Antediluvian
Like crystals from the sky
we shall fall, break, and shatter
We will slap on windshields
and siphon into the gutters
and in the guts of this beast
my slivers will collect themselves
to find your vestiges and your faith
malingering in this palled weather
to regain the waned colors
and drabbed intentions
But would you permit me
to meet you in the directionless sea
where our astray meanders sank
abjectly drowning in its caliginosity?
poem by Norman Santos
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Heist
Immolated before the jeopardy
of my sudden involution -
Now beckoned and yearned,
now abjured and declined;
Our bellicose collision
cloyed with affinity
now floundering like a cry
in a shapeless silhouette
of a shackled poltergeist
Is this you terse revenge
or your inconsistent demand?
With dove-feet and rose-tongue
you pilfered the molted skin
and took the vulnerability
away for granted
and threw me into
the hollows of abeyance.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Furlough Is Done
I tarried amongst
the mediocre and superficial
hoping to thaw in the farce,
but there was no glory nor grace
in sedating with injectable faith
Now I paced into the carnage
with svelte gentle legs
because no matter how the splinters break
this fervor to burn cannot be staid
The furlough is done
and all is purged in the abeyance,
empty handed, I left everything behind
as I approach what's in front of me
with an undaunted loaded gun
poem by Norman Santos
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His Second Decade
An artisan of surreal noises
Made of groans and chortles
Making words that sat like lead
pounce like a spear of chains
Pulling the vaults to break
And let loose a paunch soul
With a flagrant gaunt face
To become the visage
Of his subtly dubbed art.
While it's easy to toss
White roses on a grave
It is his eloquent etude
To exhume its blossoming.
Welcome to your second decade,
Undoubtedly your golden age,
Now flourish in your parade.
poem by Norman Santos
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Mote
Precipitating into the dust
Wind tussling in a thrust
Riveted amidst a city
With no eyes for sympathy
Tossed in an endless brunt
All too tired for this bunt
Serendipity is uninvited
To the heart of the blighted
Caught in the streak of tangerine
An afternoon for the pristine
Where do I resign?
In the absence of all benign?
When cinders depart the fire
When dust seizes to fly
What utopia do they find?
The good riddance for the blind?
poem by Norman Santos
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Vaporous
I would like to learn how stars scream
with scintillating swords and sing
with the same fatal stroke
I would like to learn how the sun goes alone
loftily sundered amongst other quasars
burning passionately for no one
I would like to learn how clouds come and go
maladroitly reconnoitering the weather
and evanesce without a thought
I would like to know how the moon shifts
and still regain her stalwart repose
amidst her inconsistencies
poem by Norman Santos
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The Perfect Vengeance Is Suicide
The blood spilled on the page
Unforgiving with stale stains
Of blazing vengeance, betrayal
And overweening pride
But amends fell in a vertical line
A taut brawl for the sake of memories
And rue lingers with your zephyr breath
And never will I commit to the same mistakes
Back to the glassine veneer, I meander
Hoping that these last words
Is suffice for you to remember
That you will always be
A great part of me
Let's not ruin
The end of it.
poem by Norman Santos
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Drunk As A Dancing Beacon
The rose-wine spell rummaged through my throat
Like a whimpering roar that was latched inside
To fulminate and erode with the cloying sea wall
The ghastly and suffocating genocide marauded
The glacial stillness of the breathing dungeons
Close enough to poke the wearily groveling heart
Heaven subsided and the afternoon sun leaned
Against a quivering pillar sundered from the beacons
Prancing with their shadows whilst I muse in inebriation
poem by Norman Santos
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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Tigress
Downtrodden, heavy steps
make lambent sounds
for calculated leaps
prying, hunting, terrorizing
Your coat of fire
worn with scars
and fiery prowess
veiled in feline grace
Your purrs, your roars
are eloquent songs
that the jungle resonates
as it ablaze in your colours
Hide and sleuth,
search and hunt,
and when you find it
slaver mad and proud
[...] Read more
poem by Norman Santos
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