Counter Flow

The patter pitter of the rain
Played concert with the
Tock tick of the clock
As my day started with the
Setting of the sun
I could hear the music
Rolling and rocking
From the room next
As people went out and in
Slamming doors

From the window
I strained my neck
To see and look
Behold and lo
People about and up
Flowing fro and to
Like the tides and ebbs
Of swampy waters

The strange sequence
Of events that go and come
Had me bewildered and bothered
But on the down and up
Considered, it may be better
That our fortunes go and come
And fate is as we die and live

Bye, Bye Blackbird

Blackbird
Singing from high tension wires
Urging me to sing along
Follow the frittering flashes
Of smoldering plumes
Strung up like notes
I should be home by six
But it is a pity to miss
Bird burning up high
Will anyone understand?
Asked Billie, what lament
The song intones
Blackbird strung up
In high wire
No harder luck story
Than this been told
Make my bed and light the light
I’ll be home late tonight

A Murderous Season

His dark majesty rode in with fluttering cape shrouding the day
With no bugles to herald, no chorus chanting his usurping of the light
The people in the village huddled and together trembled with fright
Pulled down the shades and barricaded the doors of straw and mud
“We’re not ready for you,” they shouted peering through slits of rotting wood
“I come at my pleasure”, he roared from his fiery eyed ebony mount

“Where are your offerings…your fealty…your sacrifices?
Where is the fattest of sheep, the youngest of sons, the purest of maidens?”
“Tempt me not to summon my minions to wreak havoc on your lowly abodes”

“Oh your eminence, forgive us for our shortcomings, turn your anger
Somewhere else…the next village perhaps…we will be ready in a fortnight”
The sheep will be fattened, our Benjamin ready and the virgin dressed in white
With a shrug that shook forests, blew away clouds and tossed seas
He said “I am a god that does not wait, I want your offerings now.
Your pleas insult me, your excuses disgust me, your promises infuriate me

All throughout the village a heavy pall of fear and dread hovered
Then he left with a shattering flash of lightning and the roar of crashing waters
Even the dawn was reluctant to shine out of the gloomy wake

Through the gray of an unsettled morning light
No babies bawled, raucous children silenced and dogs lost their whimper
Huddling in corners of their decrepit huts mumbled prayers ululated
Fathers and mothers wrap their arms around their quivering wards

Somewhere in the village young men grouped and with loud voices
Declared “prepare, be ready, let’s put up a stand against this onslaught”
Lit torches crackled, the staccato thud of pegs driven on hardwood and
The gnashing of metal sheets lashed on steady moorings were heard all night
(Lit torches crackled, steel against steel gnashed with their honing
The staccato of bamboo poles hewed and sharpened in broken rhythms)

As before, his dreadful majesty comes without herald, without ominous harbingers
The sky will crack up and with bright electric storm light up a silhouette of trees
Along the edge, a bleak horizon flashing off and on in rapid succession
As bats dot the darkened the forest’s canopy like scattered ants in a broken hill

Now he came as threatened…sudden, looming big, terrifying and horrid
Against a backdrop of a splintered sky…a tattered Aurora’s hem
Thunderous hooves fell on hard and dry ground shaking up mountains
Primeval forests bared and hills flattened with every heavy stride

It was a peaceful night in the tiny hamlet, only the rustling of rotted leaves
And the mewling of a distant cat could be heard in the village square
Past the ruins of an adobe chapel, by the field of withered corn stalks
Roods of odd sizes and slabs of crude granite scattered on weeded plots

A murderous season came to pass, a plunder most cruel and swift
There is no redress, no recompense, no relief and no reparation
Injustice, unfairness and unconscionable cruelty never were protested
It is the way of all things and it will inflict its fury again in time

David’s Birthday Poems

1. There is this David from Saigon
Upon seeing a cake on a ledge
Huffed and puffed away
At eleven candles on its edge
Hey! It’s his birthday today!



2. Today David turns eleven
No finer lad this side of heaven
With his smile and clever wit
And a grouch not even a bit
Blew big candles on a cake
A bite of which you have to take



3. No nicer lad than David you will find
A cheery face to match a clever mind
Hey! Today is March three in Saigon
A day for moping and sulking to be gone
For he turns eleven and not a day late
Surely a day for everyone to celebrate.

