The beauty of the woman

The heart of the woman is wide-mouthed sea
Carrying child's lusty cries before dawn
On her swollen breasts nestle a tribe
On her broad shoulders ride warriors
Her bloodline is red as fiery volcano

The hands of the woman is baked brown by sun
Sweaty & dirty by toiling soil & tending chores 
She moves with a purpose, planting her roots
so her children will know her, of her
Her words are grain, spreading field to field-

The face of the woman is marked by every lash
Of windstorm, every tear of thundering clouds
Yet her demeanor is calm, murmuring of rain drops
On her body, round & laden as sudden flurry
of March spring blooms, beautifully astonishing- 

                                Henry Moore - Figure lying (Canada, Ottawa, 1930)


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Muses from History - Hosted by Abhra ~ I was inspired by Henry Moore sculptures when I went to our Art Galley of Toronto ~
And Poets United - Beauty hosted by Sumana

Tropical summer

                                                                 Atis

The street vendor fries the wrapped plaintain bananas with slice of langka (jackfruit) and brown sugar in hot pan.   The turon sizzles to crispy amber under the humid afternoon sun.   We wait, not with bottled cold water, but with buko (young coconut).   My shirt has a bit of stain from spitting out black seeds of atis (sugar apple) under the neighbor's guava tree.   My friend is munching on santol (wild mangosteen) with salt.     Bittersweet and rough, he is squirming with its sourness, while becoming ecstatic with each bite of the pitted fruit. He makes a lot of faces as sweat rolls off his neck.   All I can think of is playing hide & seek in the cool shaded park.   

sudden summer rain

crashes the roof at night,

drowning the tuko's cries

*tuko lizards (or small geckos)

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Dog Days ~  I am incorporating my hot summers (April to May) in the Philippines, where I grew up.

The trespasser

When city slips into night beat
And streets are near-empty
of cars 
He comes out
marking back alleys
With his signature 
eccentricity

With pitted cheeks  
He struts
like he owns all street
corners 
yellow-pissed by homeless 
beggars
whores, pimps
drunkards 
gypsies with tarot 
And all the nobodies 

stencil-blued 
by moon
perfectly round
above split-level condominiums  

Graffiti Alley, Toronto City @Grace

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - 55 Words - Trespasser
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

While waiting to die

Her weakened voice's a half whisper
But she's got eagle's eyes- 
Each day, her accounting fingers  
labelled, folded, parceled, incised

All her worldly possessions- clothes
Piled neatly by seasons
Shoes, boxed along with bags & hats,
Jewels--not for grievance-- 

She's a rose, darkly burnt,  ashes
Smoldering of last fire
Her body hears death's baritone
Yet she's busy- here, there - 

                                               Photography by Ars Thanea



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Emily's Not So Common Meter (Emily Dickinson), Hosted by Victoria C. Slotto
and Poets United - Acceptance

I have learned that my daughter in law's 89 year old grandmother has been giving away her things and properties, upon learning that she is in the last stage of cancer.

Moving on, In tune with nature

Photography by Joni Niemelä

A black raven nosedives from top branches 
A bird preening its red-silk feathers
A squirrel stirring tree's deep pockets
A cluster of green pine cones unveiling
A velvet ball of floating milkweed pods 
A spider climbing potted vase's neck
A pink tongue of leashed dog
A fire-ant's steady march up the boulder
A butterfly's quickening leaps above lilacs 
A flowering of late afternoon
As sun tucks in billowing skirts of clouds
Sky dusts away the jet's white smoke arc 
Unfolding the waxing gibbous moon 
Altering the worn-brown cityscape
I begin a new canvas 
As I watch the night's calm arrival 
nourished with mystery



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics- In tune with Nature

Two trains, two worlds

I commute to the city, considered the hub
of financial world, by riding the Toronto rocket 
Its metallic hiss
long spine measuring 6 cars, fully opened
rapidly follows the tracks
Cool, clean & modern
with computer generated lights & voice over
Commuters carry gadgets, phones & games
All polite & courteous
Though once in a while, a shirtless man
breaks the chained monotony
& dances carefree as
blue butterfly

The lake beside tower
shimmers blue of summer -
Swans burst, pure of light

Back in the old town, the train

is a workhorse

piping wearily along mud-tracks

You ride along with

boxes of produce (rice & vegetables)

animals in cages (pigs & chickens to be slaughtered)

baskets of fresh fish & shells

It is noisy

Smelling of sweat & musky earth

Dirt seeps into your skin  

& you pray that it will not break down

before your destination.

Sun browns your face

while palm trees keep snatching 

to play with your straw hat 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Trains Hosted by Bill
Picture credit:   here

Of grace & poise

She moves effortlessly
as a flower
bright orange red
with petal cups holding 
rain water & dew
bearing a thousand seed pods
to be carried away by wind, 
birds & bats.   

She balances each day
with children
with household chores
with nature's remedies
with a crown lighter than
basket of food on her head.

 

                                   Mayan Indian woman carrying basket on her head  by Robert Crum

Picture credit:   here

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Goodness Gracious, hosted by Karin G.
& Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

My philosophy of thoughts

Artist:   James R. Eads

I carefully tuck in a box
the heirlooms of my grandmother
& mother:
South sea pearl brooch
& words of wisdom:  
Invest in education,
& work hard

Moon is a pied piper, calling dreams awake & follow his music.

I believe in positive thoughts
& attracting enriching events
& life-embracing experiences
while accepting my fears
& disappointments

My hands are potter's hands, shaping clay to cups, cups to pots, pots to urns.       

I am mindful of my thoughts
where they drift
like fallen autumn leaves
where they pool & sink
on dead end street
where they echo & resound 
the future that is yet to be

Black raven swoops her hungry claws on dead baby bird, balled white as pearl.  


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - What is your philosophy?  

Thanks for the visit ~

What I found after more than halfway on my journey

Artist:  Cecilia Levy

I love the tropical sun on my arms,
ice-cream & walking to be alone with my thoughts-

Restless water under the bridge folds & refolds the face of the moon.

I line up the words in my head, neatly stacked-

Catapult, sting, deadly intentions- which one will jump first off the wall?    

I am a needle, finding my thread & safety hooks 
      & beads of blessings

Cup is half-full, awaiting for this girl's heart, to turn it upside down.  

But look closer, I am a thread unfurling 
      I am a sapling rising, fingers wet with summer rain -

      


My Word List:   sun, ice-cream, bridge, cup is half-full, words,  rain

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub -  Sharing a bit of myself ~ Thanks to Marina for hosting ~

Thanks for the visit ~

Flower

Stones
at our feet

Time is the black milk 
we drink 
morning
noon 
& night

Our skin hammers 
hard walls 
seeking water &
adding petals

Sun flares
bloody red, hot oilseeds
on ground

One blindman's word above leaded sky:

flower

Picture credit:    here

Posted for the Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Featuring the work by Paul Celan.   The post is inspired by his poem, Flower.
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~