In Search of A Good Book; SONNET 18 by William Shakespeare

Eternal Summer. Those are beautiful words. 

And even though it's already September

Sometimes mornings are like summer: golden and green.

It rains in the afternoon though. 

I’ve been jumping from one book to another

Hoping to get myself immersed 

But nothing really holds my attention. 

I try to read aloud to slow me down.

Doesnt last long. It doesnt last that long.

I want a book to experience. 

A story that will transcend my reality

And hold me transfixed even for a day.

Like a drug -like flying high.

So will you recommend me a book? 

Cause im reading a lot of poems. 

--In Search of A Good Book, Tabulyogang

****

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date: 

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest: 

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

 

--SONNET 18 by William Shakespeare

Poetry In The Morning

I thought poetry in the morning is not for me. But hearing about a cloud floating over valleys and skies made me gay. So here is a cheer for the golden daffodils! Although i have not seen one in real life. And cheers for all the people and emotions i associate this poem with!Cheers to you!


I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

 +++

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
And then my heart with pleasure fills,

 yes they do.  yes they do. I'm glad.

If You Become Kind To Yourself

Our master is hard to follow. He is rigid at a distance.

Of what is right and wrong is right and wrong. Unerring, majestic, holy.

How can someone maintain friendship with someone like that?

But somehow up close if you really care to look.

He is fresh and always new, and kind, and kind, and kind.

So stop judging yourself; for sins deliberately done, and for not being someone you think He’d like.

Because when you judge yourself, you have not time to love yourself.  

Look at the master --fresh and always new, and kind, and kind, and kind.

#This poem is for my harshest critic, myself. My dear, if you stop judging and become kind to yourself there is this spaciousness for learning and a certain kind of freshness. If you become kind to yourself you give space for growth. And space and growth is beautiful.

Haiku

dad limping as he walk
the shape of his back
fills me with compassion

  @ Tupsan 

I don't want to explain this Haiku but it happens, you look at someone and then your heart melts. My dad limps. He had a mild stroke. He jokes a lot about his leg. And although there are so many things we don't get along with, I love my dad.

Abba dear, 70x7

image

your little angel, my guardian dear
delivering me from every evil
how can i stand here
and not be moved?

yet i fail, and fail, and fail.

the other side of the bargain i have not kept
how does one not get tired
of forgiving?

***

I bargained with God - my first one. Not for my self but for someone dear.
He heard me. Looking back i have not lived up to my side of the bargain.

***

Why am i so bold when it comes to you?
I have no shame.
Abba dear, 70x7 me.

***
 i like how you send me signs, signs like bird on my window
stop sinning girl! i'm watching you. 
you know i knew that it was you
how bold of you, how lucky for me
I am loved, I am loved. infinitely so.
not even me, not even me can change that so.

Rooftop and Stars

I know how it feels like to be up in the roof like that
Between you and the heavens above there is no hiding
Little cars on the street like toys
Small people you don't know
Birds passing by
Clouds floating by
Skies as far as the eyes can see

I know how it feels to have your heart just a bit closer
to the heavens above
Between you and God there is no hiding
At night mosquitoes can bite
But the stars swarm like bees on a beehive
I hope someone special showed you where the Big Dipper is
To trace them like shining little dots.
Smile on your face - magic moments
And you thought constellations can only be found in books
That first person who showed you the Big Dipper will be in your memory forever.
Just like how i never forgot the first person who showed me how to sweep broom on a cement
You do it slant.

Me and my siblings sleep on our roof once
Dragging our cushion beds
We slept like babies on our mother's womb
Skies of stars enclosing us like a secret.
We woke up- dew on our hairs
I got headache from the cold.

I know how it feels like.

(I enjoyed this so much. My poems feel like no poem at all, but still they are special to me. )

We shall not cease from exploration

April is a month for poetry. So here is something i was fascinated the first time i heard it. For me, it evokes the pull of a great force beckoning you home and the feeling of restlessness. Enjoy!

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

     T.S. Eliot -- "Little Gidding" (the last of his Four Quartets)

You Meet Me

Pic no connection with the poem.
I just want to see how Paris looks like in the morning.

