I am happy to thank Natalia of Caboosemama Little Pleasures, for nominating me for this challenge. It was a lovely experience. I invite you all to pay attention to Natalia’s blog, which is very interesting and informative.
Stridently trickling down, chasing waterfall
Sound of the fountain of life, answering to the call
Cleanses the soul and spirit, but it’s not a cure-all
Drizzling onto me, hoping nothing dodgy befall
A force of nature, who am I to scream and squall?
Both beautiful and brutal, flowing, and I feel small
Splashing like pearls, refreshingly good for one and all*
(c) ladyleemanila 2016
* A Monorhyme is a poem in which all the lines have the same end rhyme.
When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark
Makes its mark
On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves
Over fallen leaves;
Then my olden garden, where the golden soil
Through the toil
Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,
Whispers in its sleep.
‘Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,
Where the box
Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks,
There’s a voice that talks
Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here
Year by year,–
Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours,
Fading as the flowers.
Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief;
For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow
From the Long-Ago,
When I think of other lives that learned, like mine,
And remember that the sadness of the fall
Comes alike to all.
What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!
And what prayers
For the silent strength that nerves us to endure
Things we cannot cure!
Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,
I have traced
All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find
Comfort in my mind.
Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear:
Yet how near
Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face,
Of the human race!
Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,
They who know the sorrows other lives have known
Never walk alone.
Sing me a song that will give me craft
A fair amount of good-natured chaff
Day or night – chicken done right
Lightning that flashes called sprite
A fiery one that will repair my frame
Ladyleemanila – that’s my nickname
Call me back and add a billow of hope
Write a letter and put it in an envelope
Anything nice and sweet so I can cope
Vibrant colours in a range of kaleidoscope
Another chance to say that I still exist
So that I know that I’m being missed
intone me a song
a vibrant kaleidoscope
pondering my thoughts
The night of the resurrection, I was alone and heartbroken
On top of the tower I saw the witch with her teeth blackened
As blind as a scorpion, she cast her spell with a branded doll
“Werewolf will hunt you forever,” I listened by the stonewall
On this full moon, I was on a ball as I tried to break the spell
With garlic and crucifix, I pushed her out and bid her farewell
Coming out of the tower, free as a bird and oh so grateful
Not to be boastful, I won as I carried out my stick bauble
Goodbye my friend, have a safe trip
We held our hands in a strong grip
As the train goes, I see him cry
I’ve got other places to try
Dried my eyes and gave a short yip
The hour was late
Was this my fate?
In the rippling park
I found a mark
It was so airless
Ever so quaint
Swarm of crows
In my place I froze
The fury has erupted
The ground full of mud
Everything was slow
The rise of the skull
Patterned one, I felt dull
Nowhere to hide
Farewell, I sighed
“The Last Farewell” is a poem written by Philippine national hero Dr. Jose Rizal on the eve of his execution by firing squad on 30 December 1896. The piece was one of the last notes he wrote before his death; another that he had written was found in his shoe but because the text was illegible, its contents today remain a mystery. On the afternoon of Dec. 29, 1896, a day before his execution, Dr. José Rizal was visited by his mother, Teodora Alonzo, sisters Lucia, Josefa, Trinidád, Maria and Narcisa, and two nephews. When they took their leave, Rizal told Trinidád in English that there was something in the small alcohol stove (cocinilla), not alcohol lamp (lamparilla). The stove was given to Narcisa by the guard when the party was about to board their carriage in the courtyard. At home, the Rizal ladies recovered from the stove a folded paper. On it was written an unsigned, untitled and undated poem of 14 five-line stanzas. The Rizals reproduced copies of the poem and sent them to Rizal’s friends in the country and abroad. In 1897, Mariano Ponce in Hong Kong had the poem printed with the title “Mi Ultimo Pensamiento.” Fr. Mariano Dacanay, who received a copy of the poem while a prisoner in Bilibid (jail), published it in the first issue of La Independencia on Sept. 25, 1898 with the title ‘Ultimo Adios’. The cocinilla was not delivered to the Rizal’s family until after the execution as he needed it to light the cell.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
[…] “There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.” […] Lord Byron
rolling hills and waterfalls
nature at its best
the clear blue sky
the wind brushing my hair
birds sing as I walk
the autumn leaves
the colours of the rainbow
make my day all bright
How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day’s oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day oppressed?
And each, though enemies to either’s reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild’st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.
A story of strength and spirit
Grandparents lived in a hamlet
A fire burning in the hearth
A spark of light, lay it thwart
Grandpa sat with his defiant mood
For several hours the situation brewed
An ancient game he played with Grandma
A status quo both of them not foresaw
Grandma stuck to her ground in darkness
She thought she was right and blameless
Angry sparks were flashing in her eyes
But after some time with all the sighs
They argued, they fought and they made up
The process continued but never a breakup
And like the unperfected Polaroid
They lived a life they both enjoyed
It should fade into oblivion in no time
Their love won and forever sublime