SHIFTING SHADES and IN-BETWEENS
This is my last post here...
To my blog followers and readers,
may I direct you to my blog at:
SHIFTING SHADES and IN-BETWEENS.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Friday, October 22, 2010
Dreams
(Dream is cream whipped
as colored icing on sleep.)
they ingress
silently from nowhere –
my calm slumber fractured
as their flowing rhythm undulates
beyond the ripples of my breathing.
they play like (yet, unlike) a movie
boundless and dimension-devoid
streaming neither in space nor time
but in an etherless realm
with no tomorrows
and no yesterdays:
an unknown kingdom nowhere
i can perceive only in my sleep.
and when I awake –
quietly as they came
they egress.
- between
ingress and egress
is illness.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
as colored icing on sleep.)
they ingress
silently from nowhere –
my calm slumber fractured
as their flowing rhythm undulates
beyond the ripples of my breathing.
they play like (yet, unlike) a movie
boundless and dimension-devoid
streaming neither in space nor time
but in an etherless realm
with no tomorrows
and no yesterdays:
an unknown kingdom nowhere
i can perceive only in my sleep.
and when I awake –
quietly as they came
they egress.
- between
ingress and egress
is illness.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Friday, September 24, 2010
Color My World Amber
(for Amber M.: No regrets. It’s her loss, not yours.)
(Her love for you, red as Sherry wine
But such was so thin as onion skin
Much obliged you were, to tow her line
Still, away she flew and left you thin.)
color my world
halfway between brown and yellow
midway between orange and tan
a lighter hue of burgundy
a darker shade of gold.
an amber-bottled pilsen
or an amber-matic pen
an amber sap of resin
or an amber glass so thin.
there’s my Amber dear as ever
someone I will always remember
halfway between friend and lover
midway between sister and brother.
when I see amber, I remember Amber.
(between
amber and Amber
is company.)
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
(Her love for you, red as Sherry wine
But such was so thin as onion skin
Much obliged you were, to tow her line
Still, away she flew and left you thin.)
color my world
halfway between brown and yellow
midway between orange and tan
a lighter hue of burgundy
a darker shade of gold.
an amber-bottled pilsen
or an amber-matic pen
an amber sap of resin
or an amber glass so thin.
there’s my Amber dear as ever
someone I will always remember
halfway between friend and lover
midway between sister and brother.
when I see amber, I remember Amber.
(between
amber and Amber
is company.)
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Tower Terror 911
(The World Trade Center, New York
Sept. 11, 2001, 9:23 AM, as seen on CNN)
twin towers of gleaming beauty
stand side by side in majesty
great ciphers of man’s affluence
symbols of nation’s opulence.
two airplanes of silvery wings
(early glint of morning sun brings)
streak across the skyline adrift
plummet thru each tower so swift!
fiery collapse! deadly terror!
scenic twin towers stood no more!
the tragedy of Manhattan:
man’s inhumanity to man!
(humanity
is between
comedy and tragedy.
inhumanity
is between
terror and horror.)
-between
humanity and inhumanity
is man.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Sept. 11, 2001, 9:23 AM, as seen on CNN)
twin towers of gleaming beauty
stand side by side in majesty
great ciphers of man’s affluence
symbols of nation’s opulence.
two airplanes of silvery wings
(early glint of morning sun brings)
streak across the skyline adrift
plummet thru each tower so swift!
fiery collapse! deadly terror!
scenic twin towers stood no more!
the tragedy of Manhattan:
man’s inhumanity to man!
(humanity
is between
comedy and tragedy.
inhumanity
is between
terror and horror.)
-between
humanity and inhumanity
is man.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Some Cyber Haikus
(Inanity of Machine and Ingenuity of Man)
the keyboard obeys
my fingers’ depress-commands
letters leap from keys
words leak from cursor
my thoughts appear on white screen
as verses in black
their vibrant lines dash
to the right margin and scroll
promptly down the page
i move-click the mouse
the pointer sprints thru pixels
the printer screeches
white paper rolls out
laced with poem in bookman-black
i pause for awhile
i hear dead silence
from mute laptop and printer
dumb computer, yes
i take the paper
then read poem title, it says:
‘some cyber haikus’.
- between computer and printer is inanity.
- between thinker and writer is ingenuity.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
the keyboard obeys
my fingers’ depress-commands
letters leap from keys
words leak from cursor
my thoughts appear on white screen
as verses in black
their vibrant lines dash
to the right margin and scroll
promptly down the page
i move-click the mouse
the pointer sprints thru pixels
the printer screeches
white paper rolls out
laced with poem in bookman-black
i pause for awhile
i hear dead silence
from mute laptop and printer
dumb computer, yes
i take the paper
then read poem title, it says:
‘some cyber haikus’.
- between computer and printer is inanity.
