Lorelle Tells It All
I am taking a new approach to posting entries from now on. From today I will be stating the things that inspired me in writing a corresponding entry, and reveals its intention when needed.
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At some points in our lives we come to a pause right before an intersection, figuring the choices we are going to take, fearing the uncertainties behind our head. And in my life I have come to so many points where I doubt my own conviction, question those pieces that comprise myself, and reconsider choosing a thorny, weedy, rocky decision of letting myself free but failing all those around me...
It is during these times that I heave my hands forward, coping for some strength to switch on the streetlights alongside me...
right before me,
My feet cease
Groping in the
For I dream not
into the unknown,
into the foggy
those in my head,
those screams of
the silence ahead.
the thick fog
my eyes want to
that reigns ahead,
Visions of the future
vague as a
My feet are slowly
and for my walk
Photograph by Raindog. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's Flickr page.Thanks!
Several times aboard a marine vessel that transports me between the island provinces of Bohol and Cebu in central Philippines, most of those happened during the late hours in the afternoon, I had witnessed the fairly eye-catching setting of the sun behind the low mountains of Cebu, with its radiance illuminated from a dome of orange and red and deep purple.
Most of my travel at sea between the two islands I traveled alone; I enjoyed the fresh salty air and the calmness of the sea, the state of being alone creates a tranquil room for self-reflection and contemplation. I am the kind who enjoys the company of my close friends and likes to travel with them, but I also enjoy and prefer to travel a few hours at sea by myself. It is when I reflect on the things I've done or should have done in the past, and figuring where this road I'm taking is leading to.
The sunset is my sole company during those times. Amid handfuls of strangers and passengers I find wordless conversations with nature. But it gives me a twinge of guilt going back into it over and over, finding solace in it, blinded most of the time by my own desire to fill some emptiness inside me, and making use of the sunset's company without even giving a slightest expression for its beauty.
Now, it is just time to say these words...
Receding is its fiery beauty
to the western heaven's infinity,
That mystical venture into dusk
is its routine glorious trip---
An endless prompt
for the insatiable poets.
In the sky it's the serene belle,
the cosmic masterpiece on symmetry
Summoning all eyes
to its dome of motley diffusion---
A day's closure so grandeur
hails the waking of night into action.
Shadows cast to the east such impressibility,
Evoking the fantasies of a mind so engrossed, so visionary.
The blending of darkness to the
dimming rays' heavenly hymn ---
All praised by the songs
of my singing pen.
Photograph by H_takeec. Please CLICK HERE to visit the source page. Thanks!
Streetlights shine down our way so we can walk safely and with definite direction. But their aging presence has become ignored by people who walk the same road every night. Is this going to happen to the streetlights of our lives one day?
At the crack of dawn
Its doting bathing of night
will not soon
End, but will forever keep on.
In those countless still nights ---
My repressed praises,
My lame cajole ---
My pointless bawls.
My driving with broken headlights
In a misty road's blind maze---
The lamp's brightness, a chiding gaze.
After this passing midnight
the sun wakes up to the tired street lamp.
--- My evanescent streetlight.
Photography from plaza.ufl.edu/
theoryof/misc. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's website.
Love. Such a wonderful word. A word full of life and emotions. But a word now gravely abused and misused. People feel, give or receive love, platonic or otherwise, at some point in their lives. Those who are in bounty tend to ignore it, while those in scarcity spend all the time they could to cherish it.
In the 30 years of living I have fallen in love once. But it happened in the wrong place and at the wrong time. It was the kind not dictated by the norms of the society. And there's nothing more painful than letting go of something that took for so long to come. And now I wonder, should I have to wait for yet another uncertain years?
That I cannot answer. But the words that flow below, are the things that I am certain I had seen and felt and touched during that single, brief encounter. And these are the very same things that I wish are still there by the time I fall in love again...
In life's a Capella of fleeting plethora ---
Behold, our hearts' graceful dance!
Silky drapes flap like soothing wings;
We chase paradisiacal butterflies through the wind.
Eyes meet, their sparks blend colors with the midnight aurora
And talk of words not known to our worldly minds;
Words flowing, ripple after ripple --- rushing, affecting.
We dance to the rhythm that waterfalls create,
Spotlighting our feet's wading through encaustic estuaries.
In a garden of chanting petals, we stand breathless --- our two hearts talking.
The following poem intends to celebrate the turning of life from the dark sides...
What was lost will come back
What was left behind will cope up;
What was moving backwards
Will meet us round the other end---
Just like in a loop, for we are in a loop.
At the end of one's term
another will break from the rich soil ---
Strive, compete, persist.
After all, life's all about taking time and giving way ---
Like winter succumbing, surrendering ---
To the waking of spring.
