From the wellspring of a select corner of the soul, a subjective disturbance — however unwilled it may be — may flow via the aqueduct of verbal expression into the domain of the tongue. And here at its tip, could easily slip off to unrehearsed utterance as a wayward feeling . . . a stray heartbeat . . . or a strand of unkempt desire . . .that when pampered with extraordinary attention or unusual valuation, may find itself packaged as a melodized display of emotion — a song! Or, in an eternal moment of artistic articulation, shaped into a structure of versified magical images — a poem! — as are verbalized in the following — Gifts of Love:
A verse of rhythmic longing
I rearrange the materials
I have gathered from days and nights
of fanciful thoughts and dreams
about you, and have compiled them
into a book of verse that carries
the magic of your smile and
the wondrous music of your laughter.
I print each verse line
in the gold-speckled page
of my leisurely imaginings,
the rhythmic thrust of desire
ever drifts me to your charms.
I now seal my narrative
of love and care with intense
longing for us in celebratory union
of rapture and infinite joy.
—
Christmas Joy
I caught the lure of your smile
from where you were in your side
of the glass panel that imprisoned you
and held me in the eternity of an hour.
The rare flavor of your charm stuck
onto the keen lens of my mind’s eye
and reigned the rhythm of my heartbeats
across the space and distance of my day.
and in my sleep I relished the full splendor
of your charm that flavored my dreams
that soon I awoke to hear the sound of
your name uttered like Christmas joy.
—
Untitled
Crossing the street for home
I feel an urgent desire to hastily
run back to where I can relish
the sweet magic in your smile.
When was it I first heard
the haunting lilt of your laughter,
echoing like a song that strikes
a silent chord in my heart?
I can almost feel the music
of your name sung by my own
heartbeats that constantly long
for the sunshine on your face.
—
Lovesong in a coffee mug
(to my eye surgeon)
I walk the distance
from my rainbow past
to this ritual of visual renewal.
your fingers like river diwata
dance on tiptoe on the entire
breadth and length of the lakes
in my eyes . . . your voice stitch
the gay rhythm of fingersteps
that melodize the familiar lyricism
of light in the sound of your name.
at home in my sleep I scan
the sheets of night in search of a dream. . .
and in the fog of morning sunshine
I awake to an intense thirst for hotstuff
that soon i hasten to reach up
to take out from my heart’s cupboard
a tiny coffee mug and fill it with
a freshly-brewed lovesong.