- between thinker and writer is ingenuity.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Saturday, August 7, 2010
"Bicol Express"
(Train: Bane of Bicolandia)
the train leaves daily at dusk.
majestic Mt. Mayon looms colossal
amidst vibrant rice fields,
quickly receding in the distance.
the trip (for 29 pesos), is exciting.
you arrive, the big city still snoring.
metro Manila is ten hours away.
the mighty train shudders
carrying hopes, dreams and ideals
in the tumult of the ‘70s –
when life was a lot simpler;
when dissent was muffled by Martial Law;
when a wave of rage raved, thunderous
like the steel wheels grating against the rails;
and reform radicals waged war from the hills
(cauldrons erupting like Mt. Mayon)…
today, three decades later,
the train strains, snail-paced, howling and wailing;
hauling woes, wants and wanton wishes.
wheeling wheels wane when willing wills weaken!
prosperity and progress remain elusive –
the exclusive and inclusive enclave of imperial Manila,
(now 383 pesos* and) sixteen hours away!
“bicol express”, it was!
---------------------------------------------------------------
* train fare per passenger (Legaspi City to Manila)
as of July 2003
(c) 2003 Chito L. Aguilar
the train leaves daily at dusk.
majestic Mt. Mayon looms colossal
amidst vibrant rice fields,
quickly receding in the distance.
the trip (for 29 pesos), is exciting.
you arrive, the big city still snoring.
metro Manila is ten hours away.
the mighty train shudders
carrying hopes, dreams and ideals
in the tumult of the ‘70s –
when life was a lot simpler;
when dissent was muffled by Martial Law;
when a wave of rage raved, thunderous
like the steel wheels grating against the rails;
and reform radicals waged war from the hills
(cauldrons erupting like Mt. Mayon)…
today, three decades later,
the train strains, snail-paced, howling and wailing;
hauling woes, wants and wanton wishes.
wheeling wheels wane when willing wills weaken!
prosperity and progress remain elusive –
the exclusive and inclusive enclave of imperial Manila,
(now 383 pesos* and) sixteen hours away!
“bicol express”, it was!
---------------------------------------------------------------
* train fare per passenger (Legaspi City to Manila)
as of July 2003
(c) 2003 Chito L. Aguilar
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
In the Semi-silence of Crosses White
(Black Verses on White Paper: My Full Tribute to Fallen Soldiers)
in the semi-silence of crosses white
beneath the semi-shaded field of green
skeletons of fallen heroes lie semi-forgotten.
the setting sun
(now a semi-circle on the horizon)
pays half-tribute, throws half-light
fading like the glum echoes of 21-gun salute.
in the dank niches below ground
in half-empty crypts half-full of bones
no light confers half-comfort
no sound bestows half-company
to them who gave their whole lives for cause.
no song half-sung, no poem half-spoken
no prayer half-uttered could bring them back.
after half-mast flags
after half-stated eulogies
after half-hearted sympathies
they lie half-remembered.
((( “ … because they died for all.
... because of duty's call.
... because wars take toll.” )))
who minds half-lies said?
or half-truths read?
in the name of ideology
in the pursuit of freedom
in the upholding of valor
who hears half-praises?
who heeds half-excuses
when soldiers die?
who admits fault?
who feels remorse?
but then,
who needs half-answers to half-queries?
who gives half-cares and half-worries?
as fallen soldiers lay
half-remembered, semi-forgotten...
… in the semi silence of crosses white.
- between
fault and vault
is dead soldier.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
in the semi-silence of crosses white
beneath the semi-shaded field of green
skeletons of fallen heroes lie semi-forgotten.
the setting sun
(now a semi-circle on the horizon)
pays half-tribute, throws half-light
fading like the glum echoes of 21-gun salute.
in the dank niches below ground
in half-empty crypts half-full of bones
no light confers half-comfort
no sound bestows half-company
to them who gave their whole lives for cause.
no song half-sung, no poem half-spoken
no prayer half-uttered could bring them back.
after half-mast flags
after half-stated eulogies
after half-hearted sympathies
they lie half-remembered.
((( “ … because they died for all.
... because of duty's call.
... because wars take toll.” )))
who minds half-lies said?
or half-truths read?
in the name of ideology
in the pursuit of freedom
in the upholding of valor
who hears half-praises?
who heeds half-excuses
when soldiers die?
who admits fault?
who feels remorse?
but then,
who needs half-answers to half-queries?
who gives half-cares and half-worries?
as fallen soldiers lay
half-remembered, semi-forgotten...
… in the semi silence of crosses white.