You meet me.

There is such comfort in these three words.
For I could never comprehend you.

But you meet me.

You meet me in the morning fresh as dew.
In the evening you are poetry all night long.
And in the dawn, in dawn, you are the stars lighting up my secret reveries.

Out Beyond Wants

Siblings Inc.

Go deeper, higher, and higher;
Be curious of what you'll find.

Out beyond wants, there is peace divine.

Who knows why we're here.
There is no secret path.
Be in awe, that is ALL.

There is a poem im trying to memorize because it makes me happy

SIMPLICITY
by Emily Dickinson

How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And does n't care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.

Me at Dahilayan Bukidnon

Washed Ashore

Waves angry,

Washed ashore bottles, and slippers, and toys, and weeds

What delight to see them come here?

Who could have owned these washed up things?

That was of long ago

When other areas were terribly far

And far meant messages sent were received for the next 2-3 days

Where mails were a delight, and not too slow

Now these washed up things meant somebody’s terrible loss.

Not that story of a little boy losing his slipper in the sea

Decided to throw the other one hoping for someone to find all two

There is no little boy who owns these washed up things.

These washed up things are not my delight no more.

These washed up things are memories

Memories crying in the dark; wet and cannot breath.

 ***

For the little girl who takes delight in washed up things after every storm, and for the big girl who remembers that little girl.


 #Haiyan#Yolanda

Can I Pray With You?

I have not been constant - in prayer, in studies,

and in everything i deem important.

Standing on feeble ground; building my hut on the sand.

You knocked on my door and I let you in.

Has it been raining? You don't look fine.

Your heart's blue; sadness engulfing you.

You told me things of woe.

I hope anyone wouldn't come to know.

Death's been whispering in your thoughts.

It has grown on you.

Your spiritual warfare's so real

Battle smoke I could smell.

Along came many scruples with it.

Don't think too much,

don’t think too much…

I wanted so bad to pray with you.

Can I pray with you? -

this i did not dare ask.

I doubt my heart could stand the task.

I'm not as steadfast as I like.

You left with my "I'll pray for you."

But you came back still in woe.

I knew I have here a work to do.

But what can I do?

I have no time to settle my doubts, my fears -

my own storms I could not keep still.

I have not time for guilt.

I cannot rely on what I have built.

So today let’s just be you and me, and God be God.

Let's be weak in our weakness, blind in our blindness-

rest in our restlessness.

I'll pray for you and you pray with me.

God in our midst,

God in our weakness,

God in you and God in me.

Let mercy fall, let the day dawn,

let my heart break and let it mend.

I'll carry you and you carry me.

To the divine together

we shall surrender.

***

This is for the moment I first prayed over someone. And for all the coming moments i will feel terrified to pray over someone, I will always be found wanting but let mercy fall.

And no matter what, I will always remember:

“There is a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can't hope. The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.” 

-Rumi

Dream-maker, Life-giver

How delightful it is to wash my face

with your running waters,

to have eyes shining like the sun.

The dark clouds of doubt

has given way for clear blue sky

I'm living underneath your smiling face.

And it shows in the way i walk,

in the way i talk

and in the way i carry myself.

I will never ever be the same again.

For my aunt, for me.

You came here so weak

The big C, but i didn't know

you'd be that weak,

skin and bones

I don't know how to react

The confusion;

you would have seen it in my eyes.

I want to get your hands for you to bless me,

i knelt in front of you,

you did not look me in the eye,

pretended as if you did not see me,

you did not acknowledge my presence,

It drove me out.

I imagine you would slowly heal

I'd read to you

I'd talk to you

I imagine mornings talking to you,

and you slowly healing,

but you have to die

I ran into your room

your eyes looking above as if in shock

your whole body rigid

I knew then that your soul was leaving you

your tongue slowly moving in and out,

catching breath, air.

I did not know what to feel,

Flor, the one who took care of you said

you did not want people to see you like that.

Just before she leaves,

everyday you'd say,

don't tell them my situation. 

Tell then I’m fine, 

that I am well.

I imagine you were embarrassed,
but i am your niece,

although not close, but family.

