Underneath the Transylvanian Moon

Underneath the Transylvanian moon
words to my secrets are spilled
on a road by day overwhelmed
coupled by you and I holding hands
at the back of a pickup truck
on a canapoy of faded stars.

Here a sliver of doubt trails along
as you kiss my phantom wounds
caress the frown on my face
to coax a smile that tugged
at the edge of my common sense.

But, the dimmed street lights extinguish
the fear of moving
just a step beyond the moment
lest it scratch,
tear,
and bite
the fragile truth

making a hoax of my vow,
of heartlessness;
nullifying our less than platonic love
we have declared
underneath the Transylvanian moon.

Happy Birthday!!

Don't forget to bring your poems!

Blinking Lights and Think. "And that's the way it is"

Blinking Lights

Heady with the sound of the bass,
She turns to run from the laser beams
Purse in hand, hair askew, she flees.

The spotlight follows her out of the room,
It's brightness casting off her pale face
Installed to give her an ethereal glow and failed.

Dark circles accent her eyes,
Visible under the neon lights
Alternatively blinding and illuminating her way.

for Totally Optional Prompts

Think. "And that's the way it is"

I've been handed a blank sheet;
Told to meet paper and pen,
Given time and freedom
To answer, "Why?"

Pause.
"Why?"
Silence.

My brain tumbles and churns,
Grasping at an answer I already know
Yet have forgotten, standing motionless.

"Why?"
Because.. that's the way it is.

For Meme Express: "And that's the way it is" and One Single Impression: Thinking

Cave

Dark, Cold and Wet lives down where Light couldn't reach.
Limestone reigns all over the walls,
With Stalactite crowns, in Stalagmite thrones.
Here, Columns hold up arches that lead
Eventually to a Dead End or that rare Light.

Crude markings decorate Palace ramparts
Of a Hunter in mid-hunt running away from the game,
Darting behind sharp rocks and scattered bones
That have turned into Shadows with a thousand eyes
Looking and searching for a way out.

Moments flow and stop, measured in a broken timeline
Drawn by incapacitated limbs and ailing minds.
But Time drags out evidence with preserved Skulls
Kept with gemstones and diamonds dipped in Red Sand
That blinds.

For Totally Optional Prompt: Solitaire

Intersection

I am running away
from the road that used to seem so long
littered with an endless stream
of everything.

Now the road
is a hallway, dark and gloomy
with nothing beyond and
all behind me.

Wall clocks that dwarf,
count off seconds.
It's hands eerie, reaching out
with the Reaper's scythe,

synonymous to the thump-thump
of my beating heart;
and I run, clutching my sides
up the stairs, the halls and
through the door. Still, it follows me.

Escape eludes me
as I scramble for the exit
that fades, dancing away
from my fumbling grasp.

It'll soon be too late.

For Totally Optional Prompts

Okay, so intersection...
This came up as I was running late for class. It popped into my head while running, *ahem* I meant brisk walking, along the hallways. And then I wondered: What if I tripped and fell and hit my head really hard on the floor? Will I die? It was quite a morbid train of thought, really.
So this was born -- Time and death. Both things we all can never escape. =)

If only I had time

If only I had time
to write it down,
the words that elude me.

I had them right here,
surrounding, taunting.
Then. . .

For One Single Impression

How to Fall

I met a clown,
Halfway through the circus,
On stilts, smiling down

At me.
He asked, "Would you like
a balloon, perhaps?"

"No, thank you.
What I want is to climb
up your stilts and see as you do."

"Well now, little girl
let me consider!
If you fall, you'll be none the wiser."

So he jumped off,
gave me the poles
and said,

"Don't look down now!
Look far and wide,
to the mounts, the hills and countryside."

But I did, yes I did
look down
and fell.

For Meme Express

Distraction

Blaring music
coaxes the body to move

Repetitive choruses
draw out the song

Screamed profanities
bend the psyche

Tacit insults
force callous retorts

Lost repartee
harvested at wastelands

A wordsmith
sidetracked to hysterics

For Voices of the Underground

These are for the poetry reading group of Bacolod City - the Voices of the Underground. I haven't been active for so long that I feel rusty.

Forefathers

It would be an honor for me
To take your hand,
And present to you the world of my time.
This favor that you ask of me
Is no chore but rather a privilege,
A task I shall take on with pride.
I give you this world.

Much has changed, true
But some things have remained the same.
War, famine, pollution, disease,
Death -- humankind has yet to overcome.
So forgive me if I tell you fib
For the truth is, I am much too ashamed
To give you this world.

-o-

Stilts

Whispered half truths draw out our faults --
His guilt, her paranoia and my sin.
The final verdict dragged as nails
Scraped down an empty board
Gouge out his fault. Her obsession accused my misdeed
As a play written on a blank epitaph.

Her blood color the field and her face,
The object of my worst nightmare,
Stare back at me with eyes empty and devoid of life.

His flag flies, like a beacon of harm.
He bids my submission.

My will fades and I surrender.

-o-

We dreamt of a world far too perfect

We dreamt of a world full of possibilities --
One without unpleasant circumstances.
We dreamt of a world where dreams are unleashed
And nightmares are but trivial encumbrances.

We dreamt of a world where opportunity spells success
And failure as a closed door making way for open windows.
We dreamt of a world unconstrained by the physics of mortality,
Where goals are easily within our reach, each blessed to endow.

But reality trumped our dreams
And our lackluster lives undermined the make-believe.
Our visions were but delusions and we were ridiculously idiotic
To dream of a world far too perfect.

MassKara

And as promised..