Sea Change

Do you have a sea within you
Where awesome barnacled monsters
And fragile fish in shiny crimson vests
Scatter in the sea grass as they meet

A swarm of wrasse streaming through
Like muted skylarks chasing wind
On a swathe of gaudy pink corals and
Upon fields of somber olive kelp

Oh what a powerful will lie in wait
In the calm waters of the deep
Only the undulation of the sea grass
Give hint to the burgeoning force

Oft times, restless waves with billowing roar
Swell up to heave foamy white crests
To crash against the stolid gray cliffs
Challenging steadfast promontories

But the land will always frustrate the dare
The sea falls back deeper into its abysmal depths
Then, gathering strength, it rises again
Rallying waves to get back at a startled shore

Dark Eden

I lived in depths of a thousand fathoms
Where days are dark and cold
Darting shrimps leave silver streaks
The only light to be seen at noon

You can’t tell when it’s ebb or tide
In my abyss no precision gauge
Measure what is great and small
Leviathans and weak fish equal in esteem

Friendly barnacles smile but who’s to see
Sea grass greet should anyone come
Fiddler crabs play mute chamber music to
An audience of groupers with mouths agape

Endless miles of filigreed corals
Graceful kelp lined row on row
A regal maze of lime green hedges
Lie hidden in deep blue trenches

Loveliest place in all of the seven seas
Only if a million bonfires could be lit
An Eden kept secret, you know it’s there
Illumined by floodlights of my mind

I Remember Valentine

Do I recall saying,
Lines that ardent swains’ whisper?
Borrowed sonnets from the Portuguese

Do I recall offering,
What every adorer bears?
Wine-red roses and chocolate truffles

Do I recall the impetuous act,
That a lover on impulse dare?
Clasp hands delicate as Dresden blue

Do I recall the affectionate kiss,
That I, with fervent passion implored?
Scarlet lips voluptuous as Autumn cherries

I do recall with longing all these and more,
A lunatic fringe all young lovers dwell in,
Reckless adoration of the beloved on Valentine’s Day

A Pointillist Morning

Off-white mist rising on the ridge
Hurrying into the emptiness between trees
Lost in a thick stroke of green curlicues
Then splattered by a sudden breeze
Like silver droplets scattered by a frisky dog
Shaking off unwanted cold rain
Glistening like playful carmine dots on a
Mantle of matted threads of emeralds
A sudden inspiration, a shimmer of yellow birds
Explodes like a roman candle in sparkling hues
Filling the cerulean sky with tiny glittering flakes
The scene, now in orderly chaos and panic
Strewing golden leaves and bronzen twigs
Blotting over an increasing spread
A canvas speckled with lusty colors
Of an artist’s special view of
A morning by the ridge

To Alicia Back From Dubai

Throw the door wide open and rejoice
With spread arms and welcoming laughter
Oh, my beloved is back from a long sojourn
A perilous odyssey in distant shores

She walked in with silent grace emerging
With familiarity that rekindled the house lamps
Perhaps I will enthrone her there
On the ornate chair at the head of the table

And all the people who came to greet
Curious idlers whiling away the time of day
Will notice her tired but brilliant glow
Modest elegance, with simple flair

Reach out and hold my hand, beloved
Let you and I bask in the familial warmth
Come, adorn my hearth and home
Bringing back affection and care

Open your bag brimming
With your homecoming gifts
Wrapped in happy paper prints
For those huddling by your side

You’re beside us once more
Delirious with joyful affection
Dust and scrape your wayward roving shoes
Never to leave the welcome mat by the door

Graduation Post Script

When we were through with our scholastic years

And have returned to the happy slant of things

Bid hello again to the lively reality of out of school

Relieved from poring heavy tome upon tome

Wanting in words to describe the relief the hiatus caused

From the rigors and hardships of a disciplined way of life

The august halls of the alma mater a prison now behind us

And parchment scroll did seem irrelevant to our lives

The college library had graffiti on its mottled walls

The carillon pealed from cracked bells jangling hymns

A heavy yellow pall spread clammily in the quadrangle

The dean was in disrespect, the faculty tainted, we were sure

But what of the mind?, The cultivation of which

Unknowingly, surreptitiously had been honed to face

The challenges of a reality then far imagined

Clearing the muddled glasses of youthful views

Soon we realize that the years behind the ivied walls

Were not stones wasted and skimmed in an algae filled pond

Later as we mused and pondered complexities of existence

That would have stunned us dumb had we not persisted

Morning Bells and Prayers

The bells rang raucously
As they have always done at six
They rang late for the devoted one
Who was out of bed by five

They rang too soon for some
Who need not wake at such a time
A stolen hour from someone’s rest
To restore strength to work the day

The loudspeakers shouted rudely
On the day’s crack of dawn
Waking every creature from their stupor
Rousing their faith with noisome pleas

The voices buzzed with electric crackle
Intelligible cackle cutting through the fog
It’s done no good for all its intentions
Unwanted annoyance to start the day

Black Bamboo

The black bamboo fronds reached low
Swinging to every blustery blow of the westerly
Up and down, to and fro, left and right
But rising to straighten not staying low for long
Like erect whips snapping lively at impassive clouds
Lashing out against phantom scars and imagined foes

With momentary lulls they spring back to uprightness
The wee creatures at the lower branches stir and chirp
As if a siren sounded the respite and the return of the calm
The bamboo shed encrusted scales relieving the itch
Caused by the constant strain of heaving, stooping and rising
Then it stooped so low, creaked and broke its battered bole

