Sr Pluma de Poesía

: mrpoetry_pen; September 21st, 2011

Current Mood:: blank

You were pure
Like water from Aqua Fresh
Or that of Wilkins.
You were a lone star,
In the emptiness of Space,
Like a white dwarf Star
Floating in the cold
Of Eternity.
I see you always
Down here on earth.
You seemed so near
Yet as the cliché goes
…so far.
And then a comet hit you.
It hit you hard.
And blood spewed forth
From your core.
You have been stained
By a dark dragon who held
The 5 poisons of China.
And there was nothing I could do,
As I witnessed your Supernova,
The shattering of your brilliance;
The scattering of your light
All I can do is
to stand mute,
Uttering matras from within.
The echo of the
Comets piercing collision
Shook the Earth, where
My sould stood,
And quaked the purple moon
Where my heart was.
And as you slowly gather back
Your lost hydrogen gasses
And spewed blood,
I watch powerless,
As distance of Darkness
And a wall of space
Separate us.
And here I Die in Stone.

Pink Butterflies and Melodrama - By Joseph Tiu

: mrpoetry_pen; July 20th, 2011

Current Mood:: annoyed

The first time I saw you

Across a great divide of rainbow

And chasms

I noticed you

And I know you noticed me too.

In the land of Pink of butterflies

And red wine

Our feet Are striding different

Brick roads, one of white and

Sunshine beams,

the oTher rainbow colored w/ stars and dots.

The gReat wall of crosses and glitters

Separated our goals and souls,

But I knew, the first time I notIced you

We wanted to be one,

like the Luna who longed foR Helios.

Our feet longed to walked

in one road of fuchsIa panties and

Blue boxers.

But such is the great chasms dividing us

That we can only whisper

Love and Confusion, Assurance

And fEars through the cyber highwayS

Of Gigabyte City or Farmville.

Such is the life of butterflies like us,

Full of melodrama in Purple velvet.

The same melodrama that wIdens

The valleys and hills that

Draw you far,

And making us staNd in

Rocky and unstable roads

Of yester years and tomorrOw

Fears.

I just hate purple velvet!

Don’t you?

Kagat ng Langgam

: mrpoetry_pen; March 21st, 2011

Minsan isang malamig na gabi,

Buwan ng Enero

habang imiihip ang malamig na hangin

Sa himlayan ni Jose R. at

lubid ni tandang Roxas;

ako ay nadaanan

ng isang mapulang langgam

na nabighani sa aking pusong

puno ng katamisan.

Hindi ko napansin

bumaon ng malalim

kanyang maliit ngunit

matalim na ngipin.

Ngayon, syang lumisan

Pagkatapos kagatan

ang puso kong nasugatan.

ito'y kagat lamangng

Isang munting langgam

maghihilum din

sa loob ng isa o

dalwang buwan

CYBER YOU

: mrpoetry_pen; December 10th, 2010

Current Mood:: amused

…encrypted in my mind

like some code stuck in my

Hard drive of broken glass wines

and scattered novel pages.

Just after we kissed and talked

below laptop lights and moon beams

My tongue downloaded your soul

into my innermost space

where you now sit enthroned

Ohhh, yes my cat's tongue

entered your core

the main frame of your being

from which your nano bytes

of...

EXPLOSION OF WORLDS

: mrpoetry_pen; December 10th, 2010

Current Location:: United States, Massachusetts, Boston

Current Mood:: amused

In my enlightened state

I was awakened by the beeping

of your libidal invocation

Like a mantra that started vibrating in

my soul.

So like a demon being summoned

to some old rotten and ruined place

between worlds of Santolan and Edsa

In a realm between 2nd and 4th Ave

There I came in yellow sunshine

and black robes.

There in that gated place,

I succumbed to your calling

to wreck worlds by igniting

supernovas

and entering

Black holes.

Oh yes, we kissed.

Oh how we kissed

like hungry rats wanting

to devour each others soul

Yes I wanted you! I wanted the

whole of you but I could not

say if your insatiable hunger

wanted me as me and not just

another temple god, a temple

Idol that you often eat cold

to fill your black hole that so many

have conquered.

There in your altar bed full of

fire sutras and fluid scrolls

We moaned in prayer, We whispered in pleasure

and we uttered gibberish

as our feverish bodies

bombarded like expanding suns

destroying worlds and life

across our way.

And then at our climax

I was further pulled, collapsing

towards your vortex, your hole

in time and space I pulled out but

you kept pulling me in,

in a vibrato and rhythm

of unspeakable nuclear havoc

that annihilated you and me

into the silence "us".

But wait. There is no "us"

only a planet named "you"

and a planet named "I"

But in that few hours that seemed

light years, you kept holding my hand

uttering no promises nor gospels

but a reassurance that all that matters

is the word "we" and the word "now"

Now I cannot escape.

You are the center of the galaxy,

the black hole from which all others

revolve and like them whom you conquered

and conquered you, I too now

revolve around your spiral hands.

Till our next cosmic encounter

of milk and ice

I shall sit here in my pillow of purple clouds

between De Castro and McKinley Hill,

In my zen state,

dreaming of you.

