2022
Magical Clouds

Image by Peter from Pixabay

On the sun-drenched shores of Gapasan Island, Danilo and Dina, a couple bound by love and a yearning for a child, lived a life rich in contentment but shadowed by a single, aching desire. Each day, their prayers painted the sky with the same fervent wish – a family to complete their world of joy. One morning, as the sun painted the horizon with streaks of gold, Danilo stumbled upon a peculiar sight in their backyard – a plant unlike any they had ever seen. Its form, both delicate and resilient, held a captivating charm. He called Dina, and together they marveled at this unexpected visitor, a silent promise nestled amongst the familiar greens.


Dina, with her heart brimming with maternal warmth, readily took on the responsibility of nurturing the plant. She christened it Cotton, a name that whispered of its soft, downy appearance, and vowed to see it flourish and bear fruit. Days bled into weeks, and Cotton thrived under their watchful eyes. Its vibrant green leaves unfurled like welcoming arms, and sturdy branches reached for the sun, a silent proof to their unwavering care. Then, delicate white flowers, pure as fallen snow, began to adorn its form. With each passing day, the couple's hope bloomed alongside Cotton. Yet, months stretched on, and the flowers remained stubbornly unyielding, clinging to their delicate beauty but never transforming into the fruit they so desperately desired.


Frustration gnawed at Dina's heart, and she pressed to cut Cotton down. However, Danilo, ever the optimist, pleaded with her to hold on a little longer, his faith unwavering in the belief that nature had a plan yet to unfold. The next morning, they awoke to a sight that left them breathless. Cotton, the once flourishing plant, had vanished without a trace. In its place lay a mound of the softest, most luxurious cotton they had ever seen. As they sifted through the fluffy treasure, their fingers brushed against something unexpected – a tiny, perfect baby nestled comfortably within. Tears of joy welled up in their eyes as they cradled this precious gift, a child born not of flesh and blood, but of the magical cotton plant. They named her Cloudia, a name that echoed the ethereal beauty of her arrival.


Cloudia grew with an otherworldly grace, her skin as smooth and white as the cotton that had birthed her. One day, as Danilo bathed Cloudia, a strange phenomenon occurred. The water, upon contact with her skin, transformed into a luxurious lather of cotton, soft and gentle. A gasp escaped Dina's lips as they realized the extraordinary connection Cloudia possessed with the cotton. This revelation sparked an idea in Dina's resourceful mind. They collected the cotton lather, a unique and precious commodity, and took it to the nearby town. The townsfolk were captivated by its luxurious texture and readily offered a hefty price.


This first taste of wealth ignited a spark within Dina, a spark that quickly morphed into a raging inferno of avarice. The comfortable life they had envisioned morphed into a relentless pursuit of grandeur. Mansions and sprawling estates danced in her dreams, and she wouldn't rest until they were hers. Blinded by their newfound greed, Danilo and Dina began to exploit Cloudia's magical gift without a second thought. They repeatedly bathed her, first in the rivers, then in the vast expanse of the sea, each time transforming the water into a bounty of cotton. Their wealth multiplied, but a hollowness began to gnaw at their hearts. The once joyful act of caring for Cloudia became a mechanical process, fueled by their insatiable hunger for more.


One fateful day, as Danilo dipped Cloudia into the sea, a voice boomed from the depths. Cloudia, no longer the helpless infant, had transformed into a magnificent being, her form woven from pure cotton. Her voice, both sorrowful and firm, echoed across the ravaged landscape. She rebuked them for their greed, reminding them of the simple life they once cherished and how their insatiable desires had brought suffering to the entire island. The rivers had run dry, the sea a barren wasteland, and the people were plagued by thirst and hunger.


With a final, heart-wrenching plea for them to learn from their mistakes, Cloudia vanished. The cotton transformed back into water, revealing the devastation their actions had caused. Shame and remorse washed over Danilo and Dina like a tidal wave as they surveyed the barren landscape. The once vibrant island was a proof to their greed, a silent scream against their insatiable desires.


Days turned into weeks, filled with a crushing silence that mirrored the emptiness in their hearts. But then, a miracle occurred. Gentle rain began to fall, nourishing the parched earth. The well overflowed, rivers meandered with renewed life, and the sea sparkled under a clear sky. The island slowly began to heal, each drop of rain a soothing balm on the wounds they had inflicted.


