz every time I try to put my thoughts on paper, my mind is running so fast that my hand can’t keep up with all the stuffs that I want to say and I always end up trying to decipher everything afterwards what with my “ugly” handwriting that will put even Enigma, that vaunted WWII machine that broke the Nazis' code, to shame. Ha-ha-ha.

Anyway, the defunct Poetic Voices was one of the first to accept my poems and Sanctuary was included in its May 2003 issue. I was subsequently chosen as the first Featured Poet for August 2003 for my poems Hiroshima, Nuclear Winter, Divine Wind and Historical Amnesia by its Poetry Editor, Ursula T. Gibson, a well respected and accomplished Poet Laureate from California.

What’s really funny was the fact that all the subsequent Featured Poets for the next three years were all “published” poets including the prolific Canadian Aurora Antonovic, one of my favorite “modern“ poets around. They all have their chapbooks and poetry books with their names in it as authors. I was the only one without one but if you really know me I don’t really care. I would rather hibernate in my nutshell. Ha-ha.

Now almost four years later I’m back to square one. I have stopped submitting my works since the summer of ‘06. I am now so used to these rollercoaster rides that it never bothers me at all. I’ll never stop writing poetry for sure for it is a good emotional enema for one’s constipated soul. But I’ll write when I feel like it though, when the manna from deep within finds me.

Here are three different poems from the past…

The Journey's End

In the sala of the Spanish house
In Santa Mesa, puffing the last stick
Of rolled tobacco from Ilocandia
Staring at the glimmer of light in the
Dark, the only glow that can be seen
In the empty halls of the house

Sitting on my father's Narra high chair
Reminiscing and feeling like a real king
It could have been better if not for the
Choking smoke that bounces off from the
Cold cemented walls of my room.

Darkness, darkness, darkness
All around me is nothing but darkness
Darkness, darkness, darkness
My soul is at ease in your presence.

I again wept in the dark
For reasons that is oblivious even to
My old mangy dog
For in a time like this
When the city is fast asleep
I have found my sanctuary in

I woke up to the sound of the radio
Ringing in my ears
DZMM at 5 a.m. is really not a
Bad thing except for its bad timing --
I am nursing a nasty headache.

The sun is up
The birds are chirping
The pain is still the same
Paracetamol and coffee has no effect
On the damn thing!
I popped another tablet and went
Back to sleep.

So real and unreal
A lady in the comforts of my arms
Soft white skin against my own leathery tan
A study in contrast hushed by the beautiful
Melody of the Spanish lullabies.

Demons staring in my eyes
Angels in disguise
In hopeless despair.

Darkness, darkness, darkness
All around me is nothing but darkness
Darkness, darkness, darkness
My soul is at ease in your presence.

Scalding incandescent lights
Hurting my blood-shot eyes
Burning my heart inside

Big city lights
Glowing orbs in the dark
Beaconing me
Leaping and jumping into a
Crazy pantomime.

Deathly, hushed, muted silence
Tongue-tied for the first time in my life
An unexplained stillness descended into my being.

Thunderous booming laughter
Silhouette of the grim reaper in my midst
An unwelcome presence that is dreaded
Floating on air, walking on lazy waters
Death in the early evening.

Darkness, darkness, darkness
Please carry me into your safe haven
Speak of my fate to anyone who cares to listen
Tell them, my restless soul is
Now at peace in your company.
-Spotlight Poem of the Day/ November 10, 2003/
-The Sunday Times Magazine/ October 26, 2003
- a.k.a. Midnight Blues/ Philippine Daily Inquirer-YOU/ October 2003

Stained Nike and Intoxicated Hearts

Here I am grumbling on my breath,
On my feet lies-
Old scraps, plastic-strapped boards and
Chipped shoes, scratching and sketching
Battlegrounds of rattling, pumping,
foot- stumping mean machine on a pile
of red-dirt bricks.

Steamed hydraulic bearings,
Compressed irons that grates on opening,
Rusts that stained the sole of my red Nike Air.
These heaps of garbage of
Yesterday’s bags and fruits
Almost made me puke.

Black Concrete walls,
Trucks madly rushing for the stacked
Of used oils and parts and thrash,
Sighing and braking to a desperate stopped
But still crashed into the garbage bins.

Just like the unrequited love
That plunged and plummeted
Into the colored cardboard world
Of endless dark hole, buoyed by the shouts
Of the perfumed crowd, sprayed and
Splashed to cover the stench of dead
Hearts murdered by the spirits
of the soul-less Cognac-drinking mob.

# Autumn/ Winter 2003 Issue


Meaningless words
and empty feelings
-Forbidden emotions.

Four-sided walls
and padded cushions
-Nightmarish solutions.

Anemic bloodsuckers
and anorexic nutcrackers
-Purveyors of hallucinations.

Muffled silence,
Demented perception
in the world
of straight-jacket

Baseless views
Fearless lies
Invalid reasons
Triumphed in the minds
of the absurd…

# Poetic Voices May 2003


annamanila said...

Now, those ARE poems. Darkness is well dark ... written in angst.
Sanctuary has more of this dowh mood .. yes? I think poetry is your medium, Bill Mitsuru, more than essay. The muse likes you!

snglguy said...

Ummm, I wish I could poetry as well as you do, Bill. Heck, I wish I could write as well as you do... :-D

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