- between
fault and vault
is dead soldier.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Friday, July 23, 2010
Stratford-Upon-Avon
(Warwickshire, England, July 1987)
ah, behold, I see the famous place
by the bank of Avon now I stand
to perceive (at least) or find a trace
of a William Shakespeare of this land
the place of birth of the great master
upon this river a humble town
now a mecca where tourists gather
to revere the poet of grand renown
the old thatched hut where he was born
still stands on the same spot it has been
for centuries a landmark untorn
symbol of England’s poetic sheen
it is my pleasure to be among
those who saw this place of history
a great poet was here since so long
he gave the world a great poetry.
- poetry
is between
poet and poem.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
ah, behold, I see the famous place
by the bank of Avon now I stand
to perceive (at least) or find a trace
of a William Shakespeare of this land
the place of birth of the great master
upon this river a humble town
now a mecca where tourists gather
to revere the poet of grand renown
the old thatched hut where he was born
still stands on the same spot it has been
for centuries a landmark untorn
symbol of England’s poetic sheen
it is my pleasure to be among
those who saw this place of history
a great poet was here since so long
he gave the world a great poetry.
- poetry
is between
poet and poem.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Friday, July 16, 2010
A Mother's Farewell
not for long in this world I shall be
my sons and daughters grieve not for me
i have lived my life, have made my mark
now I am ready, to lose my spark
unto this world I brought forth my brood
and made so certain you all are good
during tough times I have seen you thru
cheerful moments I have shared with you
in your early years when I was strict
and I had to whip you with my stick
never forget I endured the pain
all my forfeit were to your own gain
toil and labor I did to make sure
that you may never end as failure
but for my faults in this life I live
may I now request that you forgive
when I am gone set aside your tear
be at ease and put away your fear
if I must die for now I am ill
then so be it, for it is God’s will.
- between
swaying-crib’s ark and rocking-chair’s arc
is loving-mother’s mark.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
my sons and daughters grieve not for me
i have lived my life, have made my mark
now I am ready, to lose my spark
unto this world I brought forth my brood
and made so certain you all are good
during tough times I have seen you thru
cheerful moments I have shared with you
in your early years when I was strict
and I had to whip you with my stick
never forget I endured the pain
all my forfeit were to your own gain
toil and labor I did to make sure
that you may never end as failure
but for my faults in this life I live
may I now request that you forgive
when I am gone set aside your tear
be at ease and put away your fear
if I must die for now I am ill
then so be it, for it is God’s will.
- between
swaying-crib’s ark and rocking-chair’s arc
is loving-mother’s mark.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Her Daughter's Reply
my dear mother, much sorrow I feel
and so I pray, to God I appeal
that He may listen and you be spared
for we do need you, who always cared
there’s no other who can take your place
and no one else who can fill your space
i am thus certain you will be missed
the best mother we have ever kissed
if I have erred or have gone astray
it does not mean I have turned away
from your tender love and caring touch
please rest assured I love you so much
in my heart you shall dearly remain
and evermore I will feel the pain
of losing you in this life weary
always you’ll be in my memory
when you are gone, I’d be on my own
for life goes on and up I have grown
so my Mama, “Thank you!”, I must say
my debt to you, I cannot repay.
- between
mother’s hark and lover’s spark
is daughter’s lark.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
and so I pray, to God I appeal
that He may listen and you be spared
for we do need you, who always cared
there’s no other who can take your place
and no one else who can fill your space
i am thus certain you will be missed
the best mother we have ever kissed
if I have erred or have gone astray
it does not mean I have turned away
from your tender love and caring touch
please rest assured I love you so much
in my heart you shall dearly remain
and evermore I will feel the pain
of losing you in this life weary
always you’ll be in my memory
when you are gone, I’d be on my own
for life goes on and up I have grown
so my Mama, “Thank you!”, I must say
my debt to you, I cannot repay.
- between
mother’s hark and lover’s spark
is daughter’s lark.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Friday, July 9, 2010
Confessions of a Doormat
(The Relativity of Humility and Dignity)
i lie in meek silence on the floor
i lay inert by the callous door
i, naked, so bare: for barefoot souls
and shielded soles.
i humbly cleanse filth and floes
from soiled shoes and grimy toes
when into the door each foot goes.
i wait in timid stillness
the creak of door as it opens mornings
and stay awake till it closes nights
leaving me in chilly shadows.
i endure in docile tranquility
the crushing yoke of gravity
(with the weight of men arduous
the burden of women callous
and the load of children tedious).
still, I remain proud
that to my job I am true;
and fulfilled too, that by me,
those who enter the door
do so, with clean feet.
- a doormat
is between
dirty and clean.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
i lie in meek silence on the floor
i lay inert by the callous door
i, naked, so bare: for barefoot souls
and shielded soles.
i humbly cleanse filth and floes
from soiled shoes and grimy toes
when into the door each foot goes.
i wait in timid stillness
the creak of door as it opens mornings
and stay awake till it closes nights
leaving me in chilly shadows.
i endure in docile tranquility
the crushing yoke of gravity
(with the weight of men arduous
the burden of women callous
and the load of children tedious).
still, I remain proud
that to my job I am true;
and fulfilled too, that by me,
those who enter the door
do so, with clean feet.