Mask

I found her under a mask.
A mangled corpse -- gruesome, bloody.
On hindsight it seemed silly
but I turned to her to ask,
"Who killed you, little lass?"

She turned her head,
smiled and answered with a grin,
"For a boon, I give a tremendous task
to find my killer and unmask
who killed me, the little lass."

Half of me jumped in surprise
Half, with glee undisguised
For how often does one see
A spectacle such as this --
A dead girl talking with a mission for me?

On to the city I went where a festival commenced.
Man, woman, child wore a mask
Of hand painted smiles and a barrel of laughs.
I frowned, wondering which ass
killed the little lass.

Boldly, I approached a street chippy
Wearing, brazenly, a mask and a
Gown too red, too racy.
Bravely, daringly, I asked,
"Did you kill the little lass?"

Her mask, she took off swiftly
And there stood a child no more aged three.
In a voice so innocent, sweeter than any
she answered my once-valiant query,
"No, not I. Not I, surely."

With her reply, all the others turned to look
and their mask, they removed.
Not one who I thought they would be.
My question, unspoken to me they cast,
"Did you? Did you kill the little lass?"

It was then I realized
that I, I too, wore a disguise.
It shook me at how I couldn't see
the mask I wore so clearly.
And there, there ended my task.

For it was I.
I killed the little lass.

Festival

The city skies burn brighter
On flickering lights of gold.
The city folk come alive, with bold
masks and smiles of tales untold.
Merchants call to tease
The city's hunger willing to appease.
Walk, walk the city streets
Walk and dance to the frantic beats.
Smell the aroma of sweets and spices,
Of food once-raw -- cooked, flawless.
It's a night of fantasy, of make pretend
It's a night of imagination unleashed, unbent.

If you're wondering why I have two poems for MassKara, it's because I couldn't decide which to write - the festival or that of wearing masks which implies identities. So here they are.

Something to Share

This is an old poem that I found lying around unfinished. I decided that it was high time to finish it and here's the end result.. Now, I only ask for TWO things: 1.) for you to share your understanding of the poem and; 2.) criticize it. Please? ^_^ Thank you.

Archivists Farce

Wisps of smoke sucked into a vortex
cloud the mind of an anxious complex.
Being of body, form and frame,
a figure cracked impassive to fame.

Chaos emulated on a grotesque outfit.
Riot embedded on black skirts; scarlet alphabet
twist metaphors and cut the mind with halting wit
on a warped strain of a string quartet.

Ancient scripts' articulated tragedies
befell on to the innocent's guilty lies.
Nominal diction contend Dantesque allegories -
a trait false gods and idols struggle to personify.

Conflict with the demons redeemed this soul gone astray.
Genuine hounds direct back the real path of mischief
as blessings in disguise curse the wicked influence the way
devils, imps and fiends plague the diffident and ill at ease.

For Totally Optional Prompts and Meme Express Pick-A-Prompt #1

Invitation In Lust

Don't you see? She wants you.
Her eyes follow you as you pass by.
She licks her lips and moans
when you smile.

Her hand strays close to yours
when you are near.
She presses her body to you, when
you hug her. I fear

Her eyes tell too much
of her desire
to kiss your lips until
her touch sets you on fire.

She means to make
you forget of your love for another.
She means to douse you in lust,
to take her as your lover.

And thus, you are warned
of this succubus' charm.
Don't fall for it, boy. Ignore
her invitation to do you harm.

For Sunday Scribblings: #129 Invitation

I am very much uninspired and.. and.. like a zombie, I am walking around with a blank stare. I need...something! Anything! So.. Comments and constructive criticisms are invited. A warm hug and a steaming cup of coffee await you. Just click on the comment button. XP

Uninspired

I'm so uninspired. And I have a theory for it:

The moon wanes and I
have a hundred poems to write.
The moon fades - nothing.

Yes, I know. It's supposed to be a haiku but... it sucks.

Well, gives a new meaning to the word lunatic, doesn't it?

This is oh so insane.

Seeds

The demon came
and put a seed of doubt
in man's heart asunder.

It's plan?
Mankind to conquer.

The angel came,
flew down
and planted another.

This time, a seed
of hope and courage yonder.

Man was left to pick,
to choose, a side
to ponder.

Which side will you take,
I wonder?

For One Single Impression

Rain

Hush, hear the pitter patter -
Tiny raindrops on the windows scatter.
If you don't keep quiet you may not hear
Listen closer, hush now, my dear.

Sssh..
Do you hear it now?

For Meme Express

**Uhm, its the best I could do today.. to tell you the truth, I think I'm still a bit...... intoxicated.

Coffee

If coffee can talk,
It will tell of success and victories.
Talk, coffee, talk.

It will tell tales of defeat
Of loss, of damage, of failure and of injuries,
If coffee can talk.

Tales of heartaches and moods downbeat
Of triumphs amidst difficulties.
Talk, coffee, talk.

Talk of crossroads where lovers meet
Or distant love over vast seas.
If coffee can talk,

It will tell of discussions and debates upbeat
Treaties signed and concessions to please.
Talk, coffee, talk.

Tell of grand festivals or a feast,
To put the old and young minds at ease
If coffee can talk.
Talk, coffee, talk.

For Sunday Scribblings

**I'm not sure if this counts as a Villanelle. Hmmm.. Does it?

Conversation

I daresay, no one got it right.
I am no diseased mortal,
Nor am I a bloodied walking corpse.
I am not a monster of the night.

I am not a child of the moon.
I am not a bloodsucking murderer,
Nor am I anyone's worst nightmare.
I told you, no one got it right.

For Totally Optional Prompts

**Yes, my first ever. ^_^ I hope I got right.. or err, posted in time, even.