i wouldn’t call us
a mistake
this empty valley
that we left behind
once flourished
with laughter
and though the poppies
were long gone
and the river’s
drained with love
i have memories—
i’d go back to them
as I trudge the earth
until, one day,
the trails lead you
back to me
Fingers tapping softly on the table, each second a louder beat of the heart. Murmurs, inaudible conversations— your voice drowning the noise of the crowd. Two seconds ago we were strangers, standing at the opposite aisle of a bookstore. You on conspiracies; I on poetry.
Stolen gazes… knowing smiles… paperbacks…
Life’s grand orchestra
Plays a loving melody
For just you and me
“Wake me up when September ends,” so the song says.
The world felt like it fell into a slumber for the past months. Everything came to halt, a state of inactivity where plans were suspended. Each of us developed our own ways of getting by these COVID days. Some turned to binge-watching, others turned to gardening. Some read, others wrote. Some took the time to clean the dusty corners of their homes, others took the time to cleanse the dusty corners of their minds.
September finally ended. And here we are… awake.
For me, it has been a rollercoaster ride. I’ve had equal parts of ups and downs in life but, overall, I could say that I have slowly learned to adapt and manage my emotions. Work is still work, life is still life. As for my virtual presence here in WordPress, I am guilty of missing out a lot.
Last August, most of my posts were musings about life, writing and my journey as a writer. This month, I wrote pieces that remain incoherent in my drafts. I did manage to share one musing about life and mountains in Monday Musings: Extra Baggage.
Some Mishmash of Random Things:
Remember Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls that I did not finished in July and I skipped in August to read Albom’s Human Touch? Ta da! It remained unopened this September. It did not bore me, it was in fact getting interesting along the way. It’s just that I am having a reading slump, which leads me to another problem (or is it?): BOOK HOARDING.
Book Talk: Forgive me book-god for I have sinned
I did however listed to audiobooks in LibriVox and treat myself to some good ol’ fairytales such as Andersen’s Fairy Tales and Grimms’ Fairy Tales. I’ve also listened to poetry readings in PoemHunter and fell in love with these poems once again:
Early in September, I shared about the most memorable trees I’ve encountered along the trails in When Life Gives You Quarantine, Think Green.
Last week, my friends and I — for the first time — got back on one of those trails after 6 months of hiatus. At last!
I’ve been mostly out of WordPress these days but I was able to read some remarkable posts in my feed. Go check these links out.
October… will this month be any better? I guess we’ll find that out, one day at a time.
I wish the wind whispers you the secrets
I’ve been trying to keep.
I hope it tells you that you are not alone—
That I, too, am afraid
Afraid to make another mistake,
Afraid that this is a mistake
Afraid to get wounded all over again.
But for what are the hearts that beat louder than drums
If they can’t be brave?
What’s the point of having hearts that beat?
So, here I am, wishing for the wind to whisper my plea:
Just as the waves stroke the shore,
Just as the setting sun kisses the sea,
Just as the darkness embraces night,
Let us give in to destiny
Without having the fears of the past.
Three years ago, I wrote the Tagalog version of this poem. Back then, I took a writing hiatus too and it was going out in the natural world that awakened my muse. This year, I can’t say how long this break will be. I guess I need another dose of the outdoors! 🌻🍃
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth
And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil
When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets
Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
Starting the week with this powerful piece from none other than Maya Angelou. Have you personally uncovered a brave and startling truth in this lifetime — one that forever changed your life?
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Sharing this beautifully penned piece from Wendell Berry that I have just learned about today. I fell instantly in love with this poem on first read. It’s simple yet deep, expressing in poetic lines how the natural world can quell our anxieties of the present and the future. This is something that we all can relate in these trying times. May we find our way back to the gardens, forests and mountains where inner peace reside.
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
Had Charles Bukowski lived longer, he would be celebrating his 100th birthday today. This gem of a piece of is one of his simplest yet most powerful. In these trying times, it reminds us to push forward despise life’s inevitable hardships. 💛
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 shew 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.
Sharing another personal favorite from William Wordsworth. May this piece inspire our wandering and wondering souls. ❤
Gikapoy naka.
ayaw’g hunahunaa nga
kaya ra nimo tanang problema.
kay
di ka kusgan sa tanang panahon
ug sayop sila sa ilang giingong
dili ka masulub-on
kay ang tinuod
nag-inusara ra ka.
Ayaw isipa nga
kanimo adunay mutabang
kay
hakug ang kalibutan.
Dili tinuod na
kini pagsulay lang
tuho-i na
magpabalin ang problema sa hangtud.
Undang na sa pagtoo nga
may igo kang katakos
hinumdumi nga
Ang kalampusan lisud makab-ot
sayop ang ideya nga
layo ka’g maabtan
kay ang tinuod
dinha ra ka kutob.
Hunong na sa pagtoo nga
Makigbisog ka.
P.S. Now read the lines from the bottom to the top.
So, I’ve decided to continue this project of sharing poetry — written and spoken — that I believe deserve to be read, heard and felt. May this collection quench our thirst for inspiration and awaken our sleeping muse.
This piece is written by James Glendon, a Cebuano wanderer and wonderer who has a penchant for reverse poetry. The poem addresses anxiety and depression which are prevalent in today’s society. If only I could translate it to any language without jeopardizing its meaning and depth. Sigh.
Also, check out Home by Warsan Shire and The Prisoner of Chillon by Lord Byron for previous featured pieces. 😀