And we'll be the new leaves, sprouting.
the fierce, nonchalant, numb breath of winter ---
The flashback of our falling.
And then springtime comes,
The exultant sun spreading its shine,
Clearing the clouds from its way,
Inviting new walks, new flights, new hopes---
We are the birds, singing.
Photography by Eleigurl. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's Flickr page. Thanks!
The kind of relationship I have had with my grandfather was fragile and distant though we live under the same roof. I could not remember a time he embraced me or I hugged him from my early years until the day he passed away. We had never talked over casual topics on casual day-today conversations; when we do it would always be short and and concentrated on a particular issue. No talks of weather, of politics, of local issues. No how-you've-beens and no take-cares. Yes, it is true. Yes, they were expressed through a tradition we called "MANO", it is where the young takes the right hand of the old and lightly press the back of the old's right palm against the young's forehead to express the young's respect. But that's it.
But the blame is shared by the two of us. Yes, he was not the expressive kind of grandfather and he was not the kind who spends some time playing with his grandchildren and, yes, he might have shortcomings when it comes to building a strong relationship with us and creating a free communication path between us. But I also had my fair share of shortcomings. I was one of those grandsons who never expressed their love and appreciation toward their grandparents, too reserved, too stiff, too unfocused. And I lacked the effort to spark a conversation and start re-building the porous castle he had started. When he passed away I did not cry. Not once during the entire wake and funeral. But I did not hate him or dislike him. In fact, I miss him and feel a little nostalgic when I remember him asking me to cut his nails or rub his back or pull his beard with a thing that resembles the forceps (I forgot the name!).
I wish we could have been better as a grandson and as grandfather.
Your hurtful means
of straightening my supple childhood
I once mistook
as your heartless sneering on my existence.
I had never seen
the vastness of your wisdom
And had never fathomed
the depth of your heart.
The bridge that held
your island and mine
Did not permit
the flowing of emotions and hugs.
I couldn't remember
a moment you gave me one.
What you'd implanted
were the remoteness in your eyes
The lashing of your tongue,
the weight of your palm.
But in my heart this I would never let:
Your teeming words to wane like an ebbing tide
And their meaning to get lost in a flooding gall.
Photograph by Lolla_sig. Please CLICK HERE to view the owner's Flickr page. Thank you!
Birth is our threshold to a long journey,
But some journey leads to yet another birth.
Growth is where we see the flowers bloom,
But some of us bloom to call their end of growth.
Intangible things collaborate to build our character,
But some characters are built so not intangible.
Money attracts throngs of friends,
But their friendship is as fleeting as money.
Desires make a man resourceful and creative,
But sometimes such creativeness is as filthy as his desires.
Dreams mold men bolder with purpose,
But some purpose are as volatile as their dreams.
Frustrations may be as painful as failure,
But failure sometimes redeem us from deep frustrations.
Losing may be the dirt road to salvation,
But sometimes salvation requires grave losing.
Death is oftentimes faced with fear,
But fear is powerless in defying the summon of death.
Photograph by Sictransitdiesocci. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's Flickr site. Thanks!
Our childhood is one of the things that we sometime dream of going back. The following poem tells that time spent, however, can never be redone...
Those young years that can never come back
Filled, like sandwiches, with pickles, pepper and tart---
My young playfulness, zest, and mishaps.
Some mem'ries stayed, more mem'ries slacked;
Those frolicking and giggling I can't turn back.
Why, tell me, can't I mimic my then innocent laugh?
Time had devoured those days --- all spent, lagged, gone.
Those emotions felt, those pure bliss, all withered --- their mem'ries hummed;
Nay, age, wealth, wisdom --- can do nothing but dream and sigh.
Photograph by BuddhaWarrior. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's Flickr site. Thank you!
How can I calm the wind from its rile
Or tame a fierce beast in the wild
If I can't make my own gales to subside?
How can I let a seed to crack and sprout
Or help the trees to bend, not stout
If I can't even clasp my patience, and that I pout?
Freedom and eagerness,
Impulse and direction,
Control and discipline...
They once came to me,
They once tried to build a man in me.
Photograph by Silvia de Luque. Please CLICK HERE to view the owner's Flickr site. Thank you!
Life is a journey. And every stopovers and turnarounds occupies different chapters. Life, to some, do not end when the body returns to sand, but rather a beginning of a new part in the same book...
The foliage shakes in the wake of summer;
Its canvass of colors all turned to amber.
From a throng of once green cedar
Falls a leaf, now smells of cigar.
Deep, brackish flowing water
Awaits for the quietus of this dry litter.
Now floating to where it meets the river:
Its journey in the hereafter.
