Two Faced Wave
Gouge out my eyes
And fill these chambers
With your fragrant breath
Grow a garden on my ribs
And I will not heave it
Consume me, own me,
I'll pluck your petals dearly
Tether me for a moment
Make me submit to eternity
Pull the strings, spare no mercy,
Pat my head and comb my locks
This moment wouldn't last
But a lion for a moment
I will opt to become
Until you raise your sword,
Until you secrete the soul
And smite me in the chest
From where you treacherously bloomed
And I'll melt into a lamb
Head bowed, life tied
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poem by Norman Santos
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Escapism
The lines in our palms is our map
but we hold nothing but the moonshine
so this vacant abyss drenches our paths
like our empty hands, we meander
without any purpose at all
We learned the phantom's secret
in riveting themselves in forlorn circles
like the rain, we free fall and
when we slap the ground
we are water no longer
Still, your shadows perpetually traipse
back and forth my dark alleys
like a song effulgently whistling
promises in these aberrant ears
And in this times, the hour stops
the larcenous chase of our feet
to halt and stare upon the circles
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poem by Norman Santos
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In The Veneer Of The Cicatrix
The taste of iron,
The taste of verdigris,
The taste of putrefaction
Holding your hips
Igniting eloquent friction
In your staid tongue
Impaling a tedious sway
In the amphitheater of despondence;
A waltz for submission
Into your tyrant liege
For you are the conduit
Of the woebegone malevolence
A voodoo doll
Wedged and punctured by
A hypophrenic anguish
Pressed by the supercilious rapier
Trudging in the soft wound
Of the ethereal sierras
Of clotting blood
And decaying flesh
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poem by Norman Santos
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Nonexistent Empire
The yuletide air gyrates
Permitting a dream to wander
Like lanterns in late dawns
Singed the dews to evaporate
And ignited the walls of my chambers
That cradles all these vessels
Forking, intersecting, subsisting
To carry a golden heart
That beseech for a hearth
In somebody else's palms
Faltering in every collision
And heaping with every abrasion.
When I find you slewing away
I will ferry you in a gutter
That leads to an empire
That houses all golden hearts.
If only I know where to find
The door to the secret crowds
But until then, I will look for you
And may be when we collide
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poem by Norman Santos
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The Collective: The Snow Angel
Immaculate skin of snow
Interposing a delicate silhouette,
Broad wings and halo
Whittled from a wintry bassinet,
Garish ease, ornate and callow
Suppurates the winter's sonnet
Innocuous as a fairytale
Baffling as a dilettante cacophony:
In a grave you lay frail
Unencumbered by the girdle of gravity
Is this your flight's scale?
A somber and inert soliloquy?
Who and what made you, snow angel?
An impression in the penultimate
Death of warmth that dangles
In the purple lips to commiserate
The enigma of your treacle:
A tragedy of dreary fate
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poem by Norman Santos
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The Ubiquitous Quagmire
Submerged in this quagmire
where only seraphs dare tread,
I struggled without a pursuit
amongst capricious winds
The floor is of flimsy mud
where every lambent step sank,
the tarmac solders the flesh,
the howling wind slices wantonly
and all belying conflagrations present
themselves in sartorial grandiose
in pallid hues of winter
But all these ailing evisceration
in the flesh and bones is engulfed
by a more sublime suffering
as you perpetually reside
incarcerated in the chasms
of my tatterdemalion soul
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poem by Norman Santos
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Weatherman
Halcyon weather smile
Brighter than the bursting sun
Rupturing the violent tempest
With the geometrical perfection
A wryly grin behold
You have mastered fine
The craft of marqueterie
Light wispy strokes,
Grave subtle lacerations,
And come around beautifully
You are a marionette
Inside a glass chiffonier
For the idiosyncratic spectators
Who pulled the strings
That made you a phony
In the impenetrability
Of such nonmalleable veneer
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poem by Norman Santos
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Saudade
After dark the forthrightly silence
enshrouds the soul's trepidation
and the sartorial revelry of your
undying memories collect themselves
like the moonshine on the phosphorescent shore
The saudade melancholy inveigles
moths into the feral dance of flames
and as the malignant light becomes
my asylum and pantheon, I stagger
for the sparrow chance of corrupting
the ebbing of the ocean's moiré
where the solitary light is doubled
in its deluded reflections
And in this vacant room, the moon
spills empty words and cacophonies
its gravid and ashen cheeks morphs
into an empty page where the words
dissipates into ephemeral liminalities
poem by Norman Santos
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Well I Wonder
Well I wonder why and when
Montage reeled, callosities peeled,
Wrathful flames ignited
From another's confusion
And flowers withered into oblivion
Well I wonder why and how
Do I haul myself from this labyrinthine limbo
And how and why would you tell me things
Tied on their ends with a riddle
Devoid of any answer
Well I wonder why and what
It takes to abjure this incarceration
And smear the fragrance on the floorboards
Where memories sprawled like blood
Blackening and drying everyday
Well I wonder, I wonder
Why I snooped in the latticing webs
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poem by Norman Santos
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Into Your Waking Life
Under the chalky light
and in between frontiers,
you swam like seraphs
Your larcenous feet gliding
like wingless serendipity
You osculate with beauty
Two hands interlaced,
one heartbeat shared
I stagger at this art
frail untouchable divinity
Veiled in immaculate gradients
in a salient heraldry,
in an intimate blear,
there is an embarrassed pang
underneath it all
and it is not even jealousy
I raised my goblet
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poem by Norman Santos
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