Snippets of thought and poems from "Shifting Shades & In-betweens", by Chito L. Aguilar. Don your stereo headsets for a contemplative AV experience that may lull you to sleep or give you chimes that you can keep.
i wish not to live forever i quest for no fountain of youth make pact with the devil never to cheat mortality and truth.
i wish for me to expire like a candle flame when old or lose heat as ember fire when doused by water so cold.
i wish to live a lifetime climbing colorless rainbows my soul churning on each climb between pinnacles and troughs.
i wish to delve into depths and seek some frontiers obscure trek across untrodden breadths before Time runs out for sure.
hence, when at last I perish my patent mark will remain embossed for those who cherish a lifetime of no refrain. copyright (c) 2005 by Melchor L. Aguilar www.chitoaguilar.ucoz.com http://chitoaguilar.ucoz.com/load/1-1...
(between womb and tomb is a voyage brief the fleeing years, fleeting dears, now my prime youth's egress, midlife's ingress, what relief - and yet, I fear illness and old age grief i am but migrant in transit thru Time.)
upon the vast heavens I cast my eyes astounded at such an expanse sublime i see the moon and the stars in the skies it is truly then that I realize i am but migrant in transit thru Time.
on my desk I work and on bed I play - paper-sheets of white and bed-sheets of lime all bear my mark and my score of the day by my hands of toil and my feet of clay i am but migrant in transit thru Time.
between the distinct lines of poems I write i waver on words of rhythm and rhyme and when I falter between wrong and right i seek a vision that I may see light i am but migrant in transit thru Time.
between womb and tomb is a voyage brief the fleeing years, fleeting dears, now my prime youths egress, midlifes ingress, what relief - and yet, I fear illness and old age grief i am but migrant in transit thru Time.
upon the vast heavens I cast my eyes then wonder and ponder when is the time my Maker calls me and closes my eyes when He pounds the gavel and casts the dice i am but migrant in transit thru Time.
yellow bells casting mellow spells when abloom they cast away gloom by the sight of them my heart swells by scent of them my spirits boom.
arched blossoms of bright golden shade their buds in lush, their blooms a-plush in glade and glen they gleam, not fade in dale and dell they dwell a-flush.
on bushes green they grin akin to mermaids lips of tulips pale on sepals lean they mean to sheen like fairys hair in fairy tale.
yellow bells casting mellow spells their magic charm in warm endear in silence hence, the chime of bells i hear so near in dearly cheer.
(We are grains of sand in the hourglass of Life. Either we are
above/below or going through inevitable constriction; ever at the notion
of the Timeless Timekeeper as He randomly turns the hourglass
upside-down or downside-up.)
the hourglass - 60 minutes of cold auburn sand in Siamese twin cones, glass clones;
each grain besieged in a race thru funnel of narrow space, flushing from the top cone, gushing to the bottom cone.
as if sucked in a black hole quickly falls each grain
( of sand)
in mini enclosure that mean to measure time immeasurable in a space measurable:
(A TRIBUTE TO MANNY PACQUIAO: Pound-for-Pound Pacman (Manny "Pacman"
Pacquiao: Illustrious Filipino Boxer, International Boxing Champion,
Holder of 8 World Titles)
The stinging punch of sheer poverty made him a boxer -- He labored as construction worker in General Santos City And sold bread in the streets to support his household His austere life, thin as the belt around his lean stomach
Restless at 15, with pockets nil he boarded boat for Manila Bent in a bid to knockdown wanton paucity, he wore gloves And punched his way in the ring; from small-time opponents To big-time adversaries, his ferocious rapidity felled them all
From obscurity to posterity, he evolved by huffs and puffs He trained and strained till his fists are as quick as lightning His jabs and punches are lethal and his left hook is ever fatal He can knock out a foe in split second, with stunning speed
Like bread he once peddled, Manny Pacquiao rose, baked in Oven of Toil, the boxing ring-of-fire where only the toughest Survive the slog and slug; where training and discipline count Where there is humiliation in defeat and glory in punishment
The tale of the tape tells it round-by-round, pound-for-pound He humbled Mexican and Anglican alike, on the canvass floor His once thin belt thickens to champion's belt fight after fight An unknown local became a celebrity-international, by boxing
He returns to his Philippines, a hero amidst cheering crowds Politicians try to tempt and preempt him to join their politics He faces all controversies as mere punching bags, no big deal Showbiz feasts on his fame; his commercial endorsements rain
Between fights, he tends to his fighting cocks and plays billiards He bonds with his family and attends to his diverse businesses Providing employment to local folks. He is enrolled in college - He shuttles between TV shows and tapings or stays in his estate
What made him what he is now? A concoction of guts and glut: The fangs of dearth; pangs of fights; prayers of his Mama Dionisia The pains of rigid workouts; the gains from trainer Freddie Roach Trade of promoters; tirade of hecklers; the blitz and glitz of media
Baker to boxer, he leavened acclaim and honor to our country From rags to riches, he became an icon and idol of the masses From travails to triumphs, he reigns supreme World Champion Yes, the story of Manny Pacquiao will be told for all generations.
