I know of three very lovely girls
Distinctive beauties as rare as pearls
The three happen to be related
Though it’s somehow complicated
The eldest seems the youngest
with such little plump breasts
She wears a little white dress
But never tries to impress
When people are near her
They get pretty sickly
She has that weird glow
that makes things gloomy
The second girl follows her around
Quite clingy and often moody
Her eyes are always drowned
Carrying tears that could fill the sea
I think I like her most
and I have no idea why
Perhaps it is because
I’m just like her deep inside
Now the youngest seem the eldest
She’s the prettiest and the brightest
And everybody just loves her,
The favoritism’s unfair
She’d show off her legs and shiny thighs
But not often as she likes to surprise
She’s a celebrity taken for granted
Having admirers simply enchanted
These three girls are just lovely
But not everybody would agree
If each one, I could claim,
I’d fall in love again and again
Raindrop, Rainfall and Rainbow
I really do love them all
But if I were to marry just one,
I’d choose Rainfall
What word is more beautiful
than beautiful itself?
I’m tired of using it.
It’s unfair to just
call her
beautiful.
I need better
words
to describe her.
But even if I do
find the words,
it’ll never be enough
to fathom something
beyond beautiful.
Take me away to the clouds of grey
Where the eagles glide with pride
From there I swear as I prepare
to watch over and guard my bride
But the price to pay until that day
when our hands can finally embrace
Is a hundred years of blood and tears
and the fear of being replaced
The great restraint like that of saints,
I shall keep to endure all pain
My heart won’t faint nor carry taint
Such chastity, I shall maintain
I love her so but she does not know
Of all that I’m willing to give
As tears would flow and drain my soul
My heart shall forever weave
We awoke in a void of infinite black
where time and memory seem to lack
With a hint of instinct we proceeded to walk
where flowers sprouted as white as chalk
Stars appeared while one abruptly fell
just to the north of where we dwell
A weird-looking man came forth from the star
red lips, blue eyes in a mask quite bizarre
With a lost for words, we stood and watch
As he approach and drank a bottle of scotch
He throws the bottle, smiles and bows
He spoke that our minds will soon carouse
He spreads his hands with gloves of gold
And let out a voice so loud and bold
“Welcome, friends, to the World of What!
A mystical place of this and that
But before we embark on our glorious tour
Remove your hats and prepare to endure”
“Keys will be placed on your eyes and ears,
As well as your lips and nosy gears
Feel free to turn the keys as you wish
Or use them on doors beyond the mist”
Two creatures appeared behind his knees
They went to the crowd and placed the keys
Turning a key would unlock a sense
A total of seven we had at expense
Our third eye kept us from being blind
Realizing the man spoke through the mind
With the keys firmly upon our face
The man spoke at a quicker pace
“I know you’re wondering or asking or mumbling
And all will be clear in a second’s passing
I am the Jester, the master and meister,
The only narrator and gorgeous announcer”
“Now, what in the world is the World of What?
What’s this, what’s that, it’s a dog and a cat
These two little fellows will assist the rats
In creating a maze from pointless paths”
As the jester concludes his grand debut
A silence followed that stirred a few
The dog and the cat points to the mist
Foretelling of gates to escape the abyss
“Well go on then! Go wherever you like”
The jester jeered the crowd to hike
Towards the mist, we ventured forth
Unbeknownst to us, the journey’s worth
I stopped by a door with a hue of pink
With metallic eyes that somewhat wink
Surprisingly, none of my keys would fit
Then the jester appeared in a second’s split
“What in curtains will your mother think
if you cannot open the Door of Pink!?
That pinkish door is so easy to unlock
You won’t even need the brain of a rock”
“But since it’s your first, it’ll open for free
This door is my favorite, so this one’s on me”
With one eye and one ear, I went inside
In the Land of Death, I have arrived
It’s been a while since I opened my tumblr again. Work and Diablo III has been keeping me busy. Still, I’m glad whenever I get to read random people’s poems here. It’s quite refreshing. Oh, I’ve finally hired an artist to draw me some doodles for my poetry.
I still dream of being an author or having at least one book published. However, I am still lacking confidence in my ability to produce something great. I wrote much of my poems for myself. The idea of putting them all together in a book and selling/sharing it with the world makes me nervous.
But meh, I am pursuing a dream and I shall continue until it becomes a reality.
