Thorns and Thistles



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

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:

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.

(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.


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

The Succor of Silence

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


(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


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


Ebbing Tide

We can save our love
We still have the time
There must be a way
We still haven’t tried
To keep our hearts from breaking
Everytime two fools collide.”
– fr. lyrics of ‘Everytime Two Fools Collide’, Kenny Rogers

(When we, at times collide…)

(… like sub-atomic particles in fission
we generate tremendous energy-heat
when we smash together in clean collision –
a fusion no nuclear reactor can beat.)

Ebbing tide now beckons humbly
to us like the failing wishes in our
confused hearts.  The outgoing waters
entreat to our furtive longings
as timid seagulls depart, leaving us
in endemic silence to lick our wounds.
Right or wrong, our blemished souls
are left scarred,

fading with the tide…

– between
altar and alter
is ebbing tide.

– between
raving raven and seething seagull
is revving pride.

© 2001 Chito L. Aguilar

All photos copyright © 2012 Chito L. Aguilar

Death Row, Cell 36

Capital punishment:
them without the capital get the punishment.”
Executed in electric chair, Florida.
– John Spenkelink, d. May 25, 1979

(A death convict’s last thoughts
before the execution)

within this choking confine
i hear the mocking chime
of clock marking time.

beyond this four-cornered concrete cracking,
locks clanking like blades of grass gnashing,
like swords clashing, like glass crashing.

these iron bars:
brothers to my scars
and tattoos myriad as stars –

gaping teeth of devil’s mold grinning;
round bars, cold to hold,
frigid and rigid,

in me, a mocky reproach seeping,
even as I see a cocky cockroach creeping,
from my cracked couch, peeping.

i see
the shifting shades of Life fading;

i hear
the lulling voice of Death…

… calling.

– between liberty and death is verdict.

© 2005 Chito L. Aguilar

Iron Bars: Brothers to my scars and tattoos myriad as stars.