To The Meandering Lion
Paws scorching the ground
leaving a rivulet of fire
a map for the meandering
Illustrious gilt of a skin
tawny as the sun's sheen
euphoniously sewn to the bones
And your proud head
bobbing with an arrogant crown
and roaring with a subtle clout
A steadfast monolith in the cracks
of the brittle bones and incendiary sand
I want to be who you are - meandering in blithe
poem by Norman Santos
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Awaken
With the clouts hurled behind
your sanguine impositions
I have awaken completely
from the dream that you people
injected into the antics of
my ponderous comatose, but
those knuckles can only bleed
and break against the steadfast
concrete wall of my quiescence
accepting your jabbing filth
like how I had always been
before your star crossed
my misanthropic detachment.
poem by Norman Santos
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Pintuan
Paparoon sa natutulog na pintuan
Ang susi ay nakatago sa kalamnan
Naghihintay akong mahubaran
Walang sawang lumalaban
Sa saliw ng katahimikan
Handa na akong subukan
Ang lumanggoy sa walang hanggan,
Ang gumiling sa pagduyan,
Ang sumungkit sa kalawakan,
Walang kasiguraduhan
Kung saan ang pupuntahan
Ngunit ano pa ang kailangan buksan
Kung hindi ang nakasaradong pintuan.
poem by Norman Santos
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Fester
I am a winged fester
Flying for a good weather
Perching to writhe and wither
All that roosted under:
Jeweled lover,
Tigress and panther,
Drunk and sober,
Tired of hunger.
Touch my hands, bold robber
And watch me pilfer
Your death a caper
Touch my hand, lewd dancer
And watch the macabre
Become my reaper
I am cursed to err
From all that I held nearer
[...] Read more
poem by Norman Santos
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Time Is Away
The muses paid no attention
to the mountain's obeisance
it knelt, it pleaded
for their trifle contempt
The night drifted
with wings of vengeance
I linger with hopes
and other destructions
Where were you in these times?
My banquet awaits
for your godly demands
and my hands grew insipid
outdoing mistaken errands
Time was away
musing elsewhere
and the culprit is
our larcenous yearnings.
poem by Norman Santos
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Cigarette Kisses
There are empty places stashed inside this cellars
That your soldering grazes cannot reach,
That reverberates its caterwauls for a succoring chance,
That is hollow, void and obstructed of reprimands
And in these spaces, the flame of life seeps out
To burn the lamented fringe and seal the debris left
Or squander it away with the ephemeral cosmos
And disembogue the frothy screen of bereft.
poem by Norman Santos
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Black Bruises IV
I can gorge the vile blackness,
the eviscerated acquiescence
like a dog-eats-dog carnival
I can endure the struggle
tasting blotted inks,
tasting cheap champagnes,
tasting one's molting skin,
tasting a chance to begin,
tasting cold greasy dishes,
tasting stark carnal sin,
tasting tar and nicotine,
tasting saline misery,
but am I the only one tasting
these black bruised savors?
poem by Norman Santos
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Glissando of the Marionette's Strings
Impasse the futile grounds
A contorted plane by a contortionist
And a dancer the city crowned
A marionette played the optimist
Who breathe but does not live
Must she resign this grief?
Detest all that she believed?
End the direst and seek "what if? "
Docile plastic limbs are stringed
Steady your temporal haggling
Take this marionette under your wings
Underneath a promising coaxing
poem by Norman Santos
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The Invisible Circus
I looked around
and found the prancing devils
showered in sacred veils,
the cobbled pavements
filled with footsteps
without any pursuit
Why am I here?
And nowhere at all?
This dreadful drudgery
seething into my lungs,
this farce comedy
lurking like a tiger
ready to pounce
Such banal superficiality
in tragic charades -
caprices and cavalcades;
why do I have to play
this goddamn harlequinade?
poem by Norman Santos
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Crucified Seraphim
Excoriate your garish light
I belong to the crimson sun
Thank you and I apologize
For giving you apt wings
In an unsolicited riposte
Now, I'm letting go of the strings
Back to my cranial dome
Nibbling on a ravine of fear
Ubiquitously searing
Adhering to my struggles
Without banisters or pillars
As you vaguely conceal
Your lustrous wings
In a conceited vying
Do no crucify yourself,
Fallen seraphim.
poem by Norman Santos
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