However, a permanent reminder of their folly remained. The cotton that once filled the sky never truly disappeared. It lingered, a shimmering cloud high above the island, a constant witness to their actions. The islanders called it Cloud, a name that whispered of both Cloudia's memory and the couple's transgression. It served as a cautionary tale, a reminder that true happiness resides not in material wealth, but in cherishing the gifts we are given and using them with compassion.


Occasionally, during times of hardship, the Cloud would weep, showering the island with gossamer threads of cotton. These threads, infused with Cloudia's magic, held the power to soothe troubled hearts and bridge divides. For Danilo and Dina, the sight of the Cloud became a bittersweet reminder. It was a constant source of regret yet also a beacon of hope, a promise that even the deepest remorse could pave the way for redemption. They spent the rest of their days working tirelessly to rebuild what they had destroyed, their hearts forever tethered to the memory of the magical cotton plant and the child who taught them the true meaning of contentment.


Written on October 30, 2010

New mown hay

Image by Thomas H. from Pixabay

 

Memories of my High School Days
Before the morning sun could shower its first golden rays,
We were all awake, and we'd hustle to do our chores.
My brother and I would feed our cattle with our freshly mown hay.
My sister would prepare our meals. Then she'd clean the drawers, floors, and doors.

Before the clock struck seven, I was all prepared for school.
My father prepared his gathered tuba, which we would transport downtown.
Then we would walk a kilometer with gallons on both hands. It's never cool.
This daily routine often makes me feel upset, and I always wear a frown.

Because of this, I always arrive at school late.
The good thing was that they never closed the gate.
As a consequence, our counselor obliged me to do the flag-raising ceremony alone.
Oh, and before I forget, I also had to gather some pebbles and stones.

Despite this, I was earnest about coming to every class.
Even if in a few minutes I came in last.
It didn't matter how often I mow the grass and cleaned the glasses,
As long as I am first place in all my classes.

When everyone's most awaited time arrived, vacation time!
My mother planned a picnic at that river near our grandpa's place.
We had plenty of food, including appetizers, veggies, and fruits. We all felt sublime.
From my once frowned upon look for not having classes, emerged a gleeful face.

236 words 20 lines 1,308 characters
04/05/22
 
Love Flame

Image by Victoria Model from Pixabay


My Heart Will Forever Burn For You

Our days fleeted in haste, now we're getting old.
Your pristine allure still lovely to behold.
Though our path may not be all traces of gold,
In future tales, our love will always be told.

In times when our days - clouded with sorrows,
I saw us rose and soared like lovely sparrows.
We had faced each billowing wind without fear
And we sometimes found ourselves drenched with our tears.

Your heart might grow arid - tired of loving me.
I will be here for you as I'll always be.
You might want to leave me. I will set you free
My love for you will stay, that I guarantee.

It will be a pain to see you bid adieu
My heart will forever, ever burn for you.

An contest entry towards "Search for a WDC HeartThrob Poet "

Prompt: Lyrical Sonnet containing the phrase "my heart burns for You."

Lyric poetry expresses personal emotions or thoughts of the speaker, just like the songs of today. Also, just like songs, lyric poems always have a musical quality, or a specific melody which makes it easy for you to sing along with. The term 'lyric poetry' actually comes from the ancient Greek word lyre, which refers to the instrument in that era that accompanied the reading of the lyric poem. Almost like the first version of a live concert.

One type of lyric poem is the sonnet. Overall, sonnets have 14 lines usually written in iambic pentameter, which is five pairs of stressed and unstressed syllables. This overall structure of predetermined syllables and rhyme makes sonnets flow off your tongue in a similar way that a song on the radio does.
 

 

Diverging road

Image by Medium.Com

Life's Choices
In life, there are lots of choices that we will make.
Things must be carefully chosen because the future is at stake.
In every decision we make, in every choice we take,
May it be the best one and never a mistake.

For instance, we would come across a road split in twain.
We struggled to choose one, but we can't just complain.
The one that is covered with lush green, in years untrodden
Or to the other that's paved but long-winded and barren.

Same thing in love, when we're choosing someone
It comes the hardest when we're bound to choose one.
A person whom we love but whose love is unrequited.
Or a person who loves us more but we never feel delighted.

Sometimes we may think that life isn't fair.
Worry not, because we all have our share.