(We who survived the wrathful fury of haunting Reming Must take heed and advocate; the thousands who perished In the wake of Bicol's worst disaster could tell tales no more Still, their deafening silence echoes in the throes of Ondoy.)
One month of rain poured in six hours - Metro-Manila folks thought Ondoy was just One of those tropical storms that normally Pass the country during this time of the year
Between tropic chores and arctic complacency The sober rich and the somber poor went about Their usual routine, heedless, moreso amidst the So-called economic crunch besetting the country
In a nation rocked by endless socio-political scandals And inured by pointless neo-parochial intramurals Weather concerns would take backseat of priorities Whether or not people really care, is another issue
The rapid rising of floodwaters to record levels Caught everyone flatfooted... And as serious toll On life and property mounts, so does an urgent call -- We must not ignore climate change: Wake up! Wake up!
And yet, Ondoy was relatively tamer than the walloping Reming which devastated Bicol Region in 2006 when Whiplashing winds, rampaging volcanic mudflows and Swirling waters, swelling floods wrought havoc untold
We who survived the wrathful fury of haunting Reming Must take heed and advocate; the thousands who perished In the wake of Bicol's worst disaster could tell tales no more Still, their deafening silence echoes in the throes of Ondoy.
(mother of six, widow, retired teacher, grandma, great-grandma)
exactly how right can I write about you? the script may just do no justice to you clear words as the pure morning dew for you equal with no woman, one and only you.
the elves in my childhood, you did banish my ghosts in adulthood, you admonish between me and my forfeits, you keep watch and between me and my feats, youre in touch.
time I would not know til it to me you brought earth would not be home til it for me you sought reason would not be mine til it to me you taught and, life would not be so til it for me you bought.
(Water seeketh level lowest but we seeketh level highest.)
water we are, restless. not content to be contained we hasten to overflow in trickles and torrents, in drips and spurts.
we rise in rush. to the sky we gush (but never reach it), squirting up in swish and swoosh-- rushing, gushing.
then, by the shifting shades of color spotlights we fall with a splash; in due time crash when gravity pulls us down to our gashing bowl we smash back to
(Man's silliness begets earth's illness. Global warming is between local
warning and total burning. Mother Earth's tomorrow lies between
yesterday and today.)
the green of earth, by the greed of man, grazed reed of grass, rid by man from soils grid, razed
no trees that stir, no breeze on fir that steers no breed of bird, no deer or bear appears
filth at river, silt at sea, sewer slime fishes float, dead of grime, behold mans crime
thin air, thick smog, ozone-layer-reduce beware: danger zone! Man has lit the fuse
lest man greet the future with grit resolved no feet shall walk desert planet, absolved!
MEMENTO MORI (Remember Death). This stark piece reminds us of our final destiny, our mortality.
(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.
She has a face akin to but truer Than that of the naive (mer)maid Familiar, famed by showbiz local Familial, framed in television global
From the scenic beaches of Palawan To the electronic pages of Facebook Her pretty face conveys easy grace And charms friends, mutual and virtual
In any place, in cyberspace, her face Draws aficionados and aficionadas Catching attention, mutely provocative Not by her own choice or silent intent
A face, virginal as the Underground River Where at times she frolics in respite sojourn (A needed rural vacation from urban occupation Rejuvenates, refreshes and enhances her visage)
From the urban rush to the rural hush The rustic lush pales with the natural blush On her sweet face; flush as the façade of Baywalk Serene as the pristine coastline of Sabang at night
Ah, Layni, princess of Puerto Princesa With a face so innately intimate, yet, curious Suggestive and intriguing; simple, and yet Leaves so much more to one's imagination!