Photograph by WaltB III. Please visit the owner's Flickr site by CLICKING HERE.
Fear not the omen
Of the dungeons of truth
That slipped out of hand.
Though it burst into the open
A fire so searing,
A heart so brave and undefiled
Will summon all fumes,
heap them into a dune,
and tame them.
Photograph by Mr. Geoff. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's Flickr site. Thanks!
Your frivolous little actions
And comic but nervous rigmarole,
Your sinuous insight on dominion
And sleight so deft but funereal.
They all don't daunt or cause me to cower.
Your succinct, pure smile's flora
And persuading, candid prudence,
Your composed, facile aura
And discourse so rich with credence---
All sweep my qualm of rating you lower.
Your frowning to life's disheveling
Paves a boulevard so safe and secure
Your deterring a wasteful shedding
Helps define your complex, vibrant nature.
And makes me question my own exultation.
You're a portrait of contrasting landscapes;
In your flawed grandeur a scene so poignant
Where I see myself in a sullen seascape
Bathed in a canvass of drowning colors.
But then one cannot drown in his own imperfection.
Photograph from www.ratemyeverything.net. Please CLICK HERE to view the source. Thanks!
The following poem is one of my early writings between my high-school and college years. I had even compiled it along with the many others into a pamphlet but had lost sight of it after I leave for Taiwan. And, sadly, I could not recover them anymore. It was as though those poems never existed. The following, however, was recovered after getting a copy of my college's student publication where it was published way back in 2001, a month after the tragedy of WTC in New York.
Sitting here on the bench,
Silently gazing at the night sky,
Hearing nothing but the silence of the night,
I think of you again.
Thinking of those timeless moments
As riveting as those waves splashing below.
But it's different now.
Silently taking my seat,
Watching the empty space beside me,
The bygones are recurring,
One by one, painstakingly.
But only, the laughter has long been gone.
It's never like the old days.
Then, quietly, I'm weeping
For nobody's here beside me.
I feel so frail as fate has again
Clothed me with gloom.
I'm alone in the park,
It's heartbreaking, it's sad.
Softly as a falling leaf
I whisper your name,
Hoping, yearning always.
But it just drifts away to somewhere else,
Somewhere far away.
Too excruciating, too sore.
Shall I wait forever? I care not
For it's your heart that told me to wait.
With my eyes too heavy to blink,
I know it's now time to leave.
Tomorrow, I'll be here on the same bench, waiting.
Photograph by Tabrandt. Please click here to view the owner's Flickr site.
Relaxing, folding my arms
Under my head
Idling, you nap the time
Swaying, the sea air
ease away our tiredness
Rocking, it sets
the mood so perfect.
a sea of ebbing silver sparkles
devours the ruthless hotness.
hanging, they so calmly sway
They smile, devoid of fray.
Photograph from http://www.digitaldutch.com/arles/. Please click here to visit the site. Thanks!
Small feet, soft hands
Tiny nails, tender palms
Closed eyes, moving lips
Kicking feet, dancing hips.
Soft cry, still night
Noisy day, quiet nap
Frail frame, father's arms
Dancing mom, sleeping son.
Brown bears, pink birds
Softer mat, comfy bed
Eyes beamed, joyful crowd
Smiling face, parents' pride.
Photography by TOBYLEAH. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's page. Thanks!
Let's imagine it is us who's in between those cars, peering over a man indifferent to our presence...
High above, the noon sun glow;
Hiding in the shades, all men below.
Searing heat on every windshields;
His cupping hand over his naked head.
Squinting eyes, outstretched arm;
Peering on a tainted glass, his begging charm.
Rattling coins in a filthy, rusty can;
The boy's dry mouth, a hungry one.
Those glaring eyes are shunning him;
He's stepping back though the alibi's lame.Cars moving, he's in between;
A gen'rous heart he wished to win.
Photography by GEM. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's Flickr site. Thanks!
I close my eyes before the panorama
Of the world outside in humdrum drama
To see a vista of unspoiled felicity
Where vibrant laughter and flowers bloom eternally
All scenes so ethereal, they all sway;
Vivid like my dream as they play.
I close my eyes from the world out there:
A disgracefully numb eden, a place of stained cashmere;
The wall between your world and mine isn't trivial
Yours is a world so human, mine isn't fluvial;
You're facing a creek and yet you still whine
While my lips are dry, yearning for some wine.
With this borrowed existence I couldn't recover
I watch through the window a believer
When this world that's lead by men
Forsake me like an abating, fading whirlwind
I may perish in this room unremembered
But my heart and soul are unencumbered.
Photograph by Tim Young. Please CLICK HERE to visit the owner's Flickr site. Thanks!