Written for: "April 30 Poem--Multiple choice"   in "Dew Drop Inn
Prompt: Multiple Choice(s)—create a poem that is somehow like a multiple choice test, OR turn this into another “free day” for our last day of April and write any poem of your choice, OR write multiple, short, linked poems…like the sidewalk poems!


14 lines | 139 words | 747 characters
 
Move On

Image by: hdwallpapers.in


Moving On
Unloving someone isn't an easy thing to do.
All those treasured memories, you have to let go.
It's like letting a bird flee out of its cage.
And like effacing your love notes from each page.

First, you need to learn to forgive and forget.
From the very start—the day you first met
All the things you've shared, be that good or bad,
Forget all the happy and sad moments you've had.

Delete all the photos that you dearly treasure.
I know it's painful, but you have to endure.
Quit your habit of stalking him on his Facebook page.
And let everything burst out in one victorious rage.

All those heartbreaking songs, if you're ready to hear
Without feeling the pain and not shedding a single tear,
When you already wear a smile and have trimmed your hair,
Are marks that you've moved on from your saddest affair.

Written for: "April 29 Poem--Directions to...?"   in "Dew Drop Inn
Prompt: Directions—Tell us how to get somewhere (a real “destination” that might or might not be a real place, or might be an emotional place, etc.)


16 lines | 148 words | 812 characters
04/2/22 11:27pm EDT
 

 

Hardworking father

Image by Desktopnexus.com


My Parent's Hard Work
It's been nearly four decades since
Toiling soil on the field
You work tediously to yield
Provisions for our daily needs.

You scaffold each beam with tenacity.
You're the sturdy foundation.
The strong, unbreakable post
Of our glorious home.

While our mother shed to us
Her incessant shining light
Our torch that brightens our way
As we traverse the dark side of life.

Your wrinkled face marks
Your struggles and sacrifices are enormous.
Your sinews may already be weak.
But you pursued and persevered.

Life is a continuous battle.
You take the hard blows
To let us appear victorious
In our chosen endeavors.

Father, mother, you are the heroes
In all of our glorious tales.
Because of your hard work
We've reached our woven dreams.

Now you both rest and savor the fruit
Of your great deeds and tireless labor
As we continue, what's left undone
And take over the blows for a better life.


Written for: "April 28 Poem: Hard work"   in "Dew Drop Inn
Prompt: Hard work—write a poem about any kind of hard labor (physical, mental, emotional, etc.) you have done or observed


28 lines | 155 words | 893 characters
04/28/22 09:05pm EDT
 

 

Love and Hate

Image by Desktopnexus.com


Love and Hate
Love
Is not
Blind as it
Opens the eyes
of both lovers to
The realities and make
Them succumb to each other's
Flaws, mistakes, and imperfections
By embracing it with all their hearts
And slowly find a way to make amends.
Yet most of the times, having too much love
Tantamount to being possessive
That often strangles the other
Partner and lead her find ways
To flee from your choking
Grip and that in turn
Will bring sorrow,
Sadness, grief,
Pain, and
Hate

Prompt: “Define” or “explain” something difficult, like a feeling or abstract concept…
Poetry Form: Double Etheree

20 lines | 83 words | 456 characters
04/27/22 08:01pm EDT
Taurus

 Image by Desktopnexus.com


Born a Taurean
Who among you knew I was born a Taurean?
In the glorious month of May,
Zodiac signs could be a whimsical notion.
But I believe it somehow, someway.

Taurus is the second sign in astrology.
Governing the months of mid-April to May
Represented by a bull - is it the bully?
Not at all, listen not to what they say.

Google says we have a regal quality.
We are graceful and diligent laborers.
Despite his obstinate personality,
But very dependable and good listeners.

Taureans are said to be very intelligent.
Understanding and very hardworking.
But way too lazy to be consistent.
And are imbalanced in various things.

We are known for our kindness and honesty.
To our friends and loved ones, we're great loyalists.
But what holds us back is our jealousy.
And we have run too far to be perfectionists.

There's one more thing that you need to know.
Taureans are fated to the orderly Virgos.
Their loyal best friends are the opposing Scorpios.
Even if they are often found in a ceaseless imbroglio.

There are lots of weaknesses a Taurus may possess.
But not enough to overshadow his best traits.
Take time to get to know a Taurean and you'll be impressed.
At his own great ways that none can dictate.