Not even the sparrows at the bowers could, despite their cheering
Set it back to its poised air and proud bearing
The waste left by an unbending and unyielding pride
The litter of the green flaky rust lay on sodden floor
Who is to clean up? Who is to wield the broom?
No, not us. No, not the wind, not you nor I

Terrorism

The zeal of the crusades
Persists resolutely to this day
Shackling the tractable faithful and
Hounding the wretched infidels

Missions more impassioned than ever
In fulfilling their avowed vision for all
Insistence rather than tolerance and suasion
Contrary beliefs and rights repressed

Other faiths fight back with fanatic fervor
Striking with flaming blades the unbeliever
The whiter the flash the redder the carnage
The louder the blast the more terror sown

Death to the cohorts bearing the cross
Sowing terror is ruthless intolerance, but,
Saint George and Michael Archangel delivering
Fire and brimstone to the heathen yet another

Rainy Day

Rain chatters annoyingly
An incessant harangue on metal sheets
Drums, grates, pesters my listlessness

A lackluster sun sinks ever so weakly
On a jagged silhouette of somber evergreens
Its gilt edge no more than erose rustiness

I remember the ugliness of the day
The slate gray of twilight taking over
Amidst the harassment of an obstinate rain

Nocturne

Listen, the footfall of padded paws thud
As twilight wafts its melancholy tune
The traipsing of furtive mannequins into the scene
To start the commerce of the night
Ah, angels on hocked wings mingling in the shuffle
Of insatiable lusts of men of all skins

A nightlong stance of enticement and allure
No rest, nor ease through the cold and apathetic dark
No help, no solace from a sometimes provident night
Singles, pairs or even threes they hustle corners
In tatty glad-rags and blackened rouge they sell
Ersatz affection, snatches of bliss to blighted souls

Heaven has no ears to hearken to piteous plaints
From cracked lips and blistered tongues
They push their trade until soles run raw
Waifs with scarred heels hide in scaly shadows
Oh, what lassitude shrouds the night air
In the blazing red light of a false sunrise

La Belle Dame sans Amour

He saw her pass by
Crossing with familiar rush
A figure caught in strobe

A tree stripped bare in the Fall
Like watercolor blotting badly,
Rouge melting on pudgy skin

Is that she? He asked
Surely not she, he thought
There unmasked in stark light

He loved her truly
They all did, too
Who asked you? She said

Greed

I tell you greed is grasping
It roots on acid ground
Sucks the juice of the muck
Even at the last gasp
Clings with avid vines
On broken slabs and angels
With cracked cement wings

I tell you greed is quenchless
It begrudges the sun its brilliance
Envious of the moon’s glow
Sweeps all the stardust and
Gathers them with a dustpan
And stores them in dark rooms
Gloating in demented joy

I tell you greed is without compassion
Thriving on hedonistic nurture
Denying closeness and amity
Cuts off the umbilical nexus
Shun familial obligations
Shrugs off the flakes of conscience
From the black dress of indifference

I tell you greed is shameless
Ecstatic in pelf and exaggerated self worth
Gloats over riches felt deserved
Forgetful and incognizant of God’s grace
Jingling patina encrusted coins
Amused and savoring the endless count
In glee…in endless count…in glee

Amihan - A Season of Hope

Amihan played in the grove
Touching leaves and sprigs
Breathing on mango blooms
Leaving freshness on the gnarls
Stirring the furry caterpillars
Asleep on curled green sheets

Now the risen sun cast its glare
Striking out with its searing blaze
Soon Amihan shooed and scuttled
Moved on to friendlier milieus
Of green glades and cooler climes
Enjoying the comfort of amiable arbors

Oh kind and merciful Amihan
Let not the tyrant sun sow malevolence
On a withered and desolate grove
Come back and give succor to
The creatures of the green mantle
Threatened by the scorching glare

Come now and save your flock
Never again must you stray
Blot out the hand of the despot sun
Bring back freshness into our clime
Return the peace and the comfort
To a beleaguered and desperate people

The Muse

Traipsing the mountain slopes
Even before the sun had crossed
The distant nebulous endless line

In flight with swifts, flitting motes
Scratching the inner eye
Blurred in the cottony haze

I know she’s somewhere there
In the velvet glow of dawn, but
Never in the glare of noon

Come let me feel your touch again
Restore my quills’ vibrant strokes
Put fecundity in my sterile pad

She comes only at her will
Flirty lady, insensitive bitch
I am but a waif at your whimsy

Dysphoria

Strange fates and unwanted destinies
Stuck and ensconced on us like barnacles
Adding to our discomfort and dismay
Evanescent ease, inconstant joys
Our inheritance from alien origins
Undeserved legacy foisted on us

Our sojourn is not from ease to ease
But rather moving from worse to worst
Snatching bread from mouth to mouth
Living lives from barrenness to little worth
Can you find a hiatus from this affliction?
Yes, but, it's an infinitesimal wait.