On Forgiving
A decade of moonless nights flutters
As this soul continues to squander
And these manacles tightens painfully
Gripping my veins with a suppressing weight
A hoarse frost of unforgiving billowed
A wolf howled in the distant milieu
Saddled back to the sharp blade
This is the taste of struggling with fate
And as these shackles rattle
With every undulation
Riveting me in this brambly floor
I suffer from passing unconscious states
Because every time I fall to the deep
Fathoms of tumultuous slumber
I ply to forgive your giant shadows
As they picked me drowning from the mud
But these shackles pull me down
To my lifeless sinking ground
And every time I stir to wake
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poem by Norman Santos
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Cloudburst Of Romantics
They took the hike
He tasted the cold snow
Of the mountain top
She pumped and pumped
Her legs as she escalate
With the thinning air
Until they conquered
The lofty slope
Aghast, they panted
And spoke each other's name
They were at the top of the world
A perfect place to fall
Together, they filled the skies
With new born nebulas and
Took each turn to admire
Their lofty masterpiece
From her tiny drops of Jupiter
To his reigning ring of Saturn
They owned the universe
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poem by Norman Santos
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Snakes and Ladders
The spigot that you opened
profusely bled upon its frailty
seducing leprous hope
festering from the very roots
taken for granted
like prayers sent forth
your own bastion
riding the crest of waves
oblivious of these lamentations
You pour and pour
and buoy whilst I sank
in your eloquent etude
Before your eyes
the pendulum swings
in a monosyllabic hymn
a shotgun darting through
the clean lines of dancing
through the limbo
of self-defeat
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poem by Norman Santos
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Severance, With Veering Hands
The languid nimbuses amplified
the grass bugs under an ocher sunset
and their metallic sirens wailed
for nostalgia with veering hands
and it revved like a highway
and haunted like taillights
The maladroit afternoons strangled
in yellow haze and cigarette lace
dawned again, with waning iridescence
and a blinding severance cleaving
from the stark light of veracity
in the equipoise of day and night
your figure sank dithering
One hundred forty nine dismal days
exhumed the antebellum bones
and hoarded them in the closet
to thwart the besieging of time and change
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poem by Norman Santos
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Ouroboros
The snake that coiled asleep
Underneath the misbegotten
Earth unruffled agitated from
The vanguard of its slumber
Because his cold blood
Could never grow colder
And the scorching land
Could never get warmer
And the unselfishness
Could never be selfish
He shed his gossamer
And fragile skin to
Eviscerate the phantoms
Slithering with his dispositions
And super impositions
And then swallowed
The undraped suit
And the night was
A blood lusting
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poem by Norman Santos
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Ad Infinitum
You've taught me well
Of this dog-eats-dog world
Like a caper in the dark
Circumnavigating the edges
Mocking life, mocking death
You are a monolith
In your own fluent fashion
So I left a hole in the bastion
For your salient maneuvers
Whilst the world gyrated
Into their farcical charades
You dragged off a sullen grudge
Against their noncommittal whims
And consolidated, unknowingly,
What was debilitated from me -
A sense of sanity, of likeness
How you trespassed the apathy
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poem by Norman Santos
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An Arachnid
Every night, in the ubiquity of baleful shadows
I would muse on the latencies of the latticing windows
Where the svelte prisms from silver lines fashion a show
Scintillated by the frangible cradle of sorrows
Sewn by an artisan's sinewy legs of barrow
Catching with open fists is a dangling silver castle
Of my friend's glacial threads ornately tousled
Architected to assemble a suffice cradle
For the surfeit weight of the pensive hurtles
Of the prostate toil to fabricate a citadel
The superfluity and alacrity of his lissome hands
Consoles the vales of the bigoted reprimands
That I maze upon the eloquently soigné garlands
As he surly struck every searing strand
Sepulchral quiescence grazes to stand
Behind the blinds, as the preposterous night conspires
I'll lie alongside, ailed by the night's slicing wanton smiles
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poem by Norman Santos
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Carrion's Redolent Ululations
Beneath the wings of the ravine condor
Perched upon my dislocated shoulders
And in the scraping of its scaled talon
I found myself a lackluster prey
Already devoured by drifting webs
Of the starlight's tale; a carrion
Putrefied in believing and unbelieving
And submitting only to an immolation
Sating verve in embedding roots
In the lost fathoms of a parliament
Digressing the fear that hones a man
Into what a lion would have become
Perhaps, averting deaths in cognizant places
And taking leisure upon cheap ryes
Spewed to sedate the thorough wile
Have I made a shack, shabby or not,
In this derided chance of slipping away?
With the died-out leaves of summer breeze
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poem by Norman Santos
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The Meandering Lion
Latch the doors,
I want to meander
With flaming feet
Of an opulent lion
Inside my prattling veins
And in the currents
Of your thunders
If you can see them
In the condoles of the scars
And in the knot of my temples.
Let the arrows strike
With vengeance and repugnance
They do not have the heart
Of gilded susurrations,
They can nick my tawny suit
But never touch the soul
Basking in the prowls
Of a protracted and brazen
Glissando.
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poem by Norman Santos
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Water Under The Bridge
The sun repents and we vied
to make the loose ends meet
but our knots would not tie
like how our burned bridges did
As I craned to peek underneath
this coaxing pensiveness
the water under the bridge
revealed the mirrors in my eyes:
Discontent is a serpent
with venomous heads on both ends
and many a gnarl on the abdomen
but this titivation cannot be corrected
Satisfaction is the quelling
of ardor flames that burned the stars
and scintillated their insinuation
and should I lie to submission?
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poem by Norman Santos
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