Looking back,

I wish i could have reached out

to touch you.

It was always at the back of my mind,

to reach for your frail hands so i can bless,

bless ko auntie(mano po ninang),

but i never did.

Look me in the eye,

share me your pain,

open up your heart,

show me your soul.

I am sorry.

I know you are happy now.

My heart was at peace when you died.

I realized we are all babe in the face of death,

and that now you can rest.

***

For a long time now, i did not know how to express in words what i felt when my aunt died.

I have to write it down. This  is but a shadow of the real thing.

But enough, enough for me to hope again.

Your Beauty Draws Me Near

You little flower melts my heart

your beauty draw me near

I cannot help

but love

How loving to me is your humility

Your head bowed down in sorrow fills me with compassion

Even before you call I am yours

Never hesitate to come

Never doubt my love

Take the first step and I’ll walk the rest

Let me be your strength

Come, come.

A little glance,

a genuine smile,

a prayer, a desire to be near,

an appreciation for goodness,

for beauty -

your simple ways of loving

fills me with joy.

So shine your light,

my star so bright

Your joy is my delight

Spread your wings

my butterfly

fly

ever so light

Through the Belly of a Whale

Image

Dark thoughts swirling in circles

swirling tight

Let go, let go

Not yet, not yet

let me hold

Tired, tired, soul

surrender now.

Life's a battle

but grace abounds

lay down, lay down

I will fight!

Here is my armor.

Little soul, you all geared up like that

melts my heart.

You need nothing else,

take it off.

These are all I know

These are all I have

This is me.

Put it down, it wearies you out, silly!

***

And just like that you make me smile and I’m healed.

Living Life Like This

O how I long to write you poems

for miracles to slow me down,

for intentions to start my day right

Send my roots rain

Wash me like spring,

on my dreams a bit of dew.

And in the morning-

meet me.

It Came Upon Me With No Name

Posting some beautiful poems and essay I found while surfing the net. Oh, the good things you can find!

“Everything around you—maybe it’s a palm tree,
dripping water, cars honking, people racing past
you— everything feels ecstatic when you free
yourself into the moment. You recognize your
interconnectedness, and all these things in a moment
can become mystical doorways for the Soul.”

-- Ram Dass, Still Here

***

It came upon me with no name and it was beautiful and I couldn’t describe it but I tried. It 

came upon me both hard and soft, hard like a punch in your belly, when you’re not expecting 

it, so it really lays you low, and soft like a breath in your ear, whispering something you really 

like in a secret language that you do not know. Now how, you ask, could it be both hard and

soft? Good question. And the answer is I don’t know, for it came upon me without a name, 

without expectation. No explain of what it was, how long it would stay, or where, after it went, 

it would go.

-- It came upon me with no name, The Cenacle, Number 84


***

Don't write love poems; avoid those forms that are too facile and ordinary: they are the hardest to work with, and it takes great, fully ripened power to create something individual where good, even glorious, traditions exist in abundance. So rescue yourself from these general themes and write about what your everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty - describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your
dreams, and the objects that you remember. If your everyday life seems poor, don't blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is no poverty and no poor, indifferent place.

-- Letters to a Young Poet

How to Be Compassionate

You were talking angry I was watching you closely
Your lips shivered with angst and your eyes were intense
as if seeing an approaching enemy.

I could tell by your hand gestures that you are ready to wrestle
And if somebody come nearer those hands could break a neck.

You were so angry your body is moving with it.
But I held my own and looked at you.
I heard your story and tried never to judge
It was about a thief and a face on a stone and a fortune teller.
It was ridiculous.
I tried again not to judge.

I never want to add to your anger
nor laugh at you.
So I sat quiet and listen.
I don't know what to say.
I was careful not to say anything that might fuel your anger all the more.
I never said a word.

That was hard for me to do but I hope it emptied your heart out.

One Morning with a Hummingbird

I saw a hummingbird this morning
while brushing my teeth,
looking outside.

He was suspended in the air
like film in slow motion.
His little body defying gravity
held my attention.
For a while I thought,
everything is in motion
living, living,
moving, moving,
yet still...so still.

This is the secret,
birds knew it.