dusk rolled in silence
crimson sunset; parting birds—
i wish you were here
Image: Unsplash
Day 7 of NaPoWriMo challenges us to write a poem that takes its inspiration from the idea of a postcard. Consistent with the abbreviated format of a postcard, the poem should be short, and should play with the idea of travel, distance, or sightseeing.
Here comes rain pouring
Along with new year’s blessings
A grateful soul smiles.
According to current thinking, the observable universe is about 93 billion light years in diameter. I am no astronomy expert and the likes of Edwin Hubble would probably disagree when I say that there was a time when the universe molded itself into the right shape to fit just two people.
That day we hiked the trail to the peak expecting to find the place crowded with campers. But it was uncommonly empty. Right then my selfish side wished that no one would ever come. Coelho must have known that when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it. Because no one did arrive. We had the billion-star accommodation all for ourselves.
I’ve always wondered what they meant when they said that the universe is infinite. Were they referring to the cosmic wonders from without or to those from within? That night we measured trajectories — not of falling comets but of falling hearts. At daybreak, I caught a momentary silhouette backlit by the rising sun. My sunset man. And what astronomers have not observed is this: sometimes all the mysteries of the universe is found in someone’s hand.
the wide universe
seized to be scientific—
poetic, it was
In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: The Picnic hosted by Gina who challenges to share some picnic themed poems.
Here’s one of my favorite memories with one of my favorite people. The title is inspired by The Universe in Verse, an annual celebration of science through poetry hosted by Maria Popova at Pioneer Works and The Academy of American Poets
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I remember standing in this corner of the street. A once timid soul staring blankly at the stoplights, waiting for a signal if I should stop or go. Cars speeding to and fro with blaring lights, I remember my heart beating like a drum. Too afraid and too cynical if I could make it to the other side of the road. Seconds turned into minutes, I waited until the hour hands forced me to move along. Day after day, this has been my routine. Until I found you you found me.
Eyes on the map, you were looking for this corner of the street. Strange and hilarious — that is how I thought back then. Perhaps you heard about the girl that was always stuck in the crossroad. Or you wanted to know what magic draws her to this place. And so in this corner of histories and mysteries, things have changed.
I no longer dread the stoplights. My feet now know when to stop or go. And when I’m afraid or cynical, I have a hand pulling me close. Leading me to the other side of the road. Heart still beating like a drum, I know it wasn’t because of the speeding cars. It was something else. It was you.
The trees kept quiet
As a new story unfolds—
Two souls, one crossroad
In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: Transitions hosted by Merril D. Smith who asked us to write about change, but specifically, to write about a transitional time in our life.
This specific corner in IT Park has always been a special place to me. It has inspired a number of poems before— and it still do. Looking back at one of the pieces I wrote, I find it amusing how things have changed. I used to write about chaos, but now this place reminds of being brave.
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We tend to eat ice cream every time it was cold out. Like that one night I let you try Moonsky & Sunny. You could not decide which flavor so I chose coffee and chocolate mint instead. Beneath the moon and sky, I gave you a sunny smile. You laughed when you realized I was waiting for a feedback. It tasted great, you acquiesced. The next time we ate, you picked the place. I remember getting lost and strolling quite a distance. You kept saying sorry and it was the first time I told you how I love long walks. And so we did. Seven kilometers long. There was also this one night you told me about a funny man who sells dirty ice cream on the street. We found him along the honking and crawling cars. A man in his 30s wearing a slim-fit white t-shirt and faded blue tight jeans. This time you waited how I’d react. Did I tell you it hurts to suppress a laugh? And how could I miss last night’s sundae? Down with cough and cold, you said you it was nothing. Stubborn man. You talked your way out with politics, laws, and secrets. And I found myself in silence— yet again. Eating my ice cream, in muted words, my eyes screamed: damn how I love this human.
Moonlit silent nights
Memories of you and I—
Burning senses, sigh
In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Sounds of Silence hosted by Dwight Roth who challenges usto write a poem about the human condition that eludes to silence, especially the sounds of silence. What is being said when nothing is spoken and no sound is being made?
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These Eyes Are All Yours
The day is slowly fading into the night and I look outside from the glass window with anticipation. My eyes search the star-speckled sky but you are nowhere to be found. Perhaps you’re hanging on the other side.
Two hours. Two more hours until I get to see you, my love. My greed for you is burning. It is almost a sin. What should I tell you this time? Ah, poetry. I wrote something about you— yet again. I will read it later on. And music! I was playing Ed Sheeran’s Perfect a while ago and this beautiful song never fails to break my heart. You probably heard this a hundred times but you know I just have to say it.
There you are. Waiting just outside the lobby, casting your light to the branches. Curious how one tree is almost bare-naked while the other is thriving. We will talk about this too, but for now let me stare in silence.
oh dear winter moon
these eyes are all yours tonight
and all nights to come
In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: Fuyu No Tsuki hosted by Victoria C. Slotto. Technically, we do not have winter on my side of the Earth. But we do share the same moon, right? 🙂
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On some days you will find yourself on the edge of a cliff. Your hands will be holding on to nothing but the rough and sharp boulders that will only leave you with callouses and wounds. Your knees will tremble at the thought of falling. Of failing. And that every single cell in your body will be in a crazy delirium.
On these days, I want you to take a deep breath. To feel the warmth of the sun. To let the wind tease your hair. Listen to the silence and hear the beat of your heart. It’s probably beating too fast but it will slow down if you give it a little time. Breathe.
And then move along. If you must walk or run or crawl on fours, do it. You will be scared. You will be scarred. But isn’t that how we grow? Let the callouses be your pride and the wounds be your drive. Be the trembling mess standing bravely at the edge of life.
‘Neath the gloomy sky
Leaves sway to the wind’s rhythm—
Blow your fears away
Waking up on the right side of the bed, here’s a little haibun to kiss away our Monday blues. Have a great week everyone! 😀
Downpour
The sun bathed me with its warmth as I leaned on the ledge across the waterfall. There were tourists around me trying to capture a photo of this cascading beauty but I stood there— dumbfounded. For days and nights I tried to look for a sign to lead me where broken hearts go. I breathed in as if an inhale is all I need to get the courage to let go. But it wasn’t. The water plashing into a rocky pool down the cliff reminded me of how I helplessly dived right into your arms. We all fall, yes I know. But what happens when you can’t pick yourself up again?
I’m listening to the sound of downpour. I don’t know which one is worse, these tears or the waterfall?
the water glistens
listening to the silent cry
of a restless soul
In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: Water hosted by Bjorn
Recently, I have been wandering around Cebu with an adventure-seeking new found friends. I haven’t been writing and reading enough here in blogosphere— which I miss terribly. However, this reconnect with mother nature has awakened my inner voice. My hopeless romantic muse.
A friend took this photo of me in Mangitngit Falls. This piece is a sad one but don’t waterfalls remind us a terrible fall?
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A Kiss In The Rain
A kiss in the rain
Is like the howl of the wind
Igniting the flames
All colors of neon light
Spill amidst the stormy night
© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.
Watercolor Painting by Lana Moes
In response to Ronovan’s Haiku prompt: Flame & Kiss and Colleen’s Tanka prompt: Storm & Color
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