*crapy poem

Note:

You know who you are so wag ka na magreact sa note/poem na ito. And I am not inlove with you nor do I ask for anything like those others whom you told me. I am simply cherishing the state of happiness that we shared. Hope nothing changes. I am content of what ever that is we currently have.

Cyber "You"

: mrpoetry_pen; November 25th, 2010

Current Mood:: hopeful

…encrypted in my mind

like some code stuck in my

Hard drive of broken glass wines

and scattered novel pages.

Just after we kissed and talked

below laptop lights and moon beams

My tongue downloaded your soul

into my innermost space

where you now sit enthroned

Ohhh, yes my cat's tongue

entered your core

the main frame of your being

from which your nano bytes

of milk and honey is slowing flowing

into my microchip of subatomic

worlds.

And yet as we become one

Each time we meet beyond pulsating

Suns and a thousand “Big Bangs”

Your code which is “you”

ONE BORING AFTERNOON...

: mrpoetry_pen; May 9th, 2010

On top of metal peaks I look out

Into the blank clear sky blotted with

Seminal ink floating fluidly

Like words dancing in papyri skin

Telling ancient verses, of tragedies

Of a long forgotten past.

There before me is a wide canvas

Of blue hue containing many “you”s

Which were painted by the hand of

My Soul,

But were no more.

I look out in from this metallic tower

Of glass and pipes, looking over the

Manila Skyline of littered of smog;

Pollutants that clogs my chest w/

The memories of “you”s and “we”s

That faded in the blowing of the

South Chinese wind over

The metro where the “you”s are

All scattered along w/ the

Thousand and 1 pieces of my soul.

Here in this skyline of Buendia

And Zobel de Ayala, I seat like a

Monk, alone and in silence

Looking out to God,

In the blue hue of “you”s

Pouring out my empty shell

Of scattered dreams

And loves.

Infidelity

: mrpoetry_pen; January 16th, 2010

Current Mood:: crushed

I was decapitated by the sharp signal of a
cellphone that I did not own. All my red love
splattered across the darkness of the pale room.

Yes, indeed. I was starting to be reaped
apart while he snored in his dreamful sleep.
Dreams of skin friction and drunken buddhas

sucking on Philo's tits for holy blood.
Then he woke. Awakened by my tide of
tiger skin and lion's teeth hovering over his

angelic face covered w/ invisible torns.
My headless body heard his pious confession.
A confession that rippled w/ masks, daggers's

and lotus supernovas. I became a headless statue
of a saint who heard the blasphemies done behind
pale rooms and on matrimonial beds;

Blasphemies that was whispered in erotic
transgression. Like believers, turning from
one idolatry to another; enjoying the orgies

of filth and shame that seemed holy and true.
Touching and fucking statues of clay and stone
while stabbing the celibate and dedicated monk.

Oh yes, I was the monk. In tattered clothing; the
skinny disdainful wretch who is now listening
to the scandalous confession of a tantric yogis

That continued to dream swamp water and
defiled temple wreaths. And while he matrad
his abominations, the monk, was being reaped

apart by the words of a thousand false sutras;
Bleeded by a few diabloic proverbs of a vibrating
dagger that he held in his numb hands.

Finaly, after a confession of a blotted phalic
memoirs and penance of 7 empty jars of woes
The monk, which is I, drank the poison made
of words that was contained in the vial made
in a shape of a nokia cellphone.

And he slept, like a cadaver, in endless woe
and unending night.

TAO

: mrpoetry_pen; June 16th, 2009

Current Mood:: annoyed

We are the eternal cycle
of sun and moon in a whirlwind
of ice cream and wine
eaten by gods of the
cherry blossom tree.

You are the YIN of my Yang,
the silent vengeful spirit
in the dark dungeons of my Id;
whose power unleashes the
breaking of "we"

I am the YANG of your yin,
the gentle and wise breeze
that gives life to your shallow
heart; whose magic is the rope
that ties the formation of "us"

And on our Sabbath nights
we perpetually convene in the
swamp land of papers and ink,
along Dona Aurora's cat walk of
queens making scenes,
there we dance in the divine
unfolding of scrolls written
in moon and fire.

Yes we become ONE in our
embrace, in the effervescent
and throbbing mixture of
sugar and red pepper.

We are one, cotton and flame;
where wisdom of a thousand
prophets and golden sutras
are written in the flaming liver and lungs
and cotton skin of our soul.

Finally, in that moment of white
clouds and seraph's song
of buddha moans and
lotus birth, our eyes
pierce each other in the
silence of bodily embrace
and gentle change
of "yin" and "yang"
into "Tao"
the alteration of
"I" and "you"
into the oness of
“Philos”

Love's labor is lost

: mrpoetry_pen; February 20th, 2009

Current Mood:: annoyed

Love’s labor is always fucked and lost,
Denying embrace and rotting French toast
With empty words from a heartless Ghost

Love’s labor was fucked by a heartless Ghost
Murdered with a kiss and sanity lost
Eating worms instead of French toast

Love’s labor is like a well made French toast
Made with poison and fire by a heartless ghost
That in the end love’s labor and soul is totally lost.

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Sr Pluma de Poesía

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