Thorns and Thistles

Thorns

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Sunset Blues

Sunset Blues

SUNSET BLUES

remnants of golden sunset –
filigreed beams of horizon frameless.
in the darkening orangey hue
i see you:
face generic, hair genetic.

your image, in a maze of haze,
just a trace in the blaze
disappearing.

ocher lines crisscross
ions of woes and eons of lows
in this emptied beer bottle,

like my empty mind
as I gaze in daze
at the shifting shades
of the slowly emptying sun.

then light empties… into night.

 – between
ions of woes and eons of lows
are amber tows.

© 2003 Chito L. Aguilar

‘Sunset Blues’ on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lswi6Sdv-9o

I Am But Migrant

Midlife is porthole to the past; vignette to the future.
– Chito L. Aguilar

I am but migrant in transit thru Time.

I AM BUT MIGRANT
(In Transit Thru Time)

upon the vast heavens I cast my eyes
astounded at such an expanse sublime
i see the moon and the stars in the skies
it is truly then that I realize
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

on my desk I work and on bed I play –
paper-sheets of white and bed-sheets of lime
all bear my mark and my score of the day
by my hands of toil and my feet of clay
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

between the distinct lines of poems I write
i waver on words of rhythm and rhyme
and when I falter between wrong and right
i seek a vision that I may see light
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

between womb and tomb is a voyage brief
the fleeing years, fleeting dears… now, my prime
youth’s egress, midlife’s ingress, what relief –
and yet, I fear illness and old age grief
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

upon the vast heavens I cast my eyes
then wonder and ponder when is the time
my Maker calls me and closes my eyes
when He pounds the gavel and casts the dice
i am but migrant in transit thru Time.

© 2008 Chito L. Aguilar

A Place Called 55

Vanishing Point

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
– Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849), U.S. poet and writer

We subsist in perpetual perspective; never reaching the vanishing point.

VANISHING POINT

there is one dot of convergence –
a spot always somewhere ahead,
our ultimate goal.

we subsist in perpetual perspective;
never reaching the vanishing point
though we move farther
and farther to the fore

in pursuit of that goal elusive –

a speck virtual,
of shifting shades,
in the horizon of dreams.

our dream, we may not attain.
but we are reminded
of a beacon beckoning
from a Supreme Junction

where all matters vanish,
where all dreams converge!

(horizontal line is between sea and sky.
vanishing point is between lea and eye.)

 – between line and point is position.
– between point and line is location.

© Chito L. Aguilar

Coming and Leaving

for what is learning but earning
more space between heart and mind
so they swell with love and meaning
that one may not be so blind.

for what is leaving but coming
from any-where to there-somewhere
linear distance notwithstanding
but instance that matters ever.

-between heart and mind is learning.

© Chito L. Aguilar

The Succor of Silence

Silence is when soundwaves oscillate no more; a flatline.”
-Chito L. Aguilar

Alone

(silence is
not simply the absence of sound
not solely determined by ear.

silence is
the absence of thought
the nonexistence of sensation.

silence is an interlude, an in-between:
the pause between breaths
the respite between words
the gap between musical notes
the lull between drips in a leak
the break between ticks of a clock
the interval between heartbeats
the hiatus between feelings.)

– between
din and din
is silence.

© 1995 Chito L. Aguilar

Sorrow

O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me
No casual mistress, but a wife.”
– Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), British Poet

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