Portrait of A River

Noon burns on

A river

Black as oil.

The smacks mauve

In color.

The rusts climb
Persistent,
Barnacles
On each of
The boats' sides
Easily
As if it's
Quite proper
To go forth,
Multiply,
Gnaw away
The iron.

And inside
Light transits
Some people
Gaze at clouds,
The outlines
Of cities
Growing old
And modern,
At the sea
Shimmering
Pellucid
And distant.

But no one
Dare look at
The river.

So I Live

So I live.

I have dreamt
better dreams
for myself,
my precious
miniscule
existence
plow through this
confused world
unknowing
what it wants
to become.


For my life
of missed chances
have remained
like a long
bucket list
of things left
unfinished,
cathedrals
of mountains
unconquered,
victories
unachieved.


Who ever
have been most
uncertain
about paths
and crossroads,
directions
to turn to
can ask me
"which wrong star
have you been
following?
How winding
has your path
taken you?"


I'll show him
countless stars
which I can't
decide on;

I'll show him
the far track
I have trekked
and tell him
"there, my story
loops around,
rarely straight,
sketch of lines
like brambles,
too much time
thinking twice,
diversions,
too much sin."



If ever
he reflects
the same sad
subduedness
that he holds 
in the glum
fogged landscape
not knowing
where to turn,
I'll tell him
"Now, watch me,
a confused
weaver of
my story.
Don't repeat.
The world needs
a creature
of lessons
for caution,
so I live."



(Note to self.  Check back on this after a year.  See if it still holds up.)

how to sell

In this age,
Digital
they call it,
secrets sell
more than loud
boisterous
announcements.
Little hints
of half truths
and half lies
beguiles more,
delights more,
captivates;
seductive,
sacrosanct.

Boys and girls,
men, women
who know how
to keep it
behind their
prettiness
allures more,
enchants more.

Sometimes I
wish I had
their strange whiff
of mystique,
this magic
to entice,
so that I
can pull you
here, closer
to my words
like monsoon
dragonflies
studying
a still pond:

You might find
my trifling
school of kois
int'resting.

I'm still poor

I'm still poor,
no jacket
for the cold
Antarctic;
no ticket
to fly back
to my home,
the islands
there, Southeast;
no good food,
only canned meats,
icicles
boiled for drinks.
My supplies
would dwindle
fearfully
the harsh months
ghoul over
the home base
like an old,
wronged yeti.

The world is
quite sad here.
Nothing proud
to share with.
I thought that
hefty rich
distances
would calm me.
Out here though,
the weather's
more brawny,
while my own
weather's quite
lunatic.

What I've done,
what I chose
flays me well.
I feel less
of my flesh
desire the
hold further
to my bones.
Almighty
Lord above,
Blessed God
the Father,
Son of Man,
forgive me
for I don't
know what I
have done, what
to do and
what I am
still doing.

Aldubbin'

She spots his
Twinkly eyes
And giggles
Girlishly.
He sees her
Funny face
Splash on the
TV screen.
Something quite
Fascinating
Magical
Boy meets girl
Love story
This way comes.
Something clicks,
Some crazy
Enchantment
We can't turn
Away from
What is now
This lovely
Fairy tale
As old as
Tricky time,
We're held still
Mesmerized
For that small
And sacred
Split second
When they saw
Their two selves
Possibly
Together,
Playing in
Their own small
Universe.