Closer to The Tigers
Closer to the tigers
I steadfast my uncertainties
these telegrams speak
of the labyrinthine forest
and its tangled paths
They revved, they haunted
but I am brazened
by forlorn despondence
and in the trees, I whispered,
my tongue undulates
and spoke with seeing eyes
and the trees listened with temper
The leaves soughed and zithered
my message is cradled
but the sea is demented
with the blue rivulets on her veins
and the listening frost in her heart
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poem by Norman Santos
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Gulf of Existence
As I peel myself to nakedness
My grotesque form seeping out
And trying to slither away
From their vindictive stares
I seek for displacement
In scouring ebonies and ivories
Only to unfurl the answer
That basks in another question
"Why am I here? "
And I thought staggering
"And not here at all? "
Like a farcical candle at noon time
Prick and twist the wick
With the flame hollering back
For survival, for a game
Amongst porcelains and tramps
I have lost my place
In the scornful prairie grounds
Whilst I perish vying.
This is inane and pointless.
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poem by Norman Santos
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Screaming Silence
Juggling abortive bliss and ephemeral anguish
And discreetly dwelling by your pensive shadows
I started to grope for exoneration in a muffled wish
Only to find myself lacerating with greater sorrow
Yet, I promised to be stern in despite the grating slits
And exhumed the corpse of all denied warfare
I quaffed your poison to fill my emptied wrists
And subsist in the chromospheres of the tiger's lair
That my own coercions, fractions, and distractions
Feigned, like a cross to drag and carry in a furrow
Teeming with vindictive eyes of incarceration
My silence screamed of sated state of hollow.
poem by Norman Santos
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A Demon In Her Vanity
In the night's harried soliloquy
You tousle your hair and wipe
The miasma of the panthoms'
Breath flushing your pallid face
With such arrogance and grace
A complacence that synergize
With the stellar distractions
That your pristine poise behold,
You smudge the rouge and stains
Of the derided warfare in the world
Of alleys and myriad of empty stations
A fastidious ballet in front
Of the mirror's godly fingers
You grinned, oscillated your lips
Red as the devil swaying its legs
In the inveigling undulations
You whetted your piercing eyes
And fooled yourself again
In the pristine reflection.
poem by Norman Santos
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Move Along
The roads had gone
Slewing with the temporal days
Of the kindest streaks
That had given you a place
And the impetus
To mount a leg
Without the other
Is harder at its best
As the place faded
And you try to do the same
Superimposing satisfaction
Into the zilch
Of bleak reinstitution
Of the weak constitutions:
Tongue's of lions,
Empiric barricades,
Gorging of the self.
Good riddance
To the memories
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poem by Norman Santos
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Saddest Photographs V: Behind the Lens
I do picture you
Like a genuine diamond
In the shores of Bimini
For I haven't been and seen
Bimini's blues and greens
I do picture you
In a spectrum of gaiety
In lull reels and negatives
I swoon over the plethora of colors
I found in a grayscale portrait
I do picture you
With eyes close, I do picture you,
With or without the errs and flaws
In a glassine gloss
From a rotogravure photo
But the handsome photo album
Couldn't stay out of the red room
For these pictures are of
My saddest memories
For what you are to me
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poem by Norman Santos
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Hiatus
The alleys collapsed as the lungs did
As the lampposts flickered with the vision
A shadowy mirage lingered to caress
The soft yellow lights, the singeing blood
Searing from the charred soles
I walked with the roaring fire
The fire pranced with the songs
Hiding in the browning calendar
I halted, panted, eviscerating
Amassing vigor, accumulating air,
I'd watch you from here;
Until I feel my legs again
Until I relearn the tempo
To sway with the grace
Of your wandering pendulums.
The cinders flounced
A message from the sirens
Cutting the swath
Of these drunken roads
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poem by Norman Santos
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The Man Inside Your Head
You are my fancy,
I am your fear.
You are my wardrobe,
I am your spill.
You are my sole friend,
I am your nemesis.
You are my entity,
I am the identity.
You are that barrier,
I am your captive.
You are my armada,
I am your cradle.
You are crispy,
I am cloudy.
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poem by Norman Santos
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Scavenging
All the boys crammed
The puncture of evanescence
Like kings with poly-vinyl thrones
Eyes moseying the harried ducts
Prying, calculating, or simply
Living on the surface of things
Life ebbed and they're still
A wolf pack; licking legs,
Grinding fangs, cigarette parting
The superfluous lips
And I was there, somersaulting
Behind the surrealistic blur
Scavenging amongst the wolves:
A swarthy incompetent sot
With an illustrious frivolity
Of a decaying carrion
In the wolves' den,
Prying, calculating
The oddities.
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poem by Norman Santos
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The Leprechaun's Treasure
Trace the outline of the symmetry
The slicing slope that cuts a mystery
Buried in the golden exuberance
Are the skeletons and the woebegone
Misery that the treasure keeper
Held amidst the tumultuous
Disintegration of fragrance
The greedy leprechaun schemed
Calculating the perched birds for meal
But never feeding his hunger, because
The brows bridging the voracity
For monopoly overwhelms its screams
A ruse to pilfer the cache of jewelries
Is whispering a strong reckon
A temptation to end and shatter
The streak of puissant exultance;
Malignant tyranny of sensations,
Platter of reveries and reality.
poem by Norman Santos
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