The dance

there’s this cadence
in my head
that resonates in abandon
free, joyful, without a care

not for wars
nor the lusty screams
of those whose silence was broken
whose chains of the strongest steel
lay shattered, like windows
unable to bear light’s glare

this cadence
this mocking beat that which
makes my feet tap
lulled by its deceptive rhythm
daring to dance anew
in carefree abandon
with hope that’s long faded
and love thought forgotten

HAV

8-6-2014

Do poets dream?

do poets dream
an immortal’s dream?
when words flourish
tumbling beautifully;
when endless lines
betray confusion;
when doubts linger
in every penstroke;
do poets dream forever
amidst all these?

do poets weep
in blissful sorrow?
when the past leaps
unmercifully arrogant;
when the future beckons
in lasting temptations;
when the present mocks
a coward’s facade;
do poets weep eternal
in sad contemplation?

do poets laugh
a pauper’s laughter?
when kith and kin
mingle in desire;
when friends overwhelm
solitude’s call;
when love teases
shackled in lust;
do poets laugh anew
at these perfections?

do poets die
yielding to certainty?
when faith blinds
savage reasoning;
when beliefs commune
with stinging apathy;
when knowledge fails,
raving in duplicity;
do poets die screaming
when sanity flees?

Baguio City. March 12, 2006

Deirdre

it seems
inevitable. death
like the reddest of rose petals
slowly fading
as sure as the setting
of a raging sun.

longing
for freedom, for an escape
the self-made
miser’s cage. binding
gripping like talons

screaming
contorted lips trying
to break free.

lying helpless
reaching
unseeing crowds flitting
through time
and space. desolation.
fear

rampaging
exorcising the demons
raging in my head.
mercilessly
bleeding. wringing out
the despair in me.

death, yes death
fill me with your love.

(2002 CEGP convention)

**Deirdre de(i)-rd-re, deir-dre as a girl’s name is pronounced DEER-drah. It is of Irish and Gaelic origin, and the meaning of Deirdre is “broken-hearted, sorrowful”. Also possibly “fear” or “raging woman”Mythology: from a Celtic legend similar to “Tristram and Isolde”. The Celtic Deirdre was the most beautiful woman in Ireland. She died of a broken heart. Soap opera actress Deirdre Hall.

Hues

she, for whom a pedestal was built,
for the known and unknown, that which gathers
the laments of lovers. she, for whom light
was meant to falter in yet glorify at once,
she is this and that, yet never these.

she, for whom thousands marched unflinching,
where every laden step speaks of faith,
that which leaden arms beckon, offerings
of love, of piety, of the humblest humility,
she is and is not, yet never was.

she, for whom candles burned and seethed and yearned,
as far as sightless eyes can see, that which sears
the very being, the essence, the soul. she,
for whom darkness mocks, yet in jealous rage,
she is all and none, yet she is some.

she, for whom pages flowed as rivers of need,
when every inkdrop is as a tear fallen,
that which silently screams, desires rekindled,
of passion, of hunger, of the deepest ache,
she is you and she is me, yet never we.

hsv
020811