The Fire And Shadows Born

In the dark of the vesper perched
upon your slumbering eyes
together with the undulating songs of the wind
revered by the famished clocks
awaiting for a chance to slowly fade
from its constant sways of a surmised waltz;
I found the sibilant embers,
the erratic ignition of flames seethes,
and sputters like a fork of lightning
blazing from the lamentations while feigning
calm behind the obdurate clouds
and with every elusive instigation of
the fulminating light upon your immortal night
I descried what lies behind the persiennes -
Your childhood still and silent but
waiting for peace in agog quivering
running and shoving and marauding haplessly
through the turbulence of a fire and the angst of its smoke
to stand in the stare of the eye of it,
the very epicenter of the hailing tragedy.

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poem by Norman Santos
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In My Reflection, You Are Not A Stranger

I saw your face
caught in my reflection
bending backwards and
contorting past the
gaping hands of the sun
because another month
was caught suspended
in the silver latticing
of our eternal ties

I saw your hands
pull the bell rope
and rang the alarm
that disturbs the shadows
of the unforgiving unloved
that dislimns the pageantry
of our terse lacings
still gnarled on the blue veins
of my fingers and wrists
snapping without a sound

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poem by Norman Santos
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This Game with the Wheel and Stick

The whiff of exultance stirs the maladroit pace
Of the mantling clouds of the noon-time haze,
‘Twas another dance for the buckling dusts
Beneath the fluttering canopy of the jaunty slugs
Of feet and the tinkering gist these children seek
In playing this game with the wheel and stick;
Beating the corpulent ring with a stick up the hill
And down need not steer the unfettered wheel

In the innocuous charade, my resilience trampled
As I heard the wails of the shattering scaffold
Oh, what a picturesque scene bloats the meadows
While these children fondle the stick and the wheel wallows;
The joie de vivre that inveigles the unclothed sun,
The glissando phase that cloys the assiduous wand
And the same impetus that conveys the wheel in miles
Could only taint a scarce desire in my lifeless smiles

The system is simple: participate but do not topple
Pound the wheel with the stick and veer quite supple

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poem by Norman Santos
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Daunted Compunction

The mordant emanation of efflorescence
Stings of vaporous mildew aroma and vim
Obfuscating the garrulous ripples of decadence
Abashed in the eloquent flow of the stream
Where we all bloomed from a profane abolition
Dispensing the pompous holiness of the verdure
Harrowed by scathing talons of an immolation
In the hefty crunches of trepidation's dentures

Constantly abjuring the serpents in the ladder
And girdling blaring chortles to fluently subdue
The woebegone ululation of the viscera's utter,
Superimposing a moored spine for incertitude's overdue
As the soul diverge from the meat, leaving a vestige
Of the disquietude citadel toppled and chagrined
By the gauche maneuver to unfurl the jagged ridge;
I veil myself surreptitiously in a pantheon: a perfidious fiend

Time flickered, soughing phantom prose and elegies
Expostulating in the verdigris' serrations for an espionage

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poem by Norman Santos
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Lightning Thief

These intrepid hands caught
the descending forks of light
and subdued the harrying cloudburst
like how a child grasps things
out of instinct - from hunger, for safety
with a dire silence in lieu
of the inevitable cleaving
because jeopardizing eyes delve
in the lattices of injured acceptance
for the gnawing pain that scored pride
and the unpaid obeisance

These flimsy hands are burned out
as it steadfastly held unto
the arrowheads of lightning -
the soldering bell rope of alarm
And the treacherously valiant soul,
cautiously and vigilantly, weaves
the heaven's spilled fire of blue
to craft a pall of false pretense:

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poem by Norman Santos
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When You Resigned To Sleep

The canopies of your eyes fluttered
like curtains from your windows
as you watched the stars dripped
into a paler rhythm of fandango
with sweet waves of riddance
to the gentle mirth of your goodnight

They tarried on their way
like tears refusing to fall
but they cannot suspend the transience
riveted in your jet black eyes
and the ephemeral caprice it beholds

You watched them as they are -
inexorably felled scintillating stars
and the pain belying their crowns
charred their endeavors, marred their hopes
from your unrequited remorse

Do you repulse the black holes

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poem by Norman Santos
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Ousted

In this madhouse world
Where the beacons are blind
And the canopies succumb
My eager sprouting vines
I tend to escape away
Engage in a subtle espionage
For the quintessence of life
Does not crawl in the skin
Of this moiré perfection that
Idealism vied to wrought
Under our noses and
Beneath our roof beams.

A tatterdemalion meanderer
Of agog sole and yearning,
A goaded and fragile arsenal
Of words and contours
Slurring in surreal slopes
To defy and to define
My voraciousness for hope

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poem by Norman Santos
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Underneath The Rain, Reading Unwritten Poetries

In the dead of the rainy vesper
My veins shut and died
And the red rivers tranquilized
In a consummate incendiary
But my eyes continued to wander
Meeting the heaven's tear drops
And perpetuating in a cesspool
Where every ripple is a reckoning
Of what we have become
Drowning and gasping for air
But never really asphyxiating hope

I was a seed of premature death
An embryo yet to be born
Caught in the paroxysm of decay
But I was nurture to be a bud
My roots sprawled into the night
And my eaves of boughs and leaves
Sough to conquer you in my shade
From stymied, you blossomed me

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poem by Norman Santos
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Soliloquy of a Tattooed Mind

In another extensive stretch of a night
Where your scarce body is drained of kinetic vigor
The thin frame too close to each other
You'll realize you're but hollow calcified bones
Thus, cold tiles are hostile without warranties
Against your vessel planked in supine
And the texts on the pages of your favorite books
Slurred with the sympathy you find in it
And the drags you take from the bitter cigarette never ends,
That you wished you were sapping novocaine instead
But then again, it's just a wishful thought of baleful intentions
To unsheathe a perfunctory chronicle:
A wan and pointless chronicle
You seek another friend in your mobile phone,
Only to find a mutual loneliness in your fingertips
Too charred from the brunt with no other resort
You address the voices bawling from the pillowcase
Let the sentries fumble in defeat,
The thunders will roll with the roar of deceit
That will send you back into your bed

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poem by Norman Santos
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A New Flame for the Old Embers

The vapid rain breaking upon the quietude
of the pebbles under our monastic feet
reminds me of the words sent into your halls
ricocheting like a phantom's dying plea -
futilely emitted from the shy rupture,
a premature eruption, to taste the savvy
of disappointments and rueful affinities

How aplomb are the pummeling underneath
the weather's veins - blue and sterile as
the ethers inflamed inside my nights
I fell into a dreamy stupor, loquacious sibilance
stings like a razor from the charred memories

And, through and through, I slide inside
the abortive cradle of fire, wondering
if the flames invoked by the same embers
are alike, or do they dissipate and die
when the rain collapses from its slumber
and leave remnants of its piquant touch to

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poem by Norman Santos
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