English

johncross's picture

The pickpocket princess

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What she sees valuable, she steals.

She’s a crime doer.

She does it immaculately.

By just a glance she can already tell.

 

She is vigilant.

She’s slick.

She’s nimble.

She’s like the wind.

 

veronaraves's picture

In/Tangible

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i want to be like your sunday morning,

warm, carefree, gentle, comforting.

i want to be your tea or coffee,

or whatever it is you drink--

hot, cold, sweet, bitter, necessary.

 i want to be the sheets you hide under,

when the sun rays bite your flesh,

and you wake up feeling distraught,

alarmed, uncertain.

V

I think this still needs a little tweaking at the end. I just wrote this on a whim. 

veronaraves's picture

The Perfect Day

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The Perfect Day

A Memory of Madness

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I stopped breathing,

Holding your hand - 

There was heavy silence

Espilehiyo's picture

little warblers: moving out

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I.

little warblers chirp

outside an opaque window—

alarm clock’s turned off

 

II

little warblers tweet

harmoniously in sunshine

praising azure skies

 

III

little warblers hop

amongst wet tangled branches

hidden from my sight

 

IV

little warblers smile

espilehiyo

lumipat ng bahay . . .

Espilehiyo's picture

I.

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I.

when rain and wind

coalesce in a wintry night

isolation’s sole consolation

is a sip of warm whisky, 

 

while Kusano’s festive 

frogs croak chaotically 

on the dreary yellowed 

pages of a paperback. 

 

II.

espilehiyo
Espilehiyo's picture

On Peaks

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Wind strings tired nerves,

        cower still in a bivouac 

               until god stops whistling.

 

Limp up cumulus clouds,

        toes dig deep in scree,

                tie a towel round the right knee.

 

Pine and spruce, gone,

        nothing but grass on the ground

                grab sharp rocks, clasp lithe blades.

espilehiyo
Espilehiyo's picture

there are those

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there are those who drown

in dank bars and stagger

on ill-lit alleys  

and pass out unnoticed.

 

there are those who run 

and bump against each other,

dropping briefcases 

espilehiyo

Note: left in the mountains . . . is from the poem Visiting Hsi-Lin Temple by Po Chu-I trans. by Arthur Waley

When I Can Only Look At You

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When I can only look at you

I can only look at an apple

The redness is inviting

 

I Think About You All The Time

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I think about you all the time

While pouring hot water over a cup of instant noodles

While watching the clock tick and wondering

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