Prompt: Astrology or tarot—let a tarot card or astrological sign inspire a poem

28 lines | 212 words | 1,198 characters
04/24/22 01:33am EDT
 
Yesterday

Image by Joe from Pixabay

 

Yesterday
It doesn't appear to have been a long time ago.
When we're still young and still don't know
That love has already taken its place.
Back in the glorious young days

Now that we grow older with time,
We can't just think of things sublime
We also have to taste a pint of sorrow.
And take a glimpse of the morrow.

Things changed quickly as we grow.
We were only going lazily with the flow.
Ignored all great deeds we once had,
And often do things that are bad.

It was just like yesterday.
We thought this feeling an easy game to play.
But pain came in all of a sudden.
And it's only me who suffered the burden.

How I long to live like yesterday.
But I have to live for today.
Be it happy or full of sorrows
'Cause that's what makes a better tomorrow.

Written for: "April 25 Poem--particular piece of music" in "Dew Drop Inn"
Prompt: Music—write a(nother) poem in response to a particular song or larger musical work (or, alternatively, to a jukebox situation connected to “drunken barroom layabouts” to quote Harlow Flick)
Song choice: Yesterday by The Beatles

20 lines | 147 words | 749 characters
04/25/22 09:07pm EDT

 



"Yesterday"

The Beatles


Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away.
Now it looks as though they're here to stay.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be.
There's a shadow hanging over me.
Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

Why she had to go?
I don't know, she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong.
Now I long for yesterday.

Yesterday love was such an easy game to play.
Now I need a place to hide away.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Why she had to go?
I don't know, she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong.
Now I long for yesterday.

Yesterday love was such an easy game to play.
Now I need a place to hide away.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Mm mm mm mm mm mm mm.
Vengeance is not ours

Image by 0fjd125gk87 from Pixabay

 

Vengeance is Not Ours
         "Vengeance is not our's, it's God's"
         ~ Patricia Latay Bernabe


In times past, he trod along a glorious track.
Fiends sought out his flaws in order to detract
And tamper his great deeds with things he lack.
They held him as the culprit, and he was taken aback.

Everything he did was sordid in their eyes.
Their candid statements, their stares that fry,
They even judged him for doing nothing.
His friends are foxes in sheep's clothing.

The ones who laughed loudly at most of his jokes,
Were the ones who laughed louder while pulling his yoke.
They're the best at finding all his faults.
Spreading hearsay and throwing insults.

He wished that he could still courageously bear
Their bullies and mockeries are right here and there.
He sought revenge while he was still alive.
And putting it all in his hands, he contrived.

Then came his conscience, speaking loudly in his head.
Don't be wary self, keep praying instead.
"Vengeance is not ours", neither mine nor yours to give,
But comes a time they'll get what they deserve.

Written for: "April 24 Poem--quoted text"   in "Dew Drop Inn
Prompt: Text—use a short quotation in your poem, imbedded or as epigraph

20 lines | 168 words | 962 characters
04/24/22 09:26am EDT

 
Flower on rocks

Image by dae jeung kim from Pixabay

 

My Longing for You
My longing for you is like a passion flower,
which seed was gawkily deposited by a bird
into a dark crevice where the sunlight shun.
It grows yet relentlessly poke
its head, grappling amongst the rocks
to savor the morning sun.

I yearn to hold you like a vine
that grows beneath the thicket,
below the towering trees.
As it struggles to climb
and hugs each olden bark of the oak
to gasp at the noon-time breeze.

My hungry body hungers for your warm embrace
Fingers thirst for the feel of your tenderest lips
How it misses the moment as it gracefully fumbles
On your muscular and manly chest.
My dear, it has been a month now since you left
I wish you can hear my heartbeat beacons like springing cymbals.

Written for: "April 23 Poem--Synesthesia or Meridian response" in "Dew Drop Inn"
Prompt: Synesthesia, sort of—turn something into something else for some reason (to better understand it, to see it differently, to cope, to escape pain, to glory in description or metaphor, or just the reality of it). Examples: turn sound into color, pain into flowers, trauma into a graphic novel… Alternative prompt: Auditory Sensory Meridian Response. Or both!

18 lines | 130 words | 707 characters
04/23-22 08:51pm EDT