- a doormat
is between
dirty and clean.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Island Twilight
(Kyleakin, Scotland, August 1987)
dusk turns into dark, slowly.
boondocks silhouette
against the last rays of sun setting.
horizon blackens like ink blotting
while rowdy sea vomits wild waves
crashing against the jagged rocks.
full moon rises.
in measured steps it climbs
the cloudless sky,
throwing eerie shadow shapes
as pungent scent of brackish water
permeates the chilly air.
i stare at the unforgettable scene
and think of home.
(when I’m away, home is what I miss
ever so warm like a hearth ablaze
with toddle of little feet that tease
and cuddle of supple hands’ embrace.)
- nostalgia
is between
longing and yearning.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
dusk turns into dark, slowly.
boondocks silhouette
against the last rays of sun setting.
horizon blackens like ink blotting
while rowdy sea vomits wild waves
crashing against the jagged rocks.
full moon rises.
in measured steps it climbs
the cloudless sky,
throwing eerie shadow shapes
as pungent scent of brackish water
permeates the chilly air.
i stare at the unforgettable scene
and think of home.
(when I’m away, home is what I miss
ever so warm like a hearth ablaze
with toddle of little feet that tease
and cuddle of supple hands’ embrace.)
- nostalgia
is between
longing and yearning.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Reaper of Souls
(Oh Death, oh Death
You make soles even
You take souls even)
death, o pure contradiction of Life
you are the destiny of all strife
your claws patiently await your prey
to grip them in the end as they pray
death, o harbinger ever so proud
abrupt you come in mysterious shroud
cloak from whose wrap no one can escape
to swathe all souls when they reach the gate
death, o harvester of all mortal
your scythe must reap and rip at portal
reaper of souls and ripper of might
stiller of breath and stealer of light
death, o equalizer of all men
behold your work: so pale so ashen
this mortal body has now become
lifeless as it waits for “kingdom come”.
- between
mortality and immortality
is Death.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
You make soles even
You take souls even)
death, o pure contradiction of Life
you are the destiny of all strife
your claws patiently await your prey
to grip them in the end as they pray
death, o harbinger ever so proud
abrupt you come in mysterious shroud
cloak from whose wrap no one can escape
to swathe all souls when they reach the gate
death, o harvester of all mortal
your scythe must reap and rip at portal
reaper of souls and ripper of might
stiller of breath and stealer of light
death, o equalizer of all men
behold your work: so pale so ashen
this mortal body has now become
lifeless as it waits for “kingdom come”.
- between
mortality and immortality
is Death.
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Fury in Beauty (Mt. Mayon Eruption)
(We are like this volcano, for a time dormant, adamant suddenly;
sometimes latent, quiescent and quiet, then obstinate suddenly.)
[a cinquain string]
her lip
smells of sulfur,
hot as the sambalas*
and at night, its red lipstick glows
in rage.
thunder
roars from under,
the lands quiver, shudder;
frightened boars and deer scamper down
her slopes.
ashes
from her belly
billow a mushroom cloud
then drape restless towns in blanket
of grey.
lava
flows down her breast,
molten, like tears gushing,
carving gullies, gulping pine trees
away.
lahar
and rocks flush to
rivers, flooding lowlands;
villagers flee from the torrents
of mud.
the folks
flock to shelters;
crowding schools and centers
like beehives where they await aid
and food.
mayon
is a beauty
but her wrathful fury
is a legend in the land of
bicol.
- between
fury and beauty
is prodigy.
- between
seismic and geothermic
is volcanic.
-------------------------------------------
* very hot chili, indigenous pepper
from Bicol Region, Philippines
-------------------------------------------
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
sometimes latent, quiescent and quiet, then obstinate suddenly.)
[a cinquain string]
her lip
smells of sulfur,
hot as the sambalas*
and at night, its red lipstick glows
in rage.
thunder
roars from under,
the lands quiver, shudder;
frightened boars and deer scamper down
her slopes.
ashes
from her belly
billow a mushroom cloud
then drape restless towns in blanket
of grey.
lava
flows down her breast,
molten, like tears gushing,
carving gullies, gulping pine trees
away.
lahar
and rocks flush to
rivers, flooding lowlands;
villagers flee from the torrents
of mud.
the folks
flock to shelters;
crowding schools and centers
like beehives where they await aid
and food.
mayon
is a beauty
but her wrathful fury
is a legend in the land of
bicol.
- between
fury and beauty
is prodigy.
- between
seismic and geothermic
is volcanic.
-------------------------------------------
* very hot chili, indigenous pepper
from Bicol Region, Philippines
-------------------------------------------
(c) Chito L. Aguilar
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