Dreams
Chandeliers sputtered a flame
Sharp and slender like the footsteps
Moaning with the floorboard's slumber
This light held steadily its constant
Epicenter of proud undulations
Rocking an inebriated heart to sleep
Whilst the soul remained tethered
To contending against fear
With a hathful of daunted sneers
And flowers prancing for the winds
Of vicissitude's circles - eternal was
The quaint photographs left
Like all the phantoms that stroked
The brush from these palettes
Had it all been a long dream?
poem by Norman Santos
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Abandon Your Make-believe Scars
What perverse logic sits
In this carousal of mendaciloquence
That also weighs the saints
To kneel on their grinding pride?
Why can you not see
That you held the hilt
Of the dagger in my back?
Why do you always weep
And never dare pry
Inside the sanguinary havoc
Dangling in your dexterous hands?
Defenestrate my place
From your bogus scars
And as I judge your scornful visage
And molt from this proud wrath
I become one with what
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poem by Norman Santos
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Escritoire
Here we are again
In a tête-à-tête,
A soliloquy,
And I shall again
Fillet my bones
To divulge
My pawned head,
Half smiling,
Half dead.
You are fortunate
To be dead
And not to feel,
And that this message
Wouldn't matter,
And that you wouldn't care
If I scathe your swarthy veneer
As I etch the weight
Into the frail paper
Reaching your
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poem by Norman Santos
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Becoming A Hyena
Recounting the stars,
Picking up the bones,
The night is a child
Tinkering the sky
With innocuous charms
And sedating the pains
That the laughs cannot evade
Reckoning the sward,
Letting go of the winds,
The bleeding is a mother
Cradling the scouring life
With her emollient palm
Dabbing the desiccation
That the guffaws cannot shun
Shooting for the farfetched,
Sinking in the vale,
A dream is a fault in the season
Defining delusion
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poem by Norman Santos
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Disembogued
The night fell asleep
Leaving the ancient ruins
And darkness surrounded
The sore mayhem around
Whilst inside this vault -
A vacuum
Where everything
Sank mordantly,
Unfettered from the tethers
Thriving to girdle
My bountiful unrealities
There was nothing left
Not a poet
Nor a poem
Even more alone
Than loneliness
Save the virulent strains
Of my reality:
Everything
Sinks
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poem by Norman Santos
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Unbounded Solitude
Scorch your gnashing teeth on revelries,
By the whim of dead air
You were never there.
Gorge upon the ecstasy of amities,
By the first sign of erring
You were never there.
Smother it; you are alone profoundly
Amongst a crowd, amidst the city
You were never there.
Walk with legs superfluous and hungry
By the feral tides on the shore
Your foot prints were never there.
Succumb a pristine repose
One that is easy to loathe
For you were never there.
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poem by Norman Santos
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Fluorescent Musing (Sonnet)
I seek for the temporal gush of the wind
And vie to ferry the holocaust in a dream
Beneath the summer's palm I gleaned
For the wisps of the hottest stream
To fill these disembogued vessels
And exonerate the concealed streets
To the grandiosity of buried castles
And let the fluorescent sun seethe
Into the iron cellars of the eye
To blind the heavily stained vision
With mouth full of blood I shall cry
Until I bleed out this lingering derision
As I lay beneath the scorches of the weather
And as it muse back past the shudders.
poem by Norman Santos
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Freefalling
Freefalling into the arms of gravity
the echoes in the cobwebbed vault
remained a fading noise whilst these
shards of affinities inveigled with a calamity
spinning deep in a helical seafloor
A sudden gush of ecstatic currents
rippled into the wrinkled body
and a red breeze swept the gray face
for a moment of hapless vulnerability -
humility in a fray against obduracy
the coiled rope of resistance
killed the noose in a taut pull
Without hitting the rock bottom
I ruminate in a sedating topple:
Have I been at any edges at all?
poem by Norman Santos
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Cradle the Lion's Grave
The meandering Lion, impaired by a trance
Of feral instinct and hedonistic impetus
Torn to avert or succumb his fated tragedy
But only festoons the lion's unwritten fable
Ensconced by the eaves of pure enigma
Slithering the ornate tangling forlorn forest
Whilst the Moon stroke the fiery wisps
Of his cynical golden tresses and bastion
Grazing on his poignancy to submission
And scintillating a cordial theme park
Clandestine with a selfish feisty carnival
From the Lion's lacerations that stalls
Upon the labyrinthine forest's walls.
poem by Norman Santos
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Kite Hands (Transalation Of Kamay na Guryon)
Your supple, kite-like hands
bludgeoning with the weathered wind,
prancing on the frontiers of restrictions
It seems to me that you can graze
and seize the sun without burning
But the proximity of distance
shorn by the figure of your ashen hands,
in between the sun's gilded breaths
and the pitch black shadows of its dance
is but a splendid, fragmented illusion
And the svelte cord fastening the kite
is the only lace fixing this illusion
to the reality that was seeded
by the zephyr winds of hope
and the meek heaving of memories
poem by Norman Santos
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