Poor Tiger, Mad Lover
A tiger was sent into an abeyance.
His roars are frail and feeble.
What good is a tiger
Without his tremendous roar?
A nuisance that flourishes and shakes
The forests?
You have left this tiger
Cold and desolate
Under the brambly, prickly bushes
As the calamitous ripples
Of desertion and betrayal
Loom within your thresholds.
I’ve had the courage to
Roar for you -
And now you talk?
You mad lover.
Why only now,
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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The Rain Tolls
And the rain sounded like hail,
From the rooftops - a galvanized frailty
To whom does the rain toll?
The marred corners are baying prudently,
And soon the thunder would crash like the foliage,
For whom does the rain fall?
Then all the people who basked underneath the rain,
From puddles, the images hang loose from the terrain,
To whom does the murk of the wind call?
The cold monsoon blusters,
And the trees sprawl to their forefathers,
Tell me underneath the pouring savagery, for whom does the wind stall?
A chasm waiting to be filled,
By the zenith that scampers throughout the fields,
I am bludgeoned by the wind as it scrolls
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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A Thief Of Certain Things
I am a thief of certain things:
A strand of hair
That flames with a fire
The mere photograph
Of a red dagger
That singes in the high-noon.
The wayward child’s
Brazen ballad
Underneath
A pillow of dreams.
From lost trails
From a hound’s rendezvous
To the uncovered
Secrets of the gods
That laugh
I, in this thievery, with
The tacit fires
Are one.
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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The Seafarer's Diary; Berceuse: #2
I traverse the sea
And its torrential enmity.
The jagged, baleful corals
In need of daylight
Squirm endlessly
Like ivies and chains
As the school of fish,
The cerulean tranquility
And the supple waters
Bend to the direction of the currents.
This marginal expanse
The trenches sink in jeopardy
As the heavens wager the tapestries
That singe in the meddlesome constraint
Of time: A fractured adversary,
A resilient pilferer, a vagabond that strays
Too long that you cannot send it
To slumber.
The marred waves have no claim
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Commit To Memory
Commit me to memory, like I own you
Like the last of the raindrops in the consequent Summer,
And the foliage anew by Autumn,
Commit me to memory, though I do not own you
For when the darkness and sleaze go astray,
It is never too late to have vied for and pray,
That the remaining hours in one’s life sway
Towards forgetting and not forgetting –
Now what is better, to commit to memory
Or to disregard and go on day by day?
I know this true enough that you’d turn to say,
That certainly, one leaves and one stays,
You are earnest enough to have forged a lie
Contorting a vastly eviscerated sky
Oh, the things we do when we bid good bye,
How thwarting enough to not permit life
In every breath I pledge with strife.
And so I say, I will commit you to memory evermore
Until your ship is moored to my shore –
But then, hope is a loose accolade hanging
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Panacea
I am besotted
By this highfaluting strain
That not even the rain
Assuaged the tremors
Of the city
Nor the bed that I sleep on.
There is such equanimity in
The stars that I dare try
To reach with these hands of
Malaise;
But no more,
For I have come to my senses
Like the vapor that asphyxiates
The tall, dwindling grass
The moon holds no acquittal
To all of my peccadilloes:
I disturb the pace of the stars
With a flurry of wails.
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Watch Me Sleep, Will You?
My father resigned to his bed
And you know how I knew?
He left the television vulnerable
And what disturbed me was
The television’s monotonously
Eerie sound.
A screeching horror.
A flat, blunted line of terror.
My father was unshaken.
He was peculiarly idle on his bed
And he looked like he was
Having the best of the heavens
In his slumber
And how I envied him.
Sometimes, I wonder
Will someone ever watch me sleep?
Will someone tell me
That I am having
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Curiosity Killed The Cat
I remember so well
Watching a cat at the balcony,
Reaching for my caged canary.
He purred and taunted the canary
And flailed his persnickety paws
In a mad flurry of jousts.
The wind waltzed over the cage
And the dwindling of it
Made the cat’s head writhe from
One flourish after another.
He purred, whirred and gave
Out sighs of desperation
But still he was stern in his feline physique
That smoldered of poise and starvation.
One mad summer, while the Sun
Took photographs of his exhausted self,
The cat finally grasped the beam of
The cage - the canary sang of consummation.
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Nikkita: Last Of The Thousand Novembers
I mosey
Around the livid halls
Of a thousand Novembers.
But Nikkita,
Let me tell you something.
This is the last of it.
I am bereft of life,
But in this
Plush death,
I have never been so alive
In the burning
Hours
Of a thousand Novembers.
A thousand Novembers
That gave a thousand more
Deaths.
The wind rushes
In a dash of daggers
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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For Long, Forlorn
The dense soliloquy,
The engaging isolation,
That siphons my strength, the strength I lost
Long before I found you in the middle of the Arctic
Ice caps of polar beasts bask,
And the Herculean Task I am to perform,
Executed poorly, a hero in the rags of mice
I own you like a flower, a flower in a lonely garden.
Here in my room,
That disenchants the eyes of glimmering spheres
Perpendicular to the Sun, buried under the moon
And the stars unmask the portent of the masquerade
Where are you in the middle of the night?
Your shadows are muted in the rising dawn,
And the dusk, the dusk that prays in the time of cholera
I have loved you for long, and for long shall it be.
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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