I once heard a girl sing this very little thing
about a very poor slave and a very wealthy king
She sang of their differences of which are obvious
Then she uttered something that was quite preposterous
The slave and the king were two different things
But both had sprouted as personified wings
From the back of each man under temptation
Cursed on the Earth until their destruction
Beware and take care from these wings that you bear
She said one is a demon that pulls your hair
The other is yourself that speaks the truth
Bound in a cage with the shape of a fruit
Sadly they shy from the naked living eyes
Their backs always turned unless offering advice
These wings will argue as they fly opposite ways
But only one can help you in the end of days
The song’s gloomy tune was stuck in my head
Still I didn’t understand what was being said
So which of which of the two is true
She asked without giving a single clue
Which is poor and which is the king,
Does one sever the bastard wing?
Upon my thoughts and tingling ears
Her voice manifested my very fears
The bones cracked from both our backs
While tears dripped and dried like wax
The girl was dying from being starved
Her song was a curse in flesh be carved
But before the skulls sprout from my wings
I dare not choose a slave or king
So I scratch and tore and badly bled
I had cut my wings and was left for dead
The only thing I needed to know about poetry is that it’s an art bound with no rules. Like a painting, it is free to be painted however desired. For self-expression, I was inspired when my emotions were at peak be it joy, love, anger or depression. The drafts I wrote weren’t delicate nor the words finely picked. They were as raw and pure as the voice that uttered them. For example, when I was hurt, I wrote the word “Pain” and revolved on what it rhymed with.
I’m so obsessed with rhymes that I cage myself in that form of writing. I couldn’t write prose. There’s a fine line between poetry and prose, a balance whose union can create something more abstract and beautiful. Though poetry isn’t all about rhymes, it was something I required. Like a kid looking for pictures in a book, the rhymes gave a soothing sound that spices the mood.
It wasn’t long ago when I made a challenge for myself to write a hundred poems in a month. I wanted to do something special for the people I love while squeezing all the creative juices from my brain. I failed that challenge having only written about half my intended count. Some were poorly written and made no sense. I just wrote whenever I could, in the morning, on the bus, at work, or before I go to bed.
After a while, I felt inferior when reading the works of others. I didn’t study literature, journalism or any other english related course. I just felt like writing. “Write the book you want to read”, as they say and this is exactly what stuck with me. Inspired by Tim Burton, Lewis Carroll and Dr. Seuss, I categorized my work into the creepy, the weird and the not weird.
My poems weren’t deep but it felt good when I wrote them and I still enjoy reading them even without an audience. To me, my poems were pieces of my magical brain.
A waste of talent,
Am I?
Is she?
Are they?
Are you worried?
We’ll get there
…somehow
on our feet…
…or not.
Who’s to say where?
when, how
or what?
I don’t know what.
I don’t care who.
Do you?
…you don’t
I’m tired…
…what now?
Sleep… just sleep.
Take the time to lose your mind
As you frown upon the noon
When beetles come to roll the dung
And place it on your spoon
Take a nap and lay a trap
Your mind will soon come back
In a hour’s pass, no dream will last,
No train of thought keeps track
The pressure comes along the drums
You contain it to no avail
Climb the peak until you speak
And admit where you had fail
Crispy crunchy pickles and chips
Cheesy salsa dip on my lips
Greasy meaty hotdogs and steak
Chicken and gravy all I can take
Fluffy puffy cotton candy
Sticky chewy fruity taffy
Creamy tasty frozen yogurt
And all the ice cream for dessert
Munch munch munch! More candy for my lunch
Munch munch munch! And chocolates in a bunch
Munch munch munch! Chew an overdose of gum
Munch munch munch! Wash it down with rum
Pop pop pop! Goes the popcorn machine
Pop pop pop! Goes the bullets in my spleen
Pop pop pop! Goes the memories in my head
Pop pop pop! Three seconds and I’m dead
Dreams or rabbit holes,
take your pick
See if your mind
is well or sick
This I said
to invite and dare
The infinite wonders,
one might share
With gorgeous eyes,
she blinked at me
A spell she weaved
unknowingly
And so she fell
from fluffy clouds
Inside a world where
madness shrouds
Towards a bed
that floats at sea
Which gladly sails
wherever she please
The stars hurry
to light her way,
A melodic rainbow
as bright as day
The whales prepared
an orchestra
The saddest symphony
from a viola
They accompany her
until she slept
She woke in a land
where trees had wept
Fire hath burnt
the distant woods
She felt its pain
and understood
She called for the clouds
to pour their tears
The merciful,
celestial engineers
The woods would mend
and bloom once more
But only if dragons
no longer soar
Though the dragon hunt
will have to wait
She knows her arrival
is always late
The rabbit hole’s rabbit,
has yet be seen
Quite eager was she
to question the queen
To a journey that few
will ever dare to take
She proceeds with innocence
